Page 15 of Legacy of the Heirs
“What problems do you come across?”
“Occasional disputes arise about the price of wood, but I can do little about that. Garridon has always set the trading prices,” he explained. “Other than that, the issues are trivial, like bickering between children.” He laughed.
“There are other children?” Zarya mumbled, still half asleep. Larelle stroked her daughter’s hair, careful to avoid the tiara. Zarya rarely wore it, but as this was their first visit since the coronation, Larelle thought it sensible.
“I’m sure all the children will want to play with you, Zarya,” Alvan said, yet the princess said nothing else, having fallen asleep again.
“She will be up all evening now, no doubt,” said Larelle.
“I’m sure the evening festivities will tire her enough.”
“Festivities?”
“Surely you did not think I would host you in my home without a proper welcome and celebration?” Alvan raised a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. Larelle rolled her eyes.
“You know I do not need such things.”
“You may notneedthem,” he said as the small, stately home appeared in the distance, “but you deserve them.” Larelle glanced away, rubbing her arm with a frown at the sudden flickering in her chest at Alvan’s words. She switched her focus to the approaching home.
Alvan was right: Seley was a humble, quaint town, which, at a distance, reminded Larelle of the small villages sketched in Zarya’s storybooks. It was a comforting place, offering slower days than the hustle and bustle in Mera or The Bay. As they drew closer, the stamps of the two realms were evident. While some homes were crafted with Nerida’s pale bricks, others were built from wooden beams with thatched roofs, a typical feature of Garridon. She did not know which she preferred, and despite their stark differences, it worked. The stately home was equally mismatched like a brickcastle and wooden lodge melded together. Pain bloomed in Larelle’s chest as they drew closer. She realised its odd architecture was not purposeful but a result of its reconstruction after the fire.
While the ash had been washed from the stone building, the remainders of the tragedy remained where the bricks joined the newer, wooden stature of the home. It was unique, though, and there was beauty in uniqueness.
***
Everything in Alvan’s home was unique, including the hall in which they now sat as they enjoyed the music and laughed alongside the people of Seley. The hall was like nowhere she had dined before. The wing was closest to the edge of Garridon’s Hystone Forest, a canopy of trees shielding the revellers in place of a wooden rooftop. She wondered if they dined here during the colder months or if perhaps they knew of a distant relative to the Nerida royal line who could control the rain and keep it from falling.
Instead of lines and rows of tables, the carved wooden slabs formed a circular shape around a fountain in the centre of the hall. If one peered into the room from the branches of the trees above, it would appear like the ageing rings in a tree stump. Sitting this way created a feeling of togetherness, one Larelle wished to emulate back in Mera.
Alvan’s grin was wide as he introduced Larelle to his friends, who embraced him upon his return. She met Mari and Zedon, a couple he had grown up with as children, Riordan, who owned the tavern on Garridon’s side of Seley, and Nathaniel, who led the few guards on the estate. Each recited many entertaining stories of their late nights at the tavern together. As the laughter ebbed, with many turning in for the evening, Larelle kissed her daughter goodnight as Lillian took her to her chambers.
After bidding farewell to his friends, Alvan leaned down fromwhere he stood behind Larelle and offered his arm. “I have somewhere to show you.”
She froze. She did not expect her sudden hesitation. After all, it was normal for a lord to escort their queen. Larelle broke their gaze yet looped her arm through his, the silk of her ivory gown catching against the deep blue velvet of his jacket.
“Do you require our attendance, Your Majesty?” asked one of her guards as they reached the hall doors. Larelle shook her head politely.
“I will be okay with Lord Alvan. Please stand by the princess’s room in the meantime.” The guard bowed before exiting ahead of Larelle and Alvan. An unusual silence lingered between the pair as he escorted her from the hall.
They did not journey far. They turned down a short stone corridor housing immense open doors to the library on one side and large windows offering a view into the hall on the other. Turning the final corner, they reached a dead end, where only a locked door resided. Alvan loosened his arm from her grip to pull a set of keys from his inside pocket.This is a secret place,Larelle realised, somewhere just for him.
“I hope you do not mind all the stairs.” Alvan smiled. It was nearly pitch black, except for the occasional lantern. The chill night air brushed against Larelle as they rounded the final steps. She could not help but gasp as she gazed at the view before them. The turret took them to a platform amongst the top of the canopies, placing the pair above the tree line. If it had been sunrise, she expected the rooftops of her castle would be clear across the horizon. She did not care for that now, though, enamoured instead by the view of Hystone Forest. It was not pitch-black like she expected. Thousands of yellow lights floated among the leaves and stretched across the horizon, a blanket of golden stars reflecting the night sky.
“Fireflies,” Alvan murmured, leaning onto the wooden railing inches from Larelle’s side.
“It is breathtaking,” she breathed.
“Indeed.” Larelle turned her head to find him watching her with a soft smile on his lips, the light of the nearby fireflies illuminating the sparkle in his eyes. Larelle blushed and looked back at the view. She wriggled her fingers as one of the small creatures landed on her skin.
“I sensed there was more you wished to discuss after last night,” Alvan prompted, and Larelle lowered her head, her curls falling to mask her expression. Her heart skipped as he reached out, tucking the hair behind her ear.
“You can tell me,” he said.
Larelle looked up then, her face inches from his. He dropped his hand, brushing it against the silk of her sleeves as he stepped back and cleared his throat.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, facing the view once more. She straightened. “There was something else—something the Historian told me.” She searched for any doubt—any reason not to tell him—but felt only unwavering trust for the man beside her. “He visited me; that is why I left the meeting.”
“He came to the castle?” Alvan asked. “He never leaves the Neutral City.” Larelle hummed her agreement.
