The throne room of Veridelle opened toward the cliffs, a balcony carved from the mountain overlooking the vast sea. Large windows overlooking both sea and Veridelle itself. The waves below shattered against jagged rocks almost musically. Morning sunlight flooded the chamber, readying the day to come.
King Sol lounged there, comfortable and busy. Bronze skin, golden hair falling carelessly around a face too relaxed for a ruler of any country, Let alone one that just kidnapped a queen from an allied kingdom. Sea-bright eyes skimmed a parchment filled with reports from a northern kingdom, his jaw working lazily as he bit into a native Veridelle fruit, the Guttapira fruit was round, mottled green and red, its sweet flesh bursting against the sour crack of seeds between his teeth. He ate it like an apple, unbothered by the mess, savoring each bite.
Guards stood nearby, armor gleaming. Their posture was looser than Eldorian soldiers, yet there was no mistaking the strength of each one.
An attendant approached, bowing deeply.
"My king," they said, presenting a sealed letter delivered by a gryphling courier—a mid sized winged creature bred in Veridelle for long-distance messages, it was sent as a gift over the years meant for easy message delivery between the nations. Eldoria's crest gleamed in indigo coloured wax.
Sol tilted his head, a tired smile touching his lips."Faster than I thought," he murmured.
He broke the seal. His eyes skimmed Tirian's message — cold, precise, and edged with threat.
Pray your gods you have a reason for this breach. Sol exhaled slowly, brushing hair from his face.
"Does he... already grown to care for the chosen maiden?" he muttered, surprise flickering beneath his calm. "Well… that will make things interesting."
He tapped the parchment thoughtfully against his knee. If Tirian's anger came from attachment rather than pride, perhaps this meeting wouldn't end in blood.
"Still," he sighed under his breath, "an angry king is the last guest I enjoy having here... Especially if it's dear old frown face."
He set the letter aside and glanced toward a soldier. "When will the queen arrive?"
"They've boarded the Aetherion already, my lord. Should be only moments away."
Sol rose in one fluid motion. When he walked his open robe would flow smoothly with each step. He was known as one of the most beautiful men blessed beauty itself. He knows, however hardly cares to brag.
The corridors of Veridelle stretched long and luminous, luxury woven into every measured line. Nothing felt excessive; beauty here was disciplined, precise. When Sol stepped into the Spring Room, it unfolded like a living painting. Fountains trickling along the walls, clear water spilling into shallow pools that caught the light, while sheer fabrics softened the tall windows and cushioned seats invited ease without sacrificing dignity. A masterfully crafted marble table in the centre of the chamber, its polished stone glowing warm beneath the sun.
Sol lowered himself onto a pillow, the cool fabric settling against his back as naturally as a familiar cloak. "Prepare refreshments for our new guests," he told a passing maid. She bowed and hurried away just as a knock echoed through the main doors.
"Enter," he called, voice easy but unmistakably commanding.
The doors opened to reveal Orielle surrounded by a ring of knights. They stepped aside at once, bowing deeply to their king.
Sol's gaze landed on her—
—and for the briefest moment, he forgot the room.
By the gods…
"Well, damn me," he said before he could stop himself, a grin tugging free. "I didn't expect the Maiden of Light to be prettier than me. You're a sight that might make even the sea jealous."
Orielle bowed with precise grace. "I, Queen Orielle of Eldoria, greet King Sol of Veridelle," she said evenly. "Though I imagined a gentleman before this ordeal… you've proven I stand corrected."
Her tone was calm. Her eyes were not, she didn't hesitate to stare daggers straight at him, causing Sol to be a little surprised.
Sol laughed, loud, but warm despite the tone of the queen. How brazen! he thought to himself.
"I see why Tirian is storming across the ocean... and with a rather aggressive letter at too" he chuckled, rising to return her bow, but respectful, not mocking at all.
Then he tilted his head, curiosity glinting. "A queen without even a drop of noble blood," he said lightly. "And feels bold enough to introduce herself with an underlining sharp comment."
Orielle hiccupped softly, embarrassment breaking through her composure. She lowered her gaze, clearly regretting letting irritation show.
Sol's expression softened.
"I'm not mocking you oh holy one," he said, reaching gently for her hand. "Bloodlines mean little compared to someone chosen by the gods." He pressed her hand against his forehead, a sign of respect to someone higher than you in Veridelle.
She looked up, surprised.
"You stepped into a crown with no lineage to shield you," he continued, voice warm. "And you face me like this? That's not shame. That's courage, and understanding your place."
Color crept into her cheeks. She tugged her hand back, but Sol held it just long enough to cause Orielle's cheek's to flush even more, before releasing her.
She withdrew quickly, posture stiff.
Adorable, he thought, hiding his amusement.
"You've endured much," he said, gesturing toward a seat, as he flopped down himself, his robe flowing like silk as it sprawled all around him. "Please. Sit. I imagine you have questions…"
Orielle hesitated before lowering herself into the chair, movements controlled and guarded. Knights shifted around the room, taking their places with trained familiarity.
Sol leaned forward slightly, his relaxed posture shifting into something more deliberate, more sincere. "You've heard the Holy Circle's prophecy," he said, voice low but steady. "But Veridelle received a different truth."
Orielle let out a quiet, frustrated breath, her shoulders stiff. "Your knight already told me," she muttered, unease flickering across her face. "And it changes nothing. Even if the Circle is using me… I'm not leaving Tirian."
Sol studied her for a moment, then reached for a scroll resting on the table. "Do you even know how they intend to use you," he asked gently, "that you can say that with such certainty?"
Her fingers curled tightly together. Tears threatened at the edges of her eyes, but she swallowed them down, refusing to look weak.
Without pressing further, Sol unrolled the parchment. The ink shimmered faintly as he read aloud, his voice carrying through the quiet room.
"From mortal womb and divine spark shall she rise —The Maiden not of their choosing, but of Fate's decree.Beware the hands that call themselves holy, For they seek her fall to shield their pride.Guard her, oh mortal children of thy, For through her shall the darkness break, And the true light shall reign."
He lowered the scroll, gaze steady. "That is the True Veil's prophecy. We didn't take you to harm you, your majesty. We took you because our gods warned us that you were in danger. Why else would they command us to guard you?"
Orielle's lips parted slightly. Doubt flickered behind her eyes, but she said nothing, her hands tightening in her lap.
Sol leaned back, his tone softening. "The Circle claims your union with Tirian was to bring back their favour after his sin. But they leave out what came before it… and what they forced him to do-"
"It wasn't his choice!" Orielle's voice cut through the room, louder than anyone expected. The knights shifted subtly, surprised. "I know what they made him do," she continued, the strength draining from her words as grief crept in. "I know what it cost him… and that he's still paying for his father's sin! It wasn't his... he was not the one at fault."
Sol blinked, genuine surprise crossing his face. He told her? The thought lingered. Tirian had never been one to share wounds so openly. A faint, thoughtful smile touched Sol's lips as he rested his chin against his hand.
"I see," he said quietly. Then his gaze sharpened. "Then let me ask you something… What if he never had to kill them in the first place?"
Orielle looked up sharply. "What? No… that's—" The protest faltered, confusion overtaking anger.
Sol continued gently, choosing his words with care. "What if the 'sin' of Tirian's father wasn't a sin at all? What if his crime was simply wanting Eldoria to stand without the Holy Circle's chains — to allow other gods to be worshipped, to bring balance instead of dependence?"
She didn't answer, but her silence was no doubt confusion and pain mixed together.
"We've gathered accounts from priests beyond the Circle's influence," Sol said. "The previous king sought independence, a kingdom that could survive without begging favor from a single pantheon. The Circle didn't like that. They withdrew their blessing, cursed the land, and reshaped the story until even Eldoria's priest believed it deserved punishment. Of course... the kingdom is unaware of even that. "
His voice lowered further.
"And then… they involved you. That is the part we do not fully understand. The True Veil believes they feared you, feared what you might become. They couldn't move against you directly without losing too much of their divinity, so they altered the prophecy instead. A false path. One that placed you beside a cursed king… hoping he would end your life for them."
Orielle's breath caught, her gaze dropping to the floor.
"But... Tirian doesn't seem to want to harm you at all," Sol added softly. "And that changed everything. Perhaps they wanted to use your power for their own benefit then."
He folded the scroll slowly. "Our gods believe the curse strangling Eldoria isn't justice — it's control. This darkness, is mentioned in both prophecies... Veridelle believes it's the control Eldoria has over their people... You… you were never meant to die to fix it. You were meant to expose it."
Silence settled between them, heavy and fragile.
"The True Veil doesn't want you bound to a fate chosen by others," Sol said at last. "Tirian fulfilled the Circle's will, and it nearly broke him. He carries a crown he never wanted, a life carved by their demands, but he doesn't know, and had no choice in the matter because of his position. We brought you here so you could choose your own path… not walk blindly toward a sacrifice written for you."
Orielle sat rigid, her expression impossible to read now. The fountains soft in the background as Sol watched her, searching for any sign of what she felt.
I can't read her at all, he thought, a flicker of uncertainty beneath his calm. Will she cling to what she knows… or let herself question it?