A guard captain rushed to the throne, his face pale with fear and confusion. He knelt and whispered, "Your Majesty, a man is at the Palace gates. He claims to be Prince Geralt."
The hall fell silent.
Calyss stayed calm, but her grip on the throne tightened. Beside her, Hand Haelen stepped forward, visibly angry. "Impossible!" he shouted, silencing the room. "He can't be here! How did he get past our border guards?"
Before Calyss could respond, her grandmother, Duchess Evanderia, stepped in. With a commanding presence, she addressed Hand Haelen. "You speak of a past that's behind us," she said firmly. "Isn't he the king's son and my grandson?"
"I haven't seen him in ages. Regardless of his title, he's still part of Eryndor." She looked at Calyss, her eyes sending a strong message. "We can't forget our own blood. Let him in."
Calyss met her grandmother's gaze. With a nod, Calyss said, "Let him in."
***
The grand doors of the palace creaked open. Prince Geralt, the exiled son, stepped inside. He paused, taking in the lavishness around him. With each step, his footsteps echoed in the quiet hall. He ran his hand over a polished pillar, feeling a familiar pattern. The walls held tapestries he remembered.
"It's even more beautiful than I remember," he said, his voice smooth but laced with bitterness. "My sister hoards all this wealth. How selfish."
Before he could say more, Hand Haelen stepped forward, blocking his path. His imposing figure loomed over Geralt. He grabbed the prince's arm, his grip tight. "Watch your words," he warned, his voice a low growl. "The Queen allows you here, but it's not a pass to speak treacherous words against her."
Their eyes locked for a moment, tension filling the air. Then, Geralt smiled slowly and nodded. He understood the stakes.
In the center of the hall, Geralt focused on Queen Calyss. He had just been granted entry by their grandmother, Duchess Evanderia. Would Calyss welcome him back, forgive him, or send him away again?
Calyss stared ahead, her gaze distant and unyielding. She didn't flinch, speak, or even acknowledge his presence. To everyone, she seemed like an emotionless statue.
Suddenly, Duchess Evanderia stepped forward, her face glowing with unexpected warmth. She bypassed Calyss and rushed to Geralt. Without waiting for formalities, she wrapped him in a tight embrace. "My dearest grandson," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "You've been gone too long. I'm so happy to see you."
Then, she turned to a servant. "Get the Prince's chambers ready. He needs a bath, fresh clothes, and a warm meal." The servant nodded and hurried off.
The duchess looked at Geralt, her expression both loving and firm. "We'll talk more tomorrow. For tonight, you're home." She returned to the throne, standing protectively beside him. The message was clear: whether Calyss liked it or not, the prodigal son was back.