The morning sun crept gently over the horizon, gilding the Coral Palace in hues of pearl and blue. The sea beyond the palace walls shimmered with calm waves, the air carrying the scent of salt and bloom. In the grand courtyard, the departure of Feltogora's royal guests was underway.
Knights of Nexus, clad in polished silver-blue armor, formed ranks at either side of the main staircase. Carriage wheels gleamed as they were prepared for travel, and the royal horses stamped their hooves with restless dignity.
At the center of the scene stood King Stewart and Queen Elisha of Nexus, the embodiment of calm regality. The Queen's gown flowed like the tide, a cascade of soft blue silk embroidered with threads of white coral. The King's mantle bore the deep navy of his kingdom, trimmed with silver that caught the light. Their presence was commanding, yet their smiles were warm—welcoming, even in farewell.
The guests emerged soon after. Prince Althurd Max Lavezki Revazkerio descended first, his pale blue hair catching the sun like frost spun into silk. His silver eyes—polished, sharp, unreadable—scanned the courtyard with a predator's patience. Beside him followed his younger sister, Princess Aquila Faye, her hair a waterfall of silver-violet waves, her figure regal yet youthful in the pale lavender gown she wore.
As attendants bowed in greeting, Althurd's gaze swept the gathering. His lips curved faintly, though his voice carried just enough weight to draw attention.
"Your Majesties," he began smoothly, "forgive my impertinence… but is one not missing from this farewell?" His silver eyes glinted, though the warmth in them felt crafted, not real. "Should not Princess Zuleika, the famed jewel of Nexus, be here to bid us goodbye?"
A flicker passed over the King's expression, though he kept his composure. "Ah," he said, with the practiced grace of diplomacy. "Princess Zuleika left the palace early this morning for her customary horseback ride by the shore. She greets the dawn in such a way, before the duties of court lay claim to her time."
For a moment, Althurd was silent. Then he released a soft chuckle, the sound edged with curiosity. "A princess who favors the sea and the reins over the subtleties of diplomacy? How… refreshing." His gaze flickered, his words balancing between genuine intrigue and veiled mockery.
Queen Elisha inclined her head, her voice gentle yet firm. "It is not neglect, Your Highness. Zuleika has always believed that to lead her people, she must understand them. She finds her strength in simplicity, and it is because she bears no malice in her heart that she is so dearly beloved."
Althurd's smile sharpened ever so slightly, though he dipped his head in acknowledgment. "How fortunate a kingdom must be, to find beauty in such… innocence."
"Fortunate indeed," King Stewart said, his tone carrying the weight of subtle warning.
For a moment, a thin thread of tension hummed in the air. Then Althurd broke it with a graceful bow. "In any case, I must thank you both for your hospitality. It has been… most enlightening."
The farewells were exchanged in the practiced cadence of royalty: bows, pleasantries, blessings for safe travel. Yet beneath the gilded words, each understood the hollowness of courtly exchange. Soon after, Althurd and Aquila entered their carriage, the gates of Nexus Kingdom slowly closing behind them.
·________·
The ride was quiet at first, the rhythmic clatter of wheels over stone the only sound. Inside, velvet curtains framed the morning sun, and the interior smelled faintly of cedarwood and perfume.
Aquila sat across from her brother, her hands folded neatly over her lap. Her silver eyes, so like his, were narrowed as she gazed out the window. Beyond, the commoners of Nexus had gathered by the roadside, waving cheerfully as the carriage passed. Some bowed shallowly, some clasped their hands together, and others merely smiled warmly, their children perched on their shoulders to glimpse the royal procession.
The young princess's lips thinned. Her voice slipped out, low and sharp.
"Pathetic."
Althurd turned his head, one brow arching in lazy amusement. "Mm? What is, sister?"
She gestured toward the crowd with a slight flick of her fingers. "Them. Look at them. Waving, smiling—as though royals are their companions instead of their sovereigns. Even their nobles laugh among themselves with the lower-born as though no difference separates them." She leaned back, distaste evident in her tone. "And their princess—" her voice bit down on the word "—she is the worst of them. Zuleika lowers herself to their level. She walks freely among them. Laughs with them. Even fishes for her own meals."
Her voice trembled with disgust. "How shameful, for one of royal blood to behave as if she were some market girl."
Althurd chuckled, low and humorless, tapping one gloved finger against his knee. His eyes gleamed with a darker edge. "You're not wrong, sister. They mistake mercy for strength. They think that love is loyalty." He leaned slightly forward, his smile curving with practiced malice. "But fear—fear is what bends knees. Fear is what keeps thrones secure."
Aquila nodded sharply, her jaw tightening. "If one stands above, then they must remind those below why they bow. That is the natural order. Equality is a farce."
"Indeed," Althurd said, his gaze flickering back to the window. "And in time, such softness will cost them. For kingdoms built on affection crumble the quickest."
The carriage fell into silence once more, save for the faint rattle of wheels.
Hours passed, and soon the towering gates of the Vast Imperial Palace came into view. Where Nexus had been luminous and open, Feltogora stood like a fortress of shadow and stone. Its spires reached toward the heavens, banners of black and crimson snapping in the wind. The air itself seemed heavier, colder, as though the weight of centuries pressed upon it.
As the carriage rolled into the grand courtyard, lines of servants and knights awaited. Yet unlike Nexus, they did not merely bow.
One by one, they dropped to one knee, their heads bent so low their foreheads brushed the stone. No eyes dared lift; no breath dared come too loud. The silence was absolute, broken only by the creak of carriage doors opening.
Aquila stepped down first, her hand resting briefly in her brother's as he assisted her. Her chin tilted upward with pride, her silver gaze sweeping over the sea of bent backs and lowered heads. A deep satisfaction swelled in her chest.
"Yes," she thought, her lips curving faintly. "This is how it should be. This is how royal blood is meant to be honored."
But then—a slip.
Among the sea of bowed heads, one maid faltered. Whether it was nerves or fear, her gaze flickered up, just for a heartbeat, toward the siblings. Wide, frightened eyes met Althurd's silver ones.
The mistake was fleeting. But it was enough.
Althurd's steps slowed, and his smile sharpened. His voice, calm and almost gentle, cut through the courtyard like a blade.
"You there."
The maid froze.
His hand lifted, pointing casually toward a knight in black armor. "Kill that woman."
The knight straightened immediately, pressing a fist to his chest in salute. "At once, Your Highness." He stepped forward, his sword already sliding free of its sheath.
The maid gasped, collapsing fully to her knees, her forehead pressed desperately to the ground. Her shoulders shook, but no words left her lips. She knew, as all of Feltogora knew, that to speak would change nothing. Her fate had already been sealed.
Around her, the other servants remained perfectly still, their foreheads pressed to stone, their fear etched in silence. Not one dared to flinch, not one dared to intervene.
Aquila watched coldly, her expression unflinching. To her, it was not cruelty—it was order. This was the balance of the world. This was respect.
As the knight's shadow fell over the trembling maid, Althurd's smile widened faintly, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
Yes.
This was Feltogora.
Here, a royal's gaze was law.
Here, disobedience—even the flicker of an eye—was death.
Far different from Nexus, where kindness ruled and subjects looked upon their rulers without fear.
And in that difference, a shadow deepened.