章 16: Chapter 16

The coffin that held the Queen's body was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, a somber testament to her life and status. Constructed from dark, polished mahogany, it gleamed faintly under the muted light, its surface engraved with delicate glyphs that shimmered faintly in shifting hues of gold and silver. These glyphs were preservation glyphs, a gift of the kingdom's most skilled artisans, ensuring that the body within would remain untouched by time until it could be laid to rest. The edges of the coffin were lined with inlaid silver, depicting scenes of peace, prosperity, and the royal crest of Valderin—a soaring phoenix encircled by laurels. Atop the lid was a single wreath of pristine white flowers, the petals seeming to glow faintly as if they too were touched by magic.

I stood beside the coffin, solemn and quiet. Elara clung to my arm, her small, pale hand gripping mine tightly, almost painfully so. She said nothing, her face a mask of composure, but the tremble in her grip betrayed the storm of emotions she was struggling to suppress.

The gathered knights, advisors, and magistrates looked on, their expressions carefully neutral, though I caught the occasional flicker of disapproval. I could see it in their eyes: their unease with the princess being so openly close to someone like me—a commoner. She was no longer a little girl; she was on the cusp of adulthood, an age where such public displays of intimacy, even innocent ones, would be scrutinized. Whispers of impropriety could ripple through the court like wildfire.

But the king said nothing. His grief was too vast, too raw to be confined by propriety. His face, a stoic mask, gave nothing away, but his eyes—hollow and dark—spoke of a man crumbling beneath the weight of his loss. He stood apart, a fortress of silence, holding himself together with sheer willpower.

The funeral procession began soon after. The streets of Kirel were lined with silent onlookers, their heads bowed in respect as the royal family and the Queen's coffin passed by. The knights and soldiers of the Golden Guard marched in perfect formation, their armor gleaming dully under the overcast sky. The banners of Valderin were draped in black, fluttering softly in the breeze. Behind them walked the king, a solitary figure of mourning, his steps heavy but resolute. Elara and I followed just behind, flanked by more guards.

The procession moved slowly, each step echoing with the weight of sorrow. I could feel the eyes of the crowd on us—on me—as whispers rippled through them. I was no one, yet here I was, walking beside the princess. I could imagine what they were saying, the questions they were asking. But I kept my gaze forward, focusing instead on the looming presence of the Waystone Gate in the distance.

The Waystone Gate was a marvel of glyphic engineering, a massive arched structure inscribed with runes that pulsed faintly with magic. It was surrounded by armored knights and a gathering of solemn faces waiting to witness the Queen's final journey to the capital. The gate shimmered faintly as the glyphs began to awaken, preparing for the journey that would take us to the heart of the kingdom.

I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my chest. The capital. The palace. The heart of political intrigue and ambition. I didn't belong in a place like that, but there was no turning back now. I recalled the magistrate's warning, his voice grim and unyielding: The palace is a nest of vipers, Caelan. A man like you will need every ounce of wit and instinct to navigate it.

I glanced down at Elara, her face still calm, though her grip on my hand hadn't eased. She was strong, but even strength had its limits.

"You okay?" I whispered softly, leaning closer to her.

She turned her head slightly, giving me a small, weak smile. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I replied without hesitation, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Always."

The Waystone Gate shimmered before us, a massive, imposing structure of ancient craftsmanship etched with pulsating glyphs. The air around it thrummed faintly, as though alive, a subtle vibration you could feel in your bones. It was made of an iridescent stone that shimmered with colors that seemed to shift with the light, its towering arch carved with intricate runes, symbols of an age long past. This was no ordinary gate—it was a relic of forgotten times, an artifact of unparalleled power, capable of bridging impossible distances in the blink of an eye.

I stared at it, feeling a mix of awe and unease. The stories I'd heard growing up in the countryside couldn't have prepared me for this. The soft hum of energy grew louder, like a crescendo building to its peak. As the activation sequence began, the runes on the arch flared to life, casting the area in a brilliant, otherworldly glow.

The sensation of stepping through the Waystone Gate was nothing like I'd expected. It wasn't just a simple crossing—it was as if the world dissolved around me in a rush of light and sound. For a moment, I felt weightless, like I was suspended between moments, my body stretched and compressed at the same time. Then, with a sudden jolt, we emerged on the other side.

Eryndal, the capital of Valderin, unfolded before us. The first thing that struck me was its sheer magnitude. Massive walls of polished white stone encircled the city, gleaming in the sunlight like a beacon. The streets below were a network of wide, paved roads teeming with life—merchants hawking their wares, noble carriages rattling past, and common folk bustling about their day. Towers pierced the skyline, their spires capped with banners bearing the royal insignia, and the palace loomed in the distance like a crown jewel, its grand silhouette dominating the cityscape.

I barely had time to take it all in before my attention was drawn to the figures waiting for us at the arrival platform. Two men stood side by side, both radiating an air of authority but in vastly different ways.

The Crown Prince was the first to draw my eye. His features were composed, his expression soft yet unreadable. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his tailored attire spoke of refinement and calculated elegance. There was a calmness about him, an almost soothing presence that made him approachable at first glance. Yet, as my resonance skill flared, I caught the faintest flicker in his gaze—a shadow of something hidden, a calculation lurking beneath the surface. When he looked at the king, Elara, and then me, his eyes lingered a fraction too long, his stare assessing, like a predator sizing up its prey. It made my skin prickle with unease.

The Second Prince, in stark contrast, exuded cold arrogance. His stance was rigid, his chin tilted upward as though the very ground beneath him was beneath his notice. His blonde hair was perfectly combed, and his deep crimson attire was sharp and commanding, as though designed to amplify his imposing presence. There was nothing subtle about him—his disdain for those he deemed unworthy was etched plainly in his features. His gaze swept over the King and Elara with practiced indifference, but when his eyes landed on me, they hardened. He didn't bother to hide his contempt, the sneer tugging at the corner of his lips making his feelings clear.

"Father," the Crown Prince greeted with a calm bow, his voice measured and smooth. "You've returned to us, though I wish it were under happier circumstances."

The Second Prince followed suit, though his bow was shallow, his tone clipped. "Father, Elara. Your return brings clarity in these uncertain times."

Their words were polite, but the air between the two princes was thick with tension. Even the knights standing guard seemed to sense it, their gazes shifting uneasily between the brothers. The Crown Prince maintained his serene mask, but my resonance skill detected the tiniest of shifts in his demeanor—a flicker of irritation, buried so deep it would've gone unnoticed without my ability.

When the Crown Prince turned his attention to Elara, his expression softened. "Elara, it is a comfort to see you safe. Truly, it is a blessing that you've survived such an ordeal."

Elara gave a polite nod, her face calm and composed, though I felt her grip tighten on my arm. She remained silent, letting her nod speak for her, but the tension in her hold betrayed the storm of emotions she was keeping locked away.

The Second Prince, meanwhile, barely spared her a glance. His attention was focused on the King, his tone lacking warmth. "Your return is timely, Father. The kingdom grows restless in your absence, and clarity is sorely needed."

The King said nothing for a moment, his gaze heavy as he regarded his sons. There was an intensity in his eyes, a silent weight that spoke of his grief and the burden he bore as both a father and a king. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but laced with exhaustion.

"We will talk later," he said, his words directed to both princes. "For now, let us tend to matters that cannot wait."

As we moved past them, I glanced back at the Crown Prince. His calm expression hadn't faltered, but his eyes told a different story. They lingered on the King, Elara, and finally on me, that same calculating gleam flashing once more. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough to set my nerves on edge.