The dinner table stretched long and imposing across the dining room, its polished surface gleaming beneath the warm glow of the chandelier above. It was far too grand for the four figures seated around it: Queen Orielle, King Tirian, Prince Loven, and King Sol. The distance between them felt almost theatrical.
To Orielle, the silence pressing over the table felt suffocating.
The three men, however, appeared perfectly comfortable with it. They ate quietly, the clink of utensils against porcelain the only sound breaking the stillness. It seemed natural to them—royalty sharing a meal not for conversation, but because etiquette demanded it.
For Orielle, though, it was painfully awkward. After all, this was the first time they had all gathered together since her week of rest.
The tension stretched on long enough that Orielle's lips formed a small pout.Finally, curiosity won. "Is there a reason royalty enjoys distance when eating?" she asked lightly, genuine wonder in her voice.
Tirian immediately stifled a laugh, a faint snort escaping him. Across the table, Loven frowned in confusion. Sol, however, leaned forward with an amused grin. "Oh, it's not just for show, my dear," he said casually.
Orielle blinked.
Sol gestured toward the length of the table between them. "It's partly precaution. When you're a ruler, you must always assume someone might wish you harm. Poison in the wine… a dagger across the table…" He shrugged lightly. "A long table creates distance. It makes it harder for anyone to suddenly reach you."
Orielle listened intently.
Sol continued, resting an elbow on the table. "But that's only part of it." He motioned broadly at the seating arrangement. "There's also symbolism. The king or queen sits at the head, while everyone else is placed according to rank." His voice shifted slightly, almost mimicking a stern instructor. "Visually, it says power. Authority. Look how many sit beneath the ruler."
He leaned back again, his grin returning. "It creates a psychological distance too. It reminds everyone exactly where they stand."
Orielle's eyes widened. "Oh… I didn't expect there to be real logic behind it." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "So which is it for us then?"
The three men looked at her. "Are you worried we'll poison you," she asked with innocent curiosity, "or are you asserting dominance over how many people you allow to sit beneath you?"
There was no malice in her tone. Only genuine interest. Tirian burst into laughter. The deep, sudden sound echoed through the chamber.
Even Loven's lips twitched upward despite himself. For a brief moment, the tension at the table softened.
Loven cleared his throat. "It would seem you don't understand the custom," he said dryly. Then he added, almost absently,"But I suppose I cannot fault a commoner for that."
The room fell quiet. The remark hung in the air like a sharp note. Tirian immediately looked up, ready to speak in Orielle's defense—but the words died before reaching his lips.
Orielle was laughing. It was soft, sweet, and completely unoffended. "That's true!" she said cheerfully. "I didn't grow up with traditions like this." She smiled lightly. "My life was far simpler."
There was no bitterness in her voice. No embarrassment. Only honesty.
Tirian watched her for a moment before a warm smile formed on his face. He lifted his wine glass and took a quiet sip, pride flickering in his eyes.
Sol leaned back in his chair, studying Orielle with interest. "Simple sounds freeing in many ways," he said. "Now that you've seen both sides… how would you judge it?"
Orielle nodded thoughtfully, spearing a piece of fruit with her fork. "Hmm… freedom is what you make of a situation."
She twirled the fruit absently while thinking. "Some people think freedom means having no responsibilities. Others think it means having the power to do anything they want."
She paused, looking at the fruit for a moment before continuing. "But even if you had no responsibilities… or all the power in the world… wouldn't you still feel something pulling at you? A need in your heart to do something?"
She glanced up at them. "And if you truly lived with nothing holding you back… wouldn't you eventually just become a body without purpose?"
Sol tilted his head, clearly considering her words. "So what you're saying," he said slowly, "is that true freedom is impossible?"
Orielle punctured a fruit before answering. "Of course not." She smiled brightly. "How people define freedom is different. For me… it's being content with how things unfold."
Sol kept observing her, admiring her carefree approach. She continued. "In other words, freedom is having the choice to accept a situation… or letting that situation control you."
While she spoke, Tirian calmly sliced a piece of meat on his plate with careful precision. When he finished, he gestured quietly to one of the servants. "Send this to the queen."
The servant bowed and carried the dish down the table. But the moment the plate reached her, the rich scent of spiced meat drifted upward.
Orielle's expression twisted. She leaned back slightly. "Oh—!" Her hand rose to cover her mouth as she quickly pushed the plate away. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I… haven't been able to eat some of the food here."
She gave an embarrassed smile. "The spices are new to me, and the smell is a little overwhelming." Across the table, Loven's expression shifted. Is this still because of the basin? The physician had assured them she should be fine.
Before Sol could respond, Loven spoke. "We have many fruits that might suit your palate better," he said calmly. "And the kitchens could easily prepare meat using Eldorian spices instead."
He paused briefly. "If that would help." Orielle's face lit up. "Oh! Thank you!" She nodded eagerly. "I'd love to try more fruits. The ones here are so different… sweeter somehow."
She reached for a plump berry and popped it into her mouth, humming happily. Sol chuckled. "Our orchards are quite plentiful," he said. "Pears, plums… even rare citruses from the southern provinces."
He waved a hand casually. "We can easily adjust the kitchen while you're staying here. No point forcing you to suffer through meals."
Tirian gave a slow nod. But there was a faint edge to his voice when he spoke. "It seems her body favors Eldoria over Veridelle." He set his knife down. "We should return once you've fully recovered." His eyes briefly met Orielle's, the usual warmth he has only for her.
But Sol and Loven heard the undertone immediately. Rumors had already begun spreading through the kingdom, whispers that Veridelle should keep Orielle as their queen.
Sol studied Tirian quietly. He was almost surprised. Normally Tirian never bothered softening his words. If he had something to say, he said it bluntly, regardless of how harsh it sounded. But this…This was different. Only a subtle jab?
Sharp enough to make a point, yet restrained enough to remain proper. The kind of remark royalty often used when they wished to wound politely.
Orielle, however, seemed completely unaware. She smiled and turned toward Sol. "The fruits here really are a treat," she said happily. "Back home it was mostly apples and wild berries. Nothing this fancy."
She paused mid-thought. "Though… I suppose the palace back in Eldoria probably had more variety too." She laughed softly. "I guess I just never thought to ask to try them yet."
The conversation continued lightly for another moment.
Then Tirian's expression slowly darkened. "There's something you've not quite made clear yet Sol…" His eyes moved to Sol. "Was it really necessary to attack Orielle when she was first chosen as the maiden?"
The atmosphere at the table shifted instantly.
"Many assassins died that day," Tirian continued evenly. "Was it worth getting both our people killed?"
Sol blinked. Loven looked equally confused. The two brothers exchanged a glance. Sol leaned forward, frowning. "What do you mean… assassins?" a pause. "I didn't send any."
Tirian scoffed, disbelief sharpening his voice. "The ones that nearly killed Orielle, even if it was accidental, and slaughtered several of my knights the day she was chosen."
His gaze hardened as it moved between Sol and Loven. "You can't tell me you don't remember sending them." His voice dropped lower. "Because if you're lying right now… that would break my trust."
The words landed heavily on the table. Loven suddenly pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor as he stood. It nearly toppled behind him. "Your Majesty… we sent no assassins."
His voice carried real alarm now. "King Sol only sent a small group of knights to retrieve the queen. Right, Sol?"
He turned sharply toward his brother, desperation flickering in his eyes. Please, Sol… Kidnapping is one thing… but killing an ally's men? That would be reckless beyond reason.
Sol's face had gone pale. "There were… other people after the queen?" he murmured.
Loven studied him carefully. The confusion on Sol's face looked genuine, too genuine to be an act.
Then Sol's expression shifted. The confusion slowly hardened into concentration. His eyes unfocused slightly. Loven immediately recognized the look. Sol had retreated inward. Whenever he encountered a puzzle that demanded solving, the world around him simply… ceased to exist.
Sol's fingers tapped the table once before he suddenly struck it with his palm.
"This is it!" The sudden outburst startled everyone. "This must be what the True Veil warned about," Sol said, his voice sharp with realization. "Her life being in danger."
Tirian frowned. "But the assassins led us to an empty base," he said. "There were letters there. Orders bearing your royal insignia. How could that be?"
Sol rose slowly from his chair. "I have sent no letters to anyone in Eldoria except you." Tirian scowled. "What?"
But Sol had already begun pacing, his brow furrowed deeply as he muttered under his breath.
Loven sighed quietly. He crossed his arms, watching his brother walk the length of the room. "He's gone into it again," Loven said to no one in particular.
Orielle looked up from her fruit. "Into what?" Loven gestured lazily toward Sol. "That thing he does when a problem captures him completely. When that happens…" he shrugged, "the rest of us cease to exist."
As if proving the point, Tirian spoke.
"Sol, answer me. What are you thinking?" No response.
"Sol!" Still nothing.
Orielle watched the exchange with wide eyes. She slowly lifted another berry and placed it in her mouth. Despite the tension in the room, she found herself quietly enjoying the fruit while observing the unfolding drama like a spectator at a play.
Tirian, meanwhile, was growing visibly irritated. "Sol," he said again, voice tightening. Sol suddenly stopped pacing. He turned sharply. "Do you still have those letters?" Tirian blinked. "What? Hey, I just asked—"
Sol stepped closer quickly, urgency replacing his distant focus. "Ty. The letters. What did they say?" Tirian growled in frustration at the lack of explanation. "I don't have them," he said. "They were mostly burned. Only the insignia survived intact."
He narrowed his eyes. "But Sol—" Sol dragged a hand down his face. "Then think about it," he said slowly. "Did the letters encourage you to come here?"
Tirian paused. The realization crept across his face. "…You're suggesting we were manipulated."
Sol nodded grimly. "That someone wanted you to believe Veridelle was behind the attack."
Tirian leaned back slightly, thinking. "A larger plan…" he murmured. "And we both walked straight into it."
Sol's gaze sharpened. "They couldn't have known we would take Orielle. That part may have changed their strategy."
Tirian turned his head toward Orielle. She had just popped another berry into her mouth. She froze slightly when she noticed everyone looking at her. Then she slowly chewed.
Tirian looked back at Sol. "Why frame Veridelle?" he asked. "And why lure me here?"
Sol's expression darkened. "To provoke war between our kingdoms?" He folded his arms, the weight of the thought settling heavily. "Or perhaps they wanted you away from Eldoria… leaving your kingdom vulnerable."
Silence fell across the table. The implications settled slowly over the four of them.
Somewhere beyond the palace walls, an unseen enemy had begun moving pieces across the board.
And somehow… All of them had already been pulled into the game.