The Palace of Eldoria was nothing like the mansions Neria had seen since arriving in this strange world.
If Ravon's estate had been gothic and suffocating, the royal palace was… commanding.
It loomed ahead like a living thing, vast marble walls washed in pale gold, tall spires piercing the sky, and stained-glass windows that reflected sunlight in fractured hues.
Guards lined the entrance in perfect symmetry, their armor polished to a blinding sheen, spears upright, expressions carved from discipline.
Neria floated alongside Ravon, her ghostly form drifting lazily as her eyes drank in the sight.
"Okay," she muttered. "This is definitely a Victorian-era fantasy palace. If chandeliers start dropping dramatically, I'm calling it."
Ravon walked straight through the gates without pause.
No hesitation. No bow. No announcement.
The guards stepped aside immediately.
Neria blinked. "Wow. That's not servant treatment. That's 'I belong here' energy."
Inside, the palace expanded into a massive council hall. White marble floors gleamed beneath towering pillars etched with ancient runes. Banners of Eldoria draped from the walls, deep blue fabric embroidered with silver lions crowned in light.
At the center stood the throne.
And seated upon it,
"…He's young," Neria whispered in surprise.
The King of Eldoria could not have been more than twenty-three. His features were refined but not soft, his posture straight but not rigid. A thin circlet of silver rested on dark hair, and his eyes,sharp, observant, swept across the room with measured control.
"He's giving 'born-to-rule' instead of 'trying-to-prove-himself,'" she decided. "I like him already."
She suddenly shivered..." Why the sudden cold, she wondered?"
Around him, the council assembled.
Men and women of power, mages, nobles, generals, scholars, took their places in a semicircle. None knelt. None bowed deeply.
Neria noticed instantly.
"Ohhh," she murmured. "They're equals."
Then Ravon must be madly rich...her eyes gleamed as she looked at him.
Ravon stepped forward and took his place among them.
The King inclined his head slightly. "Lord Ravon."
Ravon returned the gesture. "Your Majesty."
The exchange was brief. Balanced. Respectful.
No subservience.
Neria smiled faintly. "Yeah. Definitely equals."
The King raised his hand.
"The council is in session."
Silence fell like a blade.
For a moment, only the distant echo of fountains outside filled the hall.
Then voices began to rise.
"Our borders grow unstable."
"Merchants complain of vanished caravans."
"Villages near the eastern forest are being abandoned."
Neria floated upward, arms folded as she listened. "This is like a medieval group chat, but louder."
A broad-shouldered councilman scoffed. "Bandits. Fear exaggerates everything."
Another nodded. "The people grow restless. They invent monsters when times are peaceful."
Ravon spoke.
"Not bandits."
The room stilled.
Neria's head snapped toward him. "Ooo. He used that tone."
Ravon stepped forward, cloak whispering against marble. "Black witches have resurfaced."
The words struck the hall like a thunderclap.
Several council members stiffened.
"That is impossible," a silver-haired woman snapped. "They were purged."
"Sealed," another added sharply.
"Erased from history," someone muttered.
Ravon's gaze did not waver. "Then history lied."
The murmurs grew louder, overlapping in disbelief and unease.
Neria drifted closer, eyes wide. "Oh wow. He just called history a liar in front of the people who write it."
The King lifted his hand.
"Silence."
The authority in his voice snapped the noise away instantly.
He turned to Ravon, expression serious. "You are certain?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Ravon's answer was chilling in its simplicity. "I confronted two this morning."
Gasps rippled through the council.
"One escaped," Ravon continued. "Alive. Mute."
Neria swallowed. "He says that like he's reporting the weather."
The King's jaw tightened. "Then this is no rumor."
"No," Ravon said. "It is a warning."
The council erupted again.
"If they're back—"
"Our wards may fail—"
"The balance will be disrupted!"
A thin, sharp-eyed councilman leaned forward. "Why now?"
Ravon's eyes darkened. "That," he said, "is what concerns me most."
The King rose from the throne.
Despite his youth, the room bent to his presence.
"We will not allow panic," he said calmly. "Nor will we dismiss this threat."
He looked directly at Ravon. "Prepare a full report. Quietly. We must understand their goal before we respond."
Ravon inclined his head. "As you command."
Before the King could speak again.....
"Well," a smooth voice cut in, "this sounds exciting."
Heads turned.
Neria turned too.
And nearly whistled.
A woman entered the hall with effortless confidence, her emerald gown flowing like liquid silk. Golden hair framed a striking face.....sharp eyes, knowing smile, and the unmistakable aura of someone accustomed to command.
"A beauty?," Neria breathed. "Okay. She's stunning."
The King sighed. "Sister."
The Princess smiled sweetly. "Brother."
She strolled forward as if the council chamber were her living room.
"I hear talk of witches and danger," she said lightly. "And no one thought to invite me?"
"This is not entertainment," the King said dryly.
She waved him off. "Everything is entertainment if you live long enough."
Her gaze shifted.
It landed on Ravon.
And stayed there.
Neria noticed instantly.
"Oh," she whispered. "She wants him."
The Princess stopped beside Ravon, tilting her head slightly. "Lord Ravon. You always return with fun trouble."
Ravon bowed his head politely. "Princess."
That was all.
No smile. No warmth. Barely acknowledgment.
Neria blinked. "Did he just ignore royalty?"
The Princess's smile widened, amused rather than offended. "You seem unchanged."
"Time does not change what is unnecessary," Ravon replied.
Neria slapped an imaginary knee. "That's cold. That's arctic."
The Princess laughed softly. "Fascinating."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Tell me, Lord Ravon… do you ever tire of being alone?"
Ravon met her gaze evenly. "No."
The answer was immediate.
Final.
Neria stared. "…How does someone that handsome say 'no' like that?"
The Princess straightened, clearly entertained. "Very well."
She turned to the King. "Do carry on. I wouldn't want to interrupt destiny."
As she walked away, she glanced back at Ravon one last time.
He did not notice or ignored?
Neria floated there, stunned. "Sir. Please. Explain."
The council resumed discussion,strategy, secrecy, preparation.
But Neria barely listened.
Her gaze stayed on Ravon.
Cold. Controlled. Dangerous.
"This world," she murmured, "is nothing like my own."
And Ravon.....
Ravon was nothing like any man she had ever known.