Chapter 9
The grand gates of Valcreat swung outward like the jaws of a slumbering golden beast, welcoming the Solv family into the beating heart of the Kingdom of Neltan. Towering spires of white marble and polished gold pierced the evening sky, their facades gleaming beneath the ambient glow of thousands of floating magical lanterns. The air itself tasted rich, heavy with the scent of blooming night jasmine and the savory, roasted aromas drifting from the distant merchant quarters.
Pressed against the carriage window, Elyra stared out, her wide blue eyes betraying a rare, reluctant flicker of awe. In her former life, she had only ever known the capital through the lens of damp alleys, shadowy rooftops, and assassination targets—never like this. Never draped in safety, and certainly never riding at the head of an honored procession.
"Waaa… so big…" she murmured, slipping instinctively into her feigned childish cadence.
Beside her, Elina smiled softly, reaching out to stroke a stray lock of silver-blonde hair from the toddler's forehead. "Yes, sweetheart. This is the royal capital. Wait until you see how much more magnificent it is by daylight."
Across from them, Damnern sat in unreadable silence, his gaze fixed outward while Eldern slumbered peacefully, his small head slumped heavily against his father's solid forearm.
As the carriage slowed near the outer perimeter of the royal palace courtyard, Rayyan Bartos reined in his magnificent white stallion, trotting alongside the vehicle. The Polearm Deity cut an imposing figure atop his mount, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed.
Leaning slightly forward in his saddle, Rayyan offered a crisp, professional nod. "Lord Damnern, we have arrived at the designated residency wing reserved for your household. Tomorrow's investiture will commence at first light. However, His Majesty has requested your presence for a private audience tonight, provided you are not too fatigued from the road."
Damnern turned his silver eyes toward the knight, his expression dropping into a sub-zero stare.
"Inform the King I will attend," Damnern replied flatly. "But my family rests first. If he has state matters to squabble over, he can wait until sunrise."
Rayyan's brows lifted slightly, though a knowing, half-amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "As expected of the Pillar of Dominance. I shall relay your words precisely. Though I must confess… no one dares to make His Majesty wait."
Damnern let out a dry, dismissive scoff. "Then they are simply not me."
"Indeed not," Rayyan chuckled softly, dipping his head in a brief salute. "Rest well, Lord Damnern. The palace perimeter is secure."
With a sharp flick of his reins, the Polearm Deity spurred his mount forward to clear the remaining path.
Moments later, the carriage rolled past the final security checkpoint, and the true magnificence of the Neltan Royal Palace finally loomed into view. Even Elyra's cynical heart skipped a beat.
The palace was a sprawling empire unto itself—a breathtaking labyrinth of blinding white towers interconnected by soaring, arched bridges of crystal and gold. Thousands of glowing lanterns illuminated manicured gardens, while endless rows of palace guards and attendants stood rigidly at attention along the grand marble portico.
As the heavy carriage came to a smooth halt, the double doors were pulled open by liveried footmen who immediately dropped into a synchronized, flawless bow.
"Welcome to the Neltan Royal Palace, Lord Damnern."
Stepping out into the grand entryway, the family was immediately enveloped in the hushed, suffocatingly dignified atmosphere of high royalty.
They had barely taken a dozen steps down the sprawling, pillar-lined corridor when a sudden movement caught their attention. Striding toward them from the opposite direction was a young man who looked barely twenty, featuring a cascade of soft brown hair and a gentle, unassuming countenance that felt entirely out of place amid the brutal, imposing aura of the royal court.
The surrounding guards and attendants instantly hit the floor in deep prostration.
"His Highness, Prince Feryan Neltan."
Damnern immediately lowered his head in a respectful, measured bow. Beside him, Eldern mirrored his father instantly, while Elina gracefully sank into an immaculate, sweeping court curtsy, the heavy silk of her gown pooling against the pristine marble.
Only Elyra remained standing.
She blinked once. Then twice. Utterly oblivious to the social earthquake happening around her, she simply stared up at the newcomer with blank, toddler-like confusion.
The corridor plunged into an agonizing, dead silence.
Elina's green eyes widened to the size of saucers, a cold panic striking her chest. "E-Elyra!" she hissed under her breath, scrambling upright before frantically turning toward the royal heir. "My—my deepest apologies, Your Highness! She is merely a child, completely unversed in court protocol!"
Elyra frowned inwardly. Protocol? What protocol?
Before the toddler could even formulate a response, Prince Feryan let out a soft, melodic chuckle. "There is no need for such formality, Lady Elina."
He stepped closer, closing the distance without a shred of royal arrogance, his eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine amusement. Then, without warning, he reached out and—
Pinch.
Feryan casually pinched Elyra's soft, chubby cheek.
"My, aren't you an intriguing little creature?" he murmured with a warm, disarming smile.
Elyra froze.
A microscopic tick violently jerked beneath her left eye. The white-hot surge of pure, unadulterated murder hit her system with the force of a tidal wave. Every instinct honed by years of bloody assassinations screamed at her to grab his wrist, snap the joint, and bury a hidden blade in his throat.
Control yourself. He's a prince. You are a toddler, she chanted internally, her tiny hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at her sides as she exerted every ounce of her iron willpower not to shatter the royal's hand.
"…Tankyu," she squeaked out, her voice dripping with artificial, saccharine stiffness.
Her face told an entirely different story. Her lips were locked in a rigid, forced twitch, her brows pulled down into a micro-scowl, and her piercing blue eyes practically screamed a silent, violent threat: Touch me again, and I will end your bloodline.
Feryan stared down at her, blinking in mild surprise before bursting into a hearty, uninhibited laugh, thoroughly amused by the toddler's catastrophic failure to mask her utter disgust.
Elina looked like she was about to pass out from sheer cardiovascular terror.
Escorted away from the hazardous encounter, they were guided through a labyrinth of breathtaking corridors adorned with masterclass carvings until they reached their assigned private chambers. Stepping inside, Elyra let out a quiet breath, her eyes darting across the sprawling, luxuriously appointed suite. Even Damnern's sprawling manor paled in comparison to the sheer, obscene wealth radiating from the palace walls.
"Dis… dis is wut a palace actually looks like inside…" Elyra muttered under her breath, her gaze tracing the gold-leaf ceiling.
Elina could only smile at Elyra's reaction.
"Get some rest, all three of you. You've had a long journey. I have to see King Arveth first," Damnern said, his tone steady but final.
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left immediately, the sound of his footsteps fading swiftly down the expansive corridor. With a soft click, the heavy oak doors sealed shut behind him, plunging the suite into quiet isolation as the massive, sprawling capital outside held its breath in anticipation of the dawn.
Morning arrived with the slow, majestic unfurling of golden sunlight across the spires of Valcreat.
The palace was already humming with electric, nerve-wracking tension. Servants rushed in synchronized precision down the corridors, while elite sentinels stood like statues along the cavernous marble halls. Elina smoothed the fabric of her formal evening gloves, taking a steady, calming breath.
"We're almost there..."
They halted before a colossal set of double doors flanked by four royal guards in ceremonial silver plate.
"Lady Elina, Young Master Eldern, Young Lady Elyra," the lead guard announced crisply, snapping a salute. "His Majesty awaits. Please proceed."
Elina offered a firm nod. "Let's enter."
As the heavy doors swung inward, a suffocating wave of silent, crushing pressure hit them instantly. The grand ceremonial hall stretched out before them like an ocean of white stone and stained glass, illuminated by towering windows that cast fractured beams of golden light across hundreds of assembled nobles.
Elina's breath hitched. "The main hall..."
From the surrounding sea of aristocrats, subtle murmurs began to ripple through the assembly like a cold draft.
"Are those really Lord Damnern's family…?"
"Sending a brute who only knows how to swing a sword to manage an entire region?"
"What on earth is King Arveth even thinking..."
Eldern swallowed hard, instinctively gripping the fabric of his mother's skirt. His wide, luminous eyes swept nervously over the vibrant, judging sea of faces, completely overwhelmed by the crushing splendor of the high court.
Beside them, Elyra stared out at the opulence, a sharp, restless knot tightening deep within her stomach. It wasn't ordinary stage fright; it was the hyper-awareness of an apex predator stepping directly into a den of unknown variables. The very air felt thick, heavy with the silent, predatory scrutiny of hundreds of nobles weighing who truly belonged among the elite—and who was merely a transient guest.
Then, a deep, resonant bell tolled from the highest tower.
THUMP.
The reverberation shook the polished stone floorboards directly beneath their feet. Every restless whisper, every rustle of expensive silk, and every breath in the massive hall vanished instantly into a vacuum of absolute silence.
At the far end of the central aisle, the towering palace gates slowly parted.
The ceremonial guard detail advanced first. Clad in mirror-polished plate armor and bearing gleaming ceremonial halberds, they marched forward with a terrifying, metronomic precision.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Their heavy boots struck the white marble floor in flawless unison, parting the sea of watching nobles into two rigid, unmoving walls of flesh and steel. An oppressive, deathly quiet gripped the court.
Far down the endless aisle, mounted upon an imposing dais carved from dark obsidian and raw gold, King Arveth Neltan sat motionless upon his throne, radiating a quiet, absolute authority that required no shouting to be felt.
And then—footsteps.
Measured, heavy, and utterly unhurried. A single, commanding figure stepped across the threshold.
Damnern.
To be Continued...