The parade finally slowed, hooves clattering against the marble in a deliberate, ceremonial rhythm until it came to a halt before the Grand Entrance.
The gates themselves were a vision — draped in garlands of white lilies and pale roses, their fragrance carried on the faint summer breeze. The silken banners above shimmered in muted ivory and silver, a palette chosen not for ostentation, but for elegance that whispered rather than shouted.
Beneath the archway, Thorne Rothermere stood at the head for the welcoming. His posture was immaculate — back straight, hands folded behind him — but the faint crease between his brows betrayed the patience wearing thin beneath his composed exterior. Behind him, a line of uniformed soldiers held formation, their polished breastplates catching the light, while maids in soft blue dresses stood ready to greet.
As Sylus dismounted, Thorne stepped forward with a courtly bow.
"Your Highness," he said, his voice deep and measured. "On behalf of House Rothermere and the Imperial Duchy, I welcome you to the city."
Sylus returned the bow with the effortless grace of one accustomed to adoration.
"The honor is mine, Lord Rothermere," he replied, his smile perfectly pitched for the crowd that still strained to watch from beyond the gates. "I trust the road to the palace will be as warm in spirit as this welcome."
Thorne's lips twitched — not quite a smile, not quite a smirk.
"Warm indeed," he said. "Though we have spared no effort to ensure it is also… orderly."
One of the maids behind Thorne stifled a giggle before quickly lowering her gaze. Sylus's eyes flicked toward her with a glint that could have been amusement… or calculation.
From the side, Sir Lance muttered under his breath, "Orderly is one word for it."
Sylus extended his hand for a shake, and Thorne took it with the practiced firmness of a man who could crush bone if etiquette allowed.
"Well then," Thorne said, releasing the grip. "The Duke awaits you in the Great Hall. If you will follow me."
"Lead the way," Sylus replied, stepping forward as the garlands above swayed gently — white petals beginning to fall like a slow, silent snow.
The white stallion was led away by a stablehand, its silver-plated tack gleaming like captured moonlight. The rest of the Orban escort fell in behind their prince A sharp well built figure with crimson visuals, their boots moving in perfect unison, the steady cadence of their march echoing off the high walls of the courtyard.
From among them, the crimson Prince emerged forward — the Orban Empire's representative envoy. A tall man in a dark, high-collared coat embroidered with the empire's crest, his presence was far less flamboyant than Sylus's, yet somehow heavier, as though he carried the weight of treaties and border lines in the folds of his cloak. His eyes, sharp as cut ruby, swept the entrance before inclining his head toward Thorne.
"Lord Rothermere," he said in a voice low enough to be polite, yet carrying a resonance that made nearby soldiers straighten. "The Emperor sends his regards."
"And the Duchy returns them," Thorne replied, his tone as level as still water. "We are honored by the Orban Empire's presence on this day."
Second Prince Sylus glanced sideways at the envoy Prince,
Second Prince Sylus glanced sideways at the envoy prince, a fleeting flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes — not quite irritation, not quite wariness. It was the look of a man forced to share his stage with someone who stubbornly refused to fade into the backdrop.
"Prince Kaelen," Sylus said smoothly, his voice touched with the kind of warmth one uses for a cousin they only see at political funerals. "I trust your journey was… efficient."
Kaelen, the Crimson Prince of Orban, inclined his head ever so slightly. "Uneventful. Efficiency is a virtue, though I imagine you prefer… spectacle." His gaze slid toward the cheering crowd at the gates before returning to Thorne. "It seems your city does, too."
Sir Lance, walking just close enough to hear, very nearly choked on a laugh. He hid it behind a cough and a tug at his collar.
Thorne's eyes, cool and assessing, flicked between the two princes. "Well," he said with a faintly amused edge, "whether by efficiency or spectacle, you are both here now — and the Duke will wish to speak with you at once."
The group began to move toward the palace steps. The garlands above swayed in the breeze, releasing a fresh drift of white petals that floated down between Sylus's polished armor and Kaelen's crimson-trimmed coat — like snow falling between two different seasons.
As they ascended, the crowd's cheers gradually softened into the murmur of nobles gathered under the great arch. There were sidelong glances, whispered speculations, the rustle of silk and the glint of jewels as the court strained to read the unspoken dynamic between the princes.
Sylus, all gleaming charm, offered polite nods left and right, as though every onlooker were an old friend. Kaelen kept his eyes forward, expression carved from stone, acknowledging no one unless formality demanded it.
When they reached the massive bronze doors, the herald stepped forward, his voice ringing out:
"His Highness, Second Prince Sylus ! AND–His Highness, Crimson Prince Kaelen Orban of the Orban Empire, envoy of the Imperial Court!"
The Great Hall erupted into applause — and more than a little curiosity.
Every and each noble from Aurelvania Empire eyed the coming Prince and the envoy prince and subordinates .
Sylus leaned slightly toward Kaelen without looking at him. "After you," he said, as if offering the stage.
Kaelen stepped forward without hesitation. "I thought you'd never ask."
And, they crossed into the hall where the real contest was waiting.
A pile of time passed, just a few. Duke spoked to Prince Sylus and Prince Kaelen .
Whispers grew. The ballroom young ladies in pretty dresses locked their eyes on both the country's and foreign Princes.
The Duke Hysenberg, a broad-shouldered man with silver threading through his Glaciem hair, addressed them from the dais with the deliberate cadence of one who understood the weight of every syllable.
"Your Highnesses," he began, his deep voice carrying to every gilded corner of the Great Hall. "It is an honor for our Duchy to host both the blood of our Empire and the envoy of a power across the sea."
Sylus bowed just enough to respect the occasion, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Aurelvania Empire 's welcome is as gracious as its reputation, Your Grace."
Kaelen's bow was shallower, precise, and utterly without flourish. "The Orban Empire values this meeting, Duke Rothermere. Our Emperor expects that this exchange will strengthen bonds… or at the very least, clarify them."
A subtle murmur rippled through the crowd at that.
From the balcony above, young ladies leaned over marble balustrades, their jeweled hairpins catching the light. Some smiled shyly toward Sylus — the blue-haired charmer — while others lingered on Kaelen, whose stoic air seemed to promise mystery rather than mirth.
Lady Mirielle of House Draven whispered to her cousin, "His Highness Sylus smiles like he's about to write you a love letter. The other one… EnvoyPrince? He looks like he's already read yours and burned it."
They say Prince kaelen is the only straight person biologically In Orban Kingdom making him the odd one of all.
The Duke raised a hand, and the room quieted. "Tonight," he declared, "we dine and celebrate both, the debut of Holy daughters and welcome party . Tomorrow, we speak of alliances." His gaze slid between the two princes like a blade across silk. "I trust both of you understand the value of… patience."
"Your Highness Prince Sylus hope you had discussed this more with your father ,his Majesty the Emperor. "
Sylus inclined his head, all graciousness.
"Of course Duke Rothermere."
Kaelen's lips curved — barely — in what might have been the shadow of a smirk. "When warranted."
The musicians struck up a low, graceful melody as the court began to move toward the banquet tables. Gold light spilled from chandeliers, pooling over dishes of roasted pheasant, fresh figs, and crystal goblets brimming with deep red wine.
Sylus, effortlessly weaving between groups, greeted nobles as though each one were an ally worth cultivating. Kaelen walked the perimeter with deliberate slowness, his eyes taking in the placement of guards, the exits, the subtle clusters of whispering courtiers.
Somewhere near the far corner, the faintest glimmer of movement caught Kaelen's attention — a figure half-shadowed by a column, watching him with the stillness of a predator.
Sylus noticed the same figure a heartbeat later. His smile did not falter, but his step slowed just slightly.
Whatever game had begun on the marble steps outside was about to be played in earnest — and not just between the two princes.