Chapter 9: The Prince’s Secret

  The King’s funeral took place on the very day of the new King’s coronation—a tradition unyielding for a thousand years. Hurried sobs were stifled by the burning sting of strong ale as songs of lamentation echoed through the grieving crowds. A low, persistent hum of sorrow hung in the air.

  The Crown Prince sat alone in the shadows of the Great Hall, drowning his grief in wine. He had become the King of a fractured realm, just as his father had taught him. He was forbidden from weeping, forbidden from crying out in despair. Even vengeance was a luxury he could not afford. To rule was to think of the masses, to weigh the prosperity of the land against the desires of the heart. A King must share power, distribute wealth, and navigate the treacherous waters of the nobility. He had learned all this, yet he never imagined he would occupy the throne so soon. His eyes closed, heavy with the burden of what was to come.

  Outside, the funeral pyre roared, sending the late King’s spirit into the heavens. Chiryl Shiratius knelt before the flames, dazed and silent. Her eyes were fixed on the fire, seeing her father’s kind smile flickering in the embers, a ghost of the laughter from her childhood.

  "No one can reach her," Richard sighed as Aeron Teh’Bvera approached. "She hasn't eaten or spoken in two days."

  Aeron nodded. He took a deep breath and stepped toward Chiryl.

  "His Majesty would not want you to torment yourself like this," Aeron said softly. "He sacrificed himself so that you could live well, and find joy."

  Chiryl turned her head slightly. She offered a frail, ghost of a smile. Aeron unclasped his knight’s cloak and draped it over her trembling shoulders.

  "Weep, Princess. Just weep," he whispered. "A person must mourn when their kin departs. Only through tears will you find peace."

  That single drop of compassion broke the dam. Chiryl threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably, much to the shock of the nearby handmaidens.

  Richard grabbed the arms of those who tried to intervene, whispering harshly into their ears: "The Princess is overcome with grief, and Sir Aeron is offering comfort. That is all. If I hear a single scandalous rumor, you know the consequences."

  Terrified, the handmaidens bowed and hurried away, casting wary glances over their shoulders. Richard sighed and turned his back, leaving the two of them alone beside the fading fire of the master he had served for twenty years.

  The following day, Aeron appeared in his knightly uniform—a garment that felt alien and garish with its ornate patterns. While the handmaidens dared not speak of the embrace, the tale of Aeron defeating a high-ranking mage had spread like wildfire. Many hailed him as the "Successor of Legends," but the most practical reaction came from the silver-tongued nobility.

  Following the funeral, they threw a lavish banquet to celebrate the coronation. Aeron was forced to attend as a knight of the realm. Landowners sought his acquaintance, and noble ladies vied for introductions. But Aeron’s eyes searched only for the Princess. Yet, that day and the ones that followed, Chiryl was nowhere to be found. She had vanished into a secluded world he could not reach.

  Since that hurried kiss she had pressed onto his lips before fleeing into the palace, Aeron had been haunted. He was a man possessed, his heart racing at the memory, his mind replaying the sway of her skirts as she vanished down the corridor.

  Without her, he moved like a ghost, his sword practice sluggish and his hair unkempt. Love had become a sorcery of its own, remaking him from within.

  By the sixth day, his patience shattered. Aeron made a reckless decision: he would find Chiryl in her own chambers.

  This desperate hope became a powerful catalyst. He threw himself into the knights' lessons on stealth and infiltration. Within three days, aided by his past as a thief and his sharp focus, he rivaled the best among them in the art of moving unseen.

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  With gold coins from the King’s reward greasing the palms of greedy servants, Aeron secured a map of the palace. On the night of the full moon, ten days after the funeral, he made his move.

  The Princess’s chambers were near the Queen Mother’s quarters. Since the assassination attempt, security had been doubled. Sentries patrolled in tight shifts, their paths intersecting at every corridor.

  Aeron launched a grappling hook onto the roof and scaled the wall with the fluid grace of a shadow. Under the bright moonlight, he moved behind chimneys, his eyes tracking the guards in the distant watchtowers. Soon, he was perched above the Princess’s rooms.

  Carefully prying away a few soot-stained tiles, he created a small vantage point. Warm candlelight flickered below, revealing a room of understated nobility. But aside from two handmaidens cleaning and arranging furniture, the Princess was missing.

  Disappointment gnawed at him, but he stayed, watching until the sky turned the pale pink of dawn. Cramped and exhausted, he shifted his weight. A loose tile slipped from his grip, sliding down the roof and shattering on the stone balcony below with a loud crack!

  The two sleeping handmaidens inside bolted upright. "Princess!" one cried out instinctively.

  The other stood up, smoothing her apron in a formal salute, only to hear her companion giggle. Realizing she had been teased, she snapped, "You nearly gave me a heart attack! That was cruel." She slumped back into her chair and sighed. "I’m a fool. The Princess has been gone for ten days, and I still fall for it. I wonder if she’s reached Mantorias yet..."

  "Not yet," the other replied. "Since the teleportation gates were shuttered by the new decree, travel is slow. Reaching Mantorias through Tar’Muffin takes four or five months at best. Poor Princess, she has a long, hard journey ahead."

  "But she will marry the Prince of the Ryul family! She’ll be the Empress one day. Most would die for such a fate..."

  Aeron’s world spun. He couldn't believe Chiryl had left for Mantorias after everything—after the kiss that still burned on his lips.

  "Who goes there?" a commanding voice barked.

  Aeron froze as he realized the Royal Guard had spotted the broken tile. Thud! A spear whistled past his head, embedding itself in the roof. Aeron scrambled to his feet and sprinted across the rooftops. Below, alarms blared, and soon the great bells of the ancient tower rang out.

  Aeron was in a desperate trap. Pulling a black cloth over his face, he leaped between roofs, pursued by the elite shadows of the guard. Arrows shattered tiles at his heels. Seeing the glint of silver armor in the distance, he knew the Knights had arrived. He took a blind leap of faith, plunging down an open skylight of the massive southern palace building.

  The guards swarmed the area, but all they found was a torn black cloth snagged on a branch. Every room was searched—except for the chambers of young Prince Fastinga. The Knights requested entry, but the boy-prince furiously drove them away, claiming he would not have his studies interrupted.

  "You can come out now," the Prince smiled, tapping a wooden chest beside his bed once the noise had faded.

  The lid creaked open. Aeron stepped out, brushing dust from his tunic.

  "Why did you save me, Highness?" Aeron asked, stunned.

  "I met you at my brother's coronation, remember?" Fastinga replied. "I never forget a face. You are Aeron Teh’Bvera, the Signer."

  "You saved me just for that?" Aeron chuckled.

  "No," the boy answered plainly. "I saved you because my sister, Chiryl, is very fond of you."

  Aeron’s heart constricted. "But... the Princess decided to leave..."

  "She never wanted to go to Mantorias!" Fastinga said firmly. "We spoke for hours after the funeral. The one she likes is you, Aeron. This forced marriage was arranged by my brother, the King. Save her, Aeron!"

  "But if I do, it means war!"

  "Our army is the strongest among the vassals," Fastinga said with a wisdom beyond his years. "The Empire will not risk a war over the death of a mere envoy. This marriage is an alliance of convenience. Save her! Do you love her or not?"

  "Of course I... I do!" Aeron blurted out.

  "Then do not hesitate. Only you can save her. Let me tell you a secret, since you are practically my brother-in-law. The Crestorim Empire will not last much longer. Once the news of a Signer spreads, the vassal states will rebel. My brother wants to cling to the Empire, but Lorencine is surrounded by oppressed states. Saving Chiryl isn't just about love; it’s about the survival of this kingdom."

  Aeron was speechless. "Very well. I will do everything in my power to bring her back."

  "Good!" Fastinga suddenly threw his arms around Aeron, a child once more. "I believe in you!"

  Aeron patted the boy’s shoulder and laughed. He had just been out-maneuvered by a child.

  "Did he accept your proposal?" Queen Mother Matharine whispered into her son's ear that evening.

  "Yes, he promised to save Chiryl," Fastinga replied obediently. "Are you sure this will lead to an alliance against the Empire, Mother?"

  Matharine looked down at her young son and nodded, a strange, thin smile playing on her lips.

  "I always do what is best for you, my Prince..." she hummed softly.