The gates of the royal capital towered above Damian's team, taller and broader than any structure they had seen before. The walls shimmered faintly with runes etched deep into the stone, glowing a pale silver in the sunlight. Soldiers in pristine armor stood watch, spears gleaming, their stances rigid and disciplined.
Rowan tilted his head back, whistling low. "Now that's what I call a wall. Must be five stories high at least."
Elara smirked, her violet eyes scanning the runes. "Mages did most of the work. Probably took them less than a year. Still, impressive for nobles who spend half their time sitting on cushions."
Damian said nothing, his expression calm but eyes sharp. He shifted the strap of his travel-worn cloak, the hilts of his dual blades glinting faintly at his sides while the weight of his longsword rested firmly across his back. Unlike other adventurers, he had no pocket dimension or enchanted storage ring. Every weapon he carried was tied and secured the old-fashioned way, steel weighing down his body like a constant reminder.
The knights stationed at the gate stepped forward. "Halt! Identify yourselves."
The escort who had accompanied them from Hartstead stepped ahead. "These are the adventurers who felled the Wyvern Lord. By order of His Majesty, King Aldros, they are invited to the royal banquet."
A murmur rippled through the guards. Their gazes flickered briefly toward Damian. Recognition. Curiosity. A touch of unease.
The gates groaned open. The team entered.
The royal capital was alive with color. Stone streets wound between towering manors of white marble and red brick, fountains spilled crystal-clear water, and banners bearing the royal crest fluttered proudly above shops and taverns. Music from street performers filled the air, blending with the chatter of merchants and nobles alike.
Rowan inhaled deeply. "Gods, even the air smells richer here."
Elara snorted. "That's not richness. That's perfume, incense, and nobles trying to hide the stench of their lies."
Damian's gaze swept the streets, cataloging every detail. The city was beautiful, yes but beneath its surface, he saw the patterns. Guards stationed every fifty meters. Arcane wards layered across rooftops. Civilians too well-dressed, suggesting wealth unevenly distributed.
[Observation: Royal capital defenses highly organized. Probability of surveillance high.]
They passed through bustling districts before arriving at the towering gates of the royal palace. The castle rose high against the skyline, its white spires cutting into the clouds. Soldiers bowed as they entered, and attendants guided them into lavish guest chambers to prepare for the evening's feast.
By nightfall, the banquet hall blazed with light. Hundreds of candles shimmered in crystal chandeliers, golden glow spilling across polished marble floors. Tables heavy with food stretched across the hall roast boar, platters of fruits, goblets filled with fine red wine. Nobles in silken gowns and tailored coats moved in clusters, whispering behind jeweled fans as they cast sidelong glances at the newcomers.
Rowan had already secured a goblet and was drinking with unrestrained enthusiasm. "By the gods, this is good! None of that watered-down ale back in the village!"
Elara was nowhere near the food she was busy walking circles through the crowd, her nimble fingers already lifting a few careless nobles' coin purses.
Damian stood apart. Dressed in a dark,black suit (blazzer) and white shirt with black tie with black pant and black ankle long shoes made by this magic, he blended in without gaudy jewels or flashy embroidery. Yet it was precisely his simplicity, paired with his tall, sharp presence, that drew the eyes of half the room.
He ignored them, sipping quietly from his glass.
Then the herald's voice boomed: "His Majesty, King Aldros the Third!"
The crowd stilled. The King entered, clad in regal robes trimmed with gold. His hair was graying at the edges, but his stride was firm, and his gaze cold and piercing swept across the room before settling firmly on Damian.
"Heroes of Hartstead," the King's voice rang, "your courage has delivered this kingdom from disaster. Tonight, we honor you."
Applause filled the hall. Rowan puffed out his chest, grinning. Elara raised her glass lazily. Damian inclined his head in acknowledgment but did not bow. The King's eyes narrowed briefly.
[Analysis: King Aldros—testing boundaries. Probability of suspicion toward me: 72%.]
The feast began. Nobles swarmed Rowan with laughter and toasts. Elara entertained curious merchants while slipping jewelry into hidden pockets. Damian, however, remained alone by a pillar, listening, observing, calculating.
That was when he felt it. A different gaze. Not hostile. Not envious. Curious. Intrigued.
He turned.
Across the hall, she stood among a cluster of nobles. Her hair was long, silken, and white as fresh-fallen snow, cascading down her back in a shimmer of silver. A gown of pale blue hugged her elegant frame, each step as graceful as drifting snowflakes. But it was her eyes clear, piercing, and the faintest shade of ice-blue that held him.
For a moment, the noise of the banquet dimmed. Their gazes locked. She smiled softly.
Damian blinked, quickly turning away. Yet even as he sipped from his goblet, the weight of her attention remained.
Elara appeared at his side with a sly grin. "Ohhh, caught you. Someone's staring."
Rowan, overhearing, burst out laughing. "Hah! About time someone noticed the stone wall you call a face!"
Damian's jaw tightened. "Not interested."
[Internal Alert: Heart rate elevated. Probability of suppressed attraction: 63%.]
He muttered, "Shut it," more to himself than to them.
Moments later, the girl excused herself from her group and walked directly toward him. Nobles' whispers spread like wildfire.
"Lady Selene…" someone murmured.
She stopped before Damian, bowing her head slightly. Her voice was calm, melodic, refined. "You must be Damian Arkwright. The slayer of the Wyvern Lord."
Damian met her eyes evenly. "And you are?"
"Selene Valoria," she replied with a smile. "Daughter of Duke Valoria. I wished to thank you personally for your deeds. Without your strength, the kingdom would be mourning far more than a single village."
"I only did what was necessary," Damian said simply.
Her eyes studied him, curious and unreadable. "A modest answer. But modesty cannot hide what sets you apart."
Around them, whispers grew louder. Some nobles frowned. Others watched intently.
Elara leaned on the wall, smirking. "Hooked. Completely hooked."
Rowan grinned, raising his goblet. "I'll drink to that."
Selene ignored the murmurs and extended her hand toward Damian. "Would you walk with me? The banquet can be overwhelming at times."
For the briefest second, Damian hesitated. His instincts screamed caution. His logic warned of entanglement. Yet his hand moved, almost on its own, brushing hers as he replied, "Very well."
The hall seemed to buzz louder at that small gesture.
As they walked toward the balcony, Selene's voice softened. "Many here look at you with suspicion. They fear what they don't understand. But I…" She paused, her blue eyes catching the moonlight. "…I only see someone who carries a weight few could bear."
Damian remained silent, the night air cool against his face.
[Warning: New variable introduced. Probability of future entanglement: 78%.]
Deep within, he muttered to himself: Not now. Not yet.
But the seed had been planted.
The King's eyes had followed him all evening. The nobles whispered behind fans. And now, the Duke's daughter had stepped into his path.
The banquet was only the beginning.