Chapter 7
Arrival at Aethelgar
"We have arrived at Aethelgar, Your Highness," Grendy announced as King Mathias's carriage slowed at the grand gates.
The towering white palace stood like a beacon in the heart of the valley, its walls shimmering in the golden light of dusk. Elegant towers stretched toward the sky, their facades adorned with intricate carvings of ancient kings and mythical creatures.
As they passed through the gates, the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle filled the air, carried on the evening breeze. Yet, beneath the beauty, tension brewed.
They had not come for leisure.
A woman was to be judged.
A suspected witch.
Rumors of dark magic had spread like wildfire through the kingdoms, and King Tommen, always one to maintain control, had summoned the rulers to witness her fate. The trial would test alliances, reveal loyalties, and-more than anything-serve as a warning.
But the court session was tomorrow. Tonight, was a different kind of game.
As their carriages stopped, only a few maids approached to greet them.
Lord Aiden scoffed. "For a king of Tommen's status, one would expect a grander welcome."
King Mathias shot him a warning look. "Mind your words."
One of the maids stepped forward. "Your Highness, your chambers are prepared. The court session begins tomorrow, but King Tommen extends his hospitality. Tonight, he invites you to a private gathering of kings."
Mathias nodded. "And the gifts we brought for the king?"
"The palace guards will tend to them," she assured, before motioning to two other maids carrying fine garments. "His Majesty has also provided you with attire for the evening. He prefers his guests to be dressed in his kingdom's finest while in his court."
Mathias barely concealed his distaste. A man who dictated what his guests should wear dictated much more than that.
Nonetheless, he allowed the maids to assist him. The fabric was rich-woven with golden embroidery, a symbol of Aethelgar's wealth. A silent display of power.
Once dressed, he was led through the grand halls toward the feast.
The Banquet
The grand hall was alive with music, laughter, and the scent of spiced wine. Golden chandeliers bathed the room in warm light as lords and kings gathered at the long banquet table.
King Tommen sat at the head, a knowing smirk on his face as he watched the subtle power plays unfold around him.
It didn't take long for the discussion to shift from pleasantries to politics.
"Your Highness, it would be an honor to host your birthday banquet," Lord Aric of Durnmere declared.
King Liam of House Payne leaned forward. "A banquet is not just a celebration. It is a declaration of loyalty. The host earns more than favor-they earn influence, alliances, and perhaps even your armies when the time comes."
Murmurs spread through the room.
King Mathias remained silent, watching the way Tommen let them fight for his favor. Then, finally, he spoke.
"And what does the king himself seek from this banquet?"
Tommen's smirk deepened. "An interesting question." He swirled his wine. "A king is only as strong as those who stand beside him. And I reward those who prove themselves worthy."
It was a test.
Whoever hosted the banquet would hold the king's ear-and, more importantly, his army.
Power had shifted tonight, and Mathias had no choice but to take note of it.
In the end, king Liam of House Payne was giving the honor.
----
Night had settled over the palace, but Elias was restless.
He moved through the corridors in silence, his pulse quickening with every step. He should not be doing this. Not after what had been said the last time.
And yet, he was here.
He reached the hidden chamber and pushed open the door.
Alistair stood by the window, the moonlight casting a silver glow over his bare skin. He turned at the sound of the door closing, his expression unreadable.
"You shouldn't be here," Alistair murmured.
Elias stepped forward. "And yet, I am."
The prince exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Elias, we cannot keep doing this."
Elias clenched his jaw. "Then tell me to stop."
Alistair opened his mouth-but no words came.
Elias took another step closer, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll walk away."
Silence.
Then, in a breath, Alistair's restraint shattered.
He crossed the space between them, grabbing Elias's face and crushing their lips together. It was a kiss filled with hunger and frustration, a desperate push and pull between what they wanted and what they feared.
Elias groaned into it, gripping Alistair's tunic, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed together, heat consuming them both.
Alistair pushed Elias back against the wall, his hands roaming over familiar skin. "This is dangerous," he whispered between kisses, his breath ragged.
Elias smirked, his fingers tightening around the prince's waist. "Since when do you care about danger?"
Alistair let out a low chuckle, but the humor faded as reality crept in.
Suddenly, he pulled back, his breathing heavy.
"We have to stop," Alistair said, though his hands still lingered on Elias's body.
Elias studied him. "Why? Because you're afraid?"
Alistair exhaled sharply. "Because I am a prince, and you are a knight. And knights are to be celibate."
Elias scoffed. "And who truly follows that rule?"
"This isn't a joke, Elias," Alistair said, voice harder now. "If we are discovered, you won't just be dismissed-you will be stripped of your titles, your honor. You could be exiled. Or worse."
Elias clenched his fists. "Then let's stop hiding. Let's-"
Alistair stepped away, shaking his head. "You know that's impossible."
Elias took a shaky breath, frustration burning in his chest. "I don't want to be a secret anymore."
Alistair turned to him, something breaking in his gaze.
"Then maybe we should stop."
The words cut deeper than Elias had expected.
Alistair swallowed hard, as if he didn't believe his own words. Then, before Elias could respond, he turned and left the room.
Leaving Elias alone in the dark.
------
The halls of Aethelgar's palace loomed high above Mathias, their stonework imposing, their shadows long. He had spent the afternoon entangled in tense discussions, words laced with hidden daggers, and now, he needed air. A moment of solitude.
Dismissing his escort at the entrance of a quieter corridor, he strode forward alone. The silence was welcome, but his thoughts remained restless. Why had Tommen truly summoned him? What game was unfolding beneath the surface?
Lost in his musings, he turned a corner-and collided with someone.
The impact was brief but firm, a figure brushing against him before swiftly stepping back. Mathias' hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword out of instinct, but the woman before him did not appear hostile.
She was middle-aged, cloaked in gray, her striking red hair catching the dim torchlight. There was something off about her-something he couldn't place.
"My apologies, Your Highness," she murmured, her tone low and controlled.
Mathias narrowed his eyes, but before he could respond, she moved. A step back, a quick pivot-her cloak swirling around her as she hurried down the corridor.
Mathias turned, his gaze fixed on her retreating figure. His first thought was to call after her, demand to know her name, but something in her haste, in the way she avoided his gaze, warned him against it.
By the time he had fully regained himself, she was gone-swallowed by the labyrinthine halls of Aethelgar as if she had never been there at all.
A slow unease settled in his chest.
Who was she? And why did it feel as though, in that brief collision, he had brushed against something far more dangerous than a mere stranger?