Page 60 of Warrior Princess
“The letter!” I turned to face Ronan. “The letter Avery showed us between a mystery woman and the king… it washer!”
Ronan’s brows were furrowed as he attempted to catch up to my thinking and rationalize everything. He handed me over to Shiro before addressing Abigail. Ronan reached for the pouch of coin strapped at his waist. “This should be enough Glint to get you far, far away from all of this.”
Abigail shook her head. “I can’t,” she blurted. “I can never leave here.”
“Why?” Ronan asked.
“There are some things I refuse to divulge.” She pushed Ronan’s hand away. “No matter the price. Now please, let me go. Or you’ll be signing my death warrant.”
“But—”
“Just answer me this,” I murmured, cutting Ronan off. “Is this child still alive?”
Abigail met my gaze and winced. “Very much so.”
“Who is it?” Ronan demanded. “Who is he?”
“I can’t say. I refuse to say! Not let me go!” Abigail cried out.
“No—”
“Let her leave,” I choked out. “She’s told us enough.”
Ronan gritted his teeth, but stepped aside and let Abigail leave the darkened alley. We stood there quietly, looking at one another in bewilderment. None of us knew what to say or could possibly predict what would come next.
25
Three days had passed since the meeting with Abigail left us reeling. Each piece of information was a thousand-pound weight that seemed to press upon my chest as we navigated Eldwain’s ornate streets. Today was the day of King Alwyn's funeral, and the tension was palpable. The entire city seemed to be holding its breath.
As Chief Aryan, Ronan, Shiro, and I approached the palace, the gravity of the occasion was underscored by the opulence that greeted us. The palace was a magnificent structure, its towering spires and silver rooftops shimmering under the soft light of the morning sun. The architecture was a blend of elegance and fortitude, much like the half-fae themselves.
The air was thick with the scent of mourning; floral arrangements lined the pathway, their fragrances mingling with the crisp air. Nobility and dignitaries from across Asteria had gathered, their somber faces and whispered conversations adding to the solemn atmosphere.
When we entered the palace's vast hall, it was like stepping into another world. The ceiling arched high above, adorned with vibrant frescoes depicting Eldwain’s history. Glimmeringchandeliers soared high above, casting a gentle glow over the guests who were dressed in their finest, though muted, attire.
In the distance, amidst a sea of faces, I spotted my family. My father, supported by my mother, looked frail and pale. I wondered if my brother had given him the concoction with my blood yet. Marcellus stood close by, his expression one of quiet sorrow mixed with the burden of impending responsibilities.
Unable to push my way through the crowd without disturbing the ceremony's solemnity, I caught Marcellus's eye from afar and gave a small, reassuring wave. He nodded slightly and a ghost of a smile crossed his features.
My mother, elegant as ever, was clad in a flowing gown that belied the tension in her eyes. She held my father gently, guiding him with a care that seemed at odds with the secrets we had just unearthed about her. It was a jarring sight, the tenderness of her touch against the backdrop of the dark truths we now held.
As the ceremony began, the murmuring voices around us fell silent. The royal family of Eldwain stepped forward to pay their respects, their solemnity setting the tone for the rest of the gathering. They went in order of oldest to youngest, starting with Prince Cosmo and ending with Princess Avery. The king of Eldwain had sired a total of six children. His queen and concubines followed, a total of five wives. As they said their final goodbyes to King Alwyn, I wasn’t sure whether they were sad he was gone, or relieved. Their impassive expressions gave nothing away.
All of the king’s children were silver haired and dressed in white mourning attire, as was the custom of the fae. I watched Caelan, the fifth child and youngest male prince. It felt like an eternity had passed since I last saw him, when it was just two weeks ago. Although his father had just passed, I couldn’t quell the anger that bubbled within me at the sight of him.
Caelan, once my best friend and now my mortal enemy. How times had changed. If only we could go back to when we were innocent children.
After the royal family was seated, the ceremony unfolded with an orchestrated solemnity befitting a king. Elders in flowing robes lined up to offer their blessings, their voices echoing softly through the grand hall, their words a mix of ancient dialects and solemn vows for peace and guidance to the departed soul. Incense burned at the altar, sending spirals of fragrant smoke into the air, mingling with the muted whispers of the assembled crowd.
An elder from Ellyndor, draped in a silver and blue robe that shimmered under the chandelier's light, stepped forward to lead the service. His voice was clear and resonant as he began to speak, invoking the blessings of the gods.
“We gather here today under the watchful eyes of the gods to honor King Alwyn, a ruler who was as wise as he was just. His spirit now journeys to the Vale, where he will find peace in the great beyond,” he intoned, raising his hands towards the ornate stained glass that depicted the mythical Vale.
As the elder spoke, a procession of young maidens, each representing one of the provinces of Eldwain, approached the altar. This procession was followed by my mother, who cried uncontrollably as she supported my father. When it was their turn to pay their respects, they stepped forward. Her movements were graceful, yet there was a barely perceptible tremor in her steps—a hint of the strain under which she labored. She laid a wreath of white blossoms on the casket, her grief-stricken expression unbefitting of the Queen of Valoria.
Marcellus followed. His posture was rigid, his face an unreadable mask. His tribute was a beautifully crafted miniature sculpture of a fae stag, the emblem of Eldwain’s royal lineage. His gaze lingered on the casket for a moment longer thannecessary, his jaw set tight as if this was the last place he wanted to be.
After Eldwain’s closest neighbor Valoria had paid their respects, it was time for the remaining royal families of Asteria. They consisted of Mykal and Queen Sariyah of Keldara; the elders from Ellyndor; the governor from the Central Plains; and Chief Aryan, Ronan, Shiro, and me, representing the Crimson Clan. The elder called upon each of the noble families to step up, their tributes varying from heartfelt speeches to solemn promises of continued alliance and peace. The air was thick with the gravity of diplomacy and the unspoken tensions that such gatherings inevitably stirred.
