Part - 1
The marbled hallways of Caelrath gleamed in the pale morning light, silver and blue banners swaying gently from the vaulted ceilings. In one such corridor, two women crossed paths the Queen of Arcadia, Lyrissa, and the king's favored concubine, Serenya. The Queen's maids trailed behind her in a flurry of silk and whispers, while Serenya walked with only a single maid at her side.
Lyrissa's gaze sharpened. Of all the king's concubines, Serenya was the one she despised most for she was the one the king loved most dearly. The Queen's voice was velvet edged with steel as she slowed her pace.
"Well, if it isn't the jewel of the king's… collection," Lyrissa said, her smile cold. "I trust your morning has been spent as usual preening for his attention while others see to the matters of state?"
Serenya lowered her eyes slightly. "Your Majesty," she murmured.
"You do have a talent for keeping silent when it suits you," Lyrissa continued. "It must be a rare gift, holding a man's favor without offering anything of substance in return. But then, perhaps that's why you shine so brightly in his eyes, no voice to contradict him, no mind to challenge him."
The words were daggers, and Serenya felt each one. But she merely inclined her head, offering no reply. Her maid's grip on her arm tightened as if to urge her away. With a measured breath, Serenya stepped aside and continued on her way, the Queen sweeping past her with a rustle of silk. Each would go their own way, but the tension lingered in the air like the aftertaste of poison.
They had little time for private feuds. The city was preparing for the Festival of Victory, a grand celebration of Arcadia's ancient victory in the War of Generals. The streets were already being dressed in banners of silver and blue, the scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries drifting from the lower markets.
Within the royal apartments, the King of Arcadia stood before a tall bronze mirror as his attendants made the final adjustments to his attire. He wore a deep-blue ceremonial robe embroidered with golden thread, a crown of tempered silver resting upon his brow.
The door opened quietly, and Queen Lyrissa stepped in. "May I come in, my king?"
"You need never ask," the king replied, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.
She crossed the room, smoothing an invisible crease from his robe. "Are you prepared to receive the delegation from Astelvyr? I hear their prince, their counsellor, and their Order of Knights will attend. Strange name,'The Order' nothing more."
The king gave a faint, weary smile. "I am ready. I only hope no war will come of this. This kingdom has seen enough blood. If diplomacy can prevail, it will be enough for me. I have little patience for the ambitions of those religious zealots in the court."
Lyrissa rested her hand lightly on his arm. "Do not worry, my king. I know you will do what is best for Arcadia."
His smile faded into thought. "Yes… but this crown bears heavily upon me. Perhaps I am growing old. Or perhaps it is time to consider the matter of a successor."
Part - 2
The great gates of Caelrath creaked open to reveal the delegation from Astelvyr. At their head rode Prince Veylen, flanked by his counsellor, Halric. Close behind came Alric, resplendent in his gleaming white armour, the silvered insignia of the Moon engraved upon his breastplate. The sunlight caught the polished steel, casting flashes of brilliance across the watching crowd.
Among them walked Elyria, draped in flowing white garments that shimmered faintly in the morning light. Her beauty was such that men's eyes followed her as though spellbound, while her calm, poised steps lent her an air of untouchable grace. The knights surrounding her moved like a wall of steel and discipline, their mere presence enough to stir unease in the hearts of the onlookers.
Behind them came a few dozen more knights of the Order, each bearing the same Moon insignia.
Their march was deliberate, unhurried, and unflinching.
Yet the streets of Caelrath were not filled with cheers. The people watched with cool, guarded stares; to them, these visitors were foreigners outsiders. Whispers rippled through the crowd:
"They worship strange gods… old gods."
"Evil gods, some say."
"They are not worthy of setting foot in Arcadia."
The delegation, hearing every word, did not so much as glance at the mutterers. Their eyes stayed forward, their steps measured.
At last, they reached the castle gates, where the Second Prince of Arcadia Maeryn, awaited them with a small retinue. His expression was calm, polite, though his eyes studied each face carefully.
"Prince Veylen of Astelvyr," he said, bowing just enough to be courteous, "on behalf of Arcadia, I bid you welcome."
Veylen inclined his head in return. "We are grateful for your reception, Highness."
Introductions were exchanged, titles spoken aloud with care and precision. The Second Prince then gestured toward the great doors. "If you would follow me, the king awaits you in the royal hall."
They entered the grand corridors of Caelrath Castle, their footsteps echoing on the marble floors.
Soon, they arrived at the royal hall. It was vast, its arched ceiling painted with scenes of Arcadia's ancient victories, its pillars wrapped in blue and silver banners. Merchants, nobles, and dignitaries filled the chamber many with the rigid, faintly disapproving expressions of those who still clung to the old prejudices.
Some looked openly upon the Aethreians with disdain; others, particularly the merchants and newer courtiers, appraised them with calculating eyes, recalling Caelen Vos's report of Astelvyr's wealth and the strength of its knights.
The king was not yet present. The delegation was shown to their seats near the front of the hall, told only that His Majesty would arrive shortly.
It was a deliberate gesture, the kind meant to remind even foreign royalty of their place: to wait upon Arcadia's king.
Part - 3
In his private chamber, King Valethar IX fastened the last clasp of his robe, smoothing the deep blue fabric with a measured hand. His crown of gold worked with slender arcs of silver rested upon his brow. The queen lingered near the doorway.
"My queen," Valethar said quietly, "you should go. I must make my way to the court."
Queen Lyrissa gave a graceful nod. "As you wish, my king." She slipped from the chamber, her silks whispering against the polished floor.
The king stepped into the corridor, flanked by the Warden of Judgement, Dame Seris Malvarin, and two lines of mailed guards. Their march through the palace was slow, deliberate. When they entered the royal hall, the entire assembly rose to their feet in respect.
Valethar's eyes fell upon the delegation from Astelvyr. He inclined his head a small bow, enough to convey courtesy but not deference. The message was clear: Arcadia would acknowledge, but not yield.
The king mounted the dais and lowered himself into the high-backed throne, its carved arms depicting the victories of his forebears. Only then did the court sit.
"Prince Veylen of Astelvyr," Valethar began, his voice steady but edged with formality, "and Counsellor Halric. Arcadia bids you welcome. I have heard of your city's sudden appearance through the report of Warden Caelen Vos. It is a rare and curious matter."
Veylen inclined his head. "We thank you, Your Majesty, for granting us audience."
Halric added, "Your hospitality honours us, though our circumstances are… unusual."
The king's lips curved faintly. "Indeed. The court and I have discussed your arrival. We would see Astelvyr prosper but as part of the Arcadian realm."
A murmur rippled through the nobles seated to either side.
Veylen's eyes sharpened. "We are no enemy to Arcadia, Majesty. But Astelvyr stands as an independent kingdom, as it has from the moment of its founding."
Valethar leaned back in his throne. "Independence is a fragile thing. It can be shattered by isolation, or by the envy of neighbours. Under Arcadia's banner, you would have full freedom in your affairs your prince would remain prince, your customs untouched. Yet you would have the shield of our armies and the weight of our name."
Halric's reply came measured, but cold. "A shield is useful, Majesty, only if it does not become a shackle."
The court shifted uncomfortably at the challenge.
The king's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you fear Arcadia would bind you?"
Halric met his gaze. "Fear is not the word. We simply do not consent to any terms that place our sovereignty at the mercy of another's will however generous that will may appear."
One of the elder nobles, seated near the dais, interjected. "It would be folly to refuse the king's protection when your city is surrounded on all sides by powers greater than itself."
Veylen's tone cooled. "And yet, here we stand, surrounded, still unbowed."
A low chuckle passed among the younger merchants in the gallery more impressed than derisive.
The king tapped a finger against the carved armrest. "Your counsellor speaks boldly. But boldness must be tested. Words alone cannot convince me of Astelvyr's strength."
Halric gave a faint smile. "Then perhaps you will see soon enough."
Valethar let the silence stretch before he spoke again. "The festival begins today our celebration of Arcadia's victory in the War of Generals. As is tradition, there will be a tournament of arms. Attend it. Enjoy the spectacle. We will speak again when swords have spoken as loudly as tongues."
Veylen nodded. "Very well, Majesty."
The king rose, and the delegation followed. They left the hall together, flanked by guards, and made their way to the tournament grounds. The royal balcony overlooked the sanded arena, banners snapping in the wind. Halric and Veylen took seats near the king, with Elyria and Alric settling just behind them. The Warden of the Common, Caelen Vos, and The Warden of Judgement Dame Seris Malvarin stood watch nearby, their armour glinting under the brightening sky.
Below, the lists filled with knights readying for the first bout. The festival drums began to beat.
End of Chapter.