The great marble doors of the throne hall parted with ceremony as the Court of Ardan gathered within. Sunlight poured through the stained-glass dome above, casting colored light across the polished floor.
The air buzzed with quiet expectation.
King Valien sat at the head of the hall, his golden crown resting lightly atop silver-streaked hair. Beside him, Queen Elendra observed the proceedings with measured calm. The rest of the royal family stood arrayed on either side of the hall—Kael, Maleus, Rhalia, Vaela, Elion, Astrid, and their spouses, all dressed in court regalia.
Only one member was missing.
Rythe.
A murmur swept through the hall as the herald struck his staff and announced in clear tones:
"His Highness, Prince Kaedor of Calatheas, representative of Virelia in the royal alliance!"
Kaedor entered alone, without excessive fanfare. He was tall and composed, clad in deep navy and silver—Calathean colors. Every step carried quiet confidence, every line of his figure controlled and elegant. A thin ceremonial blade rested at his hip, but it was the faint mark of the Virelian crest on his shoulder that drew the eye.
He bowed with the precision of someone raised in court.
"Your Majesty," he greeted. "I come on behalf of the High Crown of Virelia, to honor the alliance between two nations."
King Valien inclined his head. "Prince Kaedor. Your presence honors us. You will, of course, be given quarters within the palace for the duration of your stay."
But Kaedor straightened with a calm smile and spoke without hesitation:
"I thank you, Your Majesty, but I will not be staying in the palace."
A beat of silence followed. The court stilled.
"Instead," Kaedor said, turning his gaze directly to Aurean, who stood among the gathered nobles, "I will be residing at Lord Aurean's estate, with his permission."
All eyes shifted sharply to Aurean.
Even the King paused, turning subtly to gauge his reaction.
Aurean's silver eyes betrayed no emotion, only a faint raise of his chin.
"He is welcome," Aurean said simply.
A brief flicker of something unreadable passed through Astrid's expression. Her gaze shifted to Kael, who glanced back at Maleus. The siblings said nothing aloud, but the question hung between them.
The sun hung low, casting a warm golden hue across the freshly restored garden in Rythe's wing—a part of the palace left unused for months, yet now meticulously refurbished, as if in silent anticipation of its master's return.
Gathered among the lush flora and flowering vines were the royal siblings of Ardan and their spouses, seated on stone benches and lounging on cushions arranged in a half circle. Despite the laughter of birds in the trees and the calming scent of roses, a subdued tension lingered in the air.
It had been three months since anyone had seen or heard from Rythe.
No reports from the guards.
No letters.
No trace.
They weren't panicked. Not exactly. This was Rythe, after all.
But curiosity gnawed at each of them.
"Three months," Rhalia murmured, sipping her tea. "Even for Rythe, that's excessive."
"He's not dead," Kael said flatly. "We'd know."
"Obviously," Vaela added. "But still. A word wouldn't have killed him."
"Unless he's sulking," Elion mused aloud. "In which case, we might never hear from him again."
Before anyone could respond, Lareth appeared, his stride brisk and posture alert.
He bowed lightly. "My lords, ladies—Lord Aurean and Prince Kaedor are on their way."
Just as the words left his mouth, the two entered through the garden arch—Aurean, resplendent in black and silver, his usual cold elegance unmarred by duty, and Prince Kaedor, calm and dignified, following beside him like a shadow cut from a Virelian star.
Without ceremony, Aurean joined the circle, settling into one of the empty seats without waiting to be invited. Kaedor remained standing at his side.
"You all know," Aurean began, "that I was recently in Virelia. What you don't know is that Rythe made a request before I returned—he asked for Omega Blades to be forged and delivered to Ardan."
That silenced them.
He continued, "Kaedor has honored that request. But Rythe…" He paused, gaze scanning their faces. "Rythe is nowhere to be found."
A wave of glances passed between the siblings.
"You're saying he ordered them?" Rhalia asked.
Maleus frowned.
"Yes," Aurean replied.
There was a beat of silence before Elion shrugged and said, "Well, he's not here. So we keep the blades. Wait for him to reappear."
The others nodded.
"That's reasonable," Kael agreed.
Kaedor, however, stepped forward slightly. "The blades should be tested," he said in that composed Calathean cadence.
"No," Astrid said instantly, her voice firm. "Rythe asked for them. He had a reason. Until he returns, they shouldn't be touched."
"Agreed," said Vaela, unusually serious. "We wait."
Just then, Mira, one of the omega knights, hurried into the garden, her usual poise visibly shaken. She bowed low.
"Forgive the interruption," she said. "But… a lady is at the gates. She is requesting to see Prince Rythe."
The air shifted.
"A lady?" Dain asked. "What lady?"
Mira hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "She did not give her name. Only said she seeks an audience with Prince Rythe and requests permission to enter."
All eyes turned to each other, then to Lareth, who frowned and shook his head.
"I know nothing about this."
"Could it be a spy?" Kael asked cautiously.
"Or someone from Rythe's mission?" Rhalia ventured, though her brow furrowed.
Serin, who had been quiet until now, turned to Mira with a gentle smile and said, "Let her in. We'll see who she is."
Mira bowed and swiftly departed, leaving behind a silence loaded with tension.
The royal siblings exchanged another round of glances—none of them truly knowing what to expect.
And from somewhere, perhaps beneath the surface of their thoughts, the same unspoken question emerged:
Where was Rythe?
The woman who entered was young—no more than twenty—with dark copper skin kissed by sun and sea, her hair woven in intricate braids that shimmered like onyx threads under the garden light. She wore the travel-worn cloak of someone who had come a long way and bore herself with a calm, composed dignity that felt… otherworldly.
She stepped forward and bowed low, hands clasped respectfully before her.
"My name is Ilessa Dareth," she said clearly, her voice smooth and light, yet carrying a foreign lilt none of them could quite place. "I come bearing a message for Prince Rythe of Ardan."
The garden fell silent.
The royal siblings stared—first at one another, then at Aurean, who returned their looks with a flicker of restrained curiosity. Even Prince Kaedor tilted his head, watching the girl closely.
"I'm afraid Rythe is not here," Dain said, stepping forward gently but firmly. "You've come a long way, but he's been gone for some time now."
Ilessa looked at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing—not in suspicion, but almost like she were sensing something beyond what had been said. Her lips parted, as though to speak again—
When suddenly, a commotion stirred near the back entrance of the garden. Cale, rushed in, breathless, his eyes wide as he panted:
"He's back. Prince Rythe—he's back."
They all turned at once.
And then, Rythe stepped into view.
He looked… wrecked.
Tired. Worn. Bandaged. His usually pristine bearing was dulled by travel and recent wounds, but his gaze remained sharp and unreadable. Scars—some old, some newly earned—peeked from beneath his open collar. The moment he saw them gathered—especially Aurean, then Kaedor—his eyes flickered with mild surprise.
But then his gaze locked onto the girl.
He froze.
"…What are you doing here?" Rythe asked, voice low with surprise, a rare crack of vulnerability slicing through the iron of his composure.
Ilessa bowed low again—this time in a much older, more formal manner. As she rose, she spoke not in the common tongue, but in a language none of the siblings recognized—its cadence rich, rhythmic, almost melodic.
The moment she finished, Rythe's expression darkened, unreadable, but not unfeeling.
"Ilessa," he muttered.
She stepped forward and drew a sealed parchment from the folds of her robe.
"It's from my father," she said quietly.
Rythe didn't open it. He merely took it, fingers brushing the edge of the paper, then slid it into his pocket with a sigh.
"Thank you," he said.
Ilessa bowed once more and, without waiting to be dismissed, turned and left the way she had come—her steps as silent as shadows on stone.
No one spoke.
Not until the garden gate shut gently behind her.
Astrid broke the silence, her brows furrowed. "What in the stars was that language?"
"A dialect older than the founding of Virelia," Kaedor said, visibly intrigued. "I haven't heard it spoken in a century."
"She bowed to him like a priestess greeting a king," Rhalia added.
But Rythe ignored all of them. He walked forward and dropped into one of the chairs, wincing as his wounds made themselves known again. Only then did he look at them properly—his family, Aurean, Kaedor—his face unreadable.
"Why do I get the feeling I've walked into a meeting about me?" he muttered dryly.