Page 34 of Lost Heir
The walk from the Eastern palace to the Grand Hall was a journey of its own. Viktor, ever the protective guardian, led the way. My court ladies followed in a graceful procession, their gowns a flurry of pastel hues that created a picturesque scene as we traversed the palace grounds. The path was lined with torches that cast golden light upon the marble, guiding our steps through the maze of corridors and archways that made up the heart of the palace.
As we approached the Grand Hall, the sound of music and revelry filtered through the air, a lively melody that quickened my pulse. The massive doors, carved from ancient oak and bound in iron, stood open, welcoming us into the opulent space beyond.
Sentinels were poised, waiting to announce my arrival. Their voices were loud and clear as they rang throughout the Grand Hall. “Her Highness, Princess Lyanna of Valoria!” they called out. Hushed silence fell.
Stepping over the room’s threshold, I felt the weight of countless eyes upon me as a sea of faces turned in unison to mark my entrance.
The space was bathed in the warm glow of countless candles, a spectacle of Valorian splendor. Tapestries depicting scenes of legend and lore adorned the walls, while the high vaulted ceiling gave the room an air of boundless space. At the far end, my parents’ thrones sat elevated on a dais, a symbol of the enduring legacy of the Valorian crown.
As I made my way down the center aisle, leaving Viktor and the court ladies outside, I felt a mixture of curiosity and admiration in the gazes of the assembled guests. Each step was a statement of the journey I had undertaken, a path that eventually led me back to the heart of Valoria, to a home that was both familiar and wholly new.
My parents, Valoria’s King and Queen, sat enthroned in regal splendor, embodying the strength and grace of Valoria. Drawing near, I bowed deeply, an homage to tradition and respect. “Mother, Father,” my voice echoed softly in the Grand Hall, “I have returned.”
In a moment that seemed to stretch, capturing the weight of years and the depth of our separation, my mother rose. Her movements were deliberate, a portrait of royal poise. A court lady, with practiced reverence, presented atiara—a symbol of my status and the responsibilities it entailed—on a pillow of the richest burgundy velvet.
Plucking the tiara from the pillow, my mother approached me. The air between us was charged with unspoken emotions and the significance of the act about to unfold. With a grace that spoke of countless similar ceremonies, she crowned me. The tiara's weight settled upon me as light as a whisper, yet loaded with meaning. Her hand then rested on my shoulder, a silent command for me to rise.
The gesture was simple yet profound, marking not just my physical return but the reclamation of my place within the royal family and Valoria's heart. Standing, I faced the assembled nobility, the tiara a gleaming testament to my journey and the path that lay ahead.
My father, resplendent in his ceremonial attire, met my gaze, a beacon of pride and joy. “My daughter,” he announced, his voice carrying through the hall, “has returned to us. Let the festivities in her honor begin!”
The swell of applause and exuberant cheers momentarily startled me, a stark reminder of the many eyes fixed upon my every move. As the Grand Hall buzzed with renewed energy for the celebration, I felt their weighty expectations pressing in from all sides. The assembly's attention, though momentarily diverted, returned to me with palpable curiosity.
Caelan, ever the embodiment of courtly grace, was the first to bridge the distance between us. He bowed with a flourish, his gesture a blend of respect and something more elusive. As he lifted my hand to press a kiss against the back of it, his voice, barely above a whisper, carried a hint of challenge. “Welcome back, Lyanna,” he said, his smirk betraying his confidence. “Would you honor me with the first dance?”
Caught in the intensity of his gaze, I was momentarily ensnared in indecision. Our recent history, fraught with tension and unresolved conflicts, urged me to decline. I was about to when my mother's voice, authoritative and expectant, pierced the hesitation. “Lyanna, let Caelan escort you onto the dance floor.”
Her directive, non-negotiable in its delivery, left me with little choice but to acquiesce. With a tight nod, I extended my hand towards him as a silent concession to the evening's public demands.
Caelan's grip was sure as he led me to the center of the floor, an island amidst the sea of onlookers. The quartet, seizing the moment, wove a melody that filled the space between us, a tangible expression of the evening's splendor. As his hand found its place at the small of my back and drew me into the dance's embrace, our proximity dissolved the remaining distance between us.
We swayed to the music, our eyes locked on one another, never missing a step, though I was the first to look away. Scanning the crowd, I searched for a familiar face. For anyone other than Caelan.
There were many unfamiliar faces in the crowd, but I recognized a few. Caelan’s brothers from Eldwain were in attendance, no doubt as representations of their infirm father who couldn’t attend. Some elders from Ellyndor, if their pointed ears were any indication. Marcellus and Selene were cloistered in a corner, away from prying eyes. As I continued to search, I saw them—the Crimson Clan.
My eyes first landed on Ronan where he stood stoically next to his father, Chief Aryan. His hands were fisted at his sides and his jaw clenched in frustration as he watched us dance. I wanted to go to him but knew I couldn’t. Silas was close by, along with a few more clan members I recognizedby face alone. Unlike the rest of the guests who were dressed in their finest silks and satins, the Crimson Clan wore their battle leathers, showing off their tattooed skin and muscled physiques.
“If you continue to stare at him, others will take notice,” Caelan murmured as he whipped us around, forcing me to give Ronan my back.
I dug my nails into his shoulder, but he didn’t so much as flinch. “You’re doing this on purpose,” I gritted between my teeth.
He shrugged. “So what if I am? I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again: the two of you are impossible. Your parents will never let you marry into the Crimson Clan.”
I scoffed. “Who said I wanted to marry?”
His eyes snapped to me. “You mean to tell me …”
“Yes, Caelan, that’sexactlywhat I’m saying. I have no desire to get married, because I don’t need to,” I whispered.
“We’ll see about that,” he murmured into my ear before twirling me around and dipping me. “We don’t always get what we want.” He grinned as he lifted me and then released my hand. “Don’t stray too far, Lyanna. The night has just begun.”
The instant he left me alone on the dance floor, I was engulfed by the clapping crowd. Strangers approached, seeking only to touch my arms, dress, and hair. I felt like a spectacle. I tried to talk to everyone, but it was hard keeping track of all the questions thrown my way. Each person clamored for a moment with me, their questions and touch insistent, until I couldn’t breathe. I gasped for air and whirled around with wide eyes, trying to find an exit route, but saw nothing but smiling faces that stretched across tight faces. It was a scene out of a nightmare.
Suddenly, someone gripped me from behind and said, “Everyone, let’s give Princess Lyanna some space, hmm?”
Slowly, my savior escorted me out of the crowd of nosy guests. Once we were in a more secure location, I looked up to see who he was. Startled, I gazed up at Orion. I exhaled in relief. Despite my feelings for the irksome fae, I could have kissed him.
“Thank the goddess.” I held onto his arm to steady myself. “Where have you been?”
