ARTIZEA
THE FESTIVAL DREW TO ITS PEAK. Eric led Artizea to a quiet hill above, overlooking the city. The view from the hill was breathtaking.
Artizea sat cross-legged on the grass, the lantern resting between her and Eric, along with a small set of paints and brushes, lay scattered around them. Her brush moved with precision, yellow and red strokes forming the intricate details of a dragon's wings. The creature on her side of the lantern seemed to leap off the surface, as if alive.
Eric squinted at her work, then back at his own. He let out a low whistle. "You are good at this."
Artizea arched an eyebrow, "Are you saying you did not expect me to be?"
"Quite the opposite," he pretended to inspect her work like a critic, "I have seen how you handle a sword, and figured if you could wield a weapon like that, you would be even more skilled with a brush. Guess I was right."
"Very wrong," she replied, while adding delicate highlights to the dragon's scales. "It just comes to me, from the inside, sometimes, I feel like if I do not paint, I would go insane."
Eric studied her for a moment, then set his brush down, leaning back on his hands. "If you were not the Crown Princess," he asked, his tone uncharacteristically serious, "What would you wish to be?"
Artizea took a moment to actually think about it. She had spent her entire life focused on one role, one destiny. For so long, the idea of wanting something different was… foreign. After a moment, she placed the brush down and looked at him. "A painter."
"Really?"
"Yes," she said, her eyes softening. "There's something about creating something with your own hands, something that did not exist before you made it. A painting can tell a story, capture a feeling."
Eric tilted his head, intrigued. "That is beautiful,"
Artizea chuckled, shaking her head. "It is only just a dream. A silly one at that."
"It is not silly," Eric said, leaning forward, resuming painting, "I think it suits you quite well."
She shot him a glare, then looked around to see him dip his brush into the black paint and work on adding more to his sparrow, though to Artizea, it still looked more like a winged potato. A smile tugged at her lips, and then she snorted.
"Do not mock the sparrow," Eric chuckled, dipping his brush back into the black paint. "It is symbolic."
"Of what? Your complete lack of artistic talent?"
He feigned offense, "You wound me."
She rolled her eyes, returning her focus to filling in the dragon's wings with golden paint. But when she reached for more color, her elbow bumped the small jar of red paint, sending it splattering onto her shawl.
"Shit, Elaine is going to kill me," she groaned, staring at the vivid stain spreading across the fabric.
"It is only paint."
"Easy for you to say." She grumbled, dabbing at the shawl uselessly.
"Here, let me help," He said, reaching for the brush she had abandoned, before knocking that one over too and landing on his fabric.
"Well, now we are equal." Artizea giggled. She barely had time to react before He dipped his brush into the black paint and marked a bold streak across her nose. "Eric!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of outrage and laughter.
"That is for the artistic talent comment," he said, grinning triumphantly.
Artizea grabbed another brush, this time flinging small dabs of paint at him.
Eric retaliated in kind, and soon the two of them were locked in a messy, chaotic battle. By the time they called a truce, their hands, faces, and clothes were speckled with every color imaginable. The lantern lay forgotten between them, its surface now a patchwork of smudged designs and hurried strokes.
Eric leaned over to inspect her work. "Alright, let us see it."
She held up the lantern, the dragon on her side gleaming with golden scales, its eyes fierce yet mesmerizing, but with a rainbow mess all over it. On the other side was the same, but his sparrow perched awkwardly on a crooked branch.
She leaned back, catching her breath. "I do not think we are winning any awards."
Eric, still laughing. "Definitely not," he leaned back, admiring their work. "You know," he said after a moment, his voice softer now, "If the world were different, I think you wouldmake a great artist."
Artizea snorted, "Let me guess, you think that should be my wish?"
"I do not believe in that wish nonsense," he said with a crooked smile. "If you wish it badly enough, then do it. Wishing on a star is not going to make your dreams come true."
She turned her eyes to the sky, the stars reflecting in her gaze. "It is nice sometimes to live in something other than reality, at least… that is what I think."
Eric stilled, "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I feel like I have been apologizing a lot lately."
"It is fine," she said simply.
He looked at her again, "Then tell me the story. Make me believe."
She took a breath, her voice steady, "Some believe the wind will carry their wishes into the sky through their lantern. A shooting star is not just a miracle of light, but someone's wish being granted, finally finding its way back to its owner."
"Do you believe it?" he asked.
Artizea hesitated, then nodded faintly. "I think so." Her smile trembled, and she lowered her eyes to the lantern in her lap. "I should like to think someone's dream of being something great came true, not just because they wished it to be true, but because they believed it to be."
Eric reached out, gently brushing his fingers against hers. "It does not have to be just a dream, Artizea. One day, you can make it real. With or without a wish."
She met his gaze, searching his face for a moment. Then she smiled, a soft, hopeful smile that made her look younger, freer.
"Maybe," she said.
Eric nodded, picking up the lantern. "But for tonight, we have this. Ready to set it free?"
"Ready!" she chimed.
They stood, extending a hand to help her up. She took it, the warmth of his touch grounding her for a moment. They carried the lantern to the launch area.
Below them, filling the night sky with soft, golden light. It was a breathtaking sight, each glowing orb carrying a wish, a hope, or a dream. Hundreds of lanterns are being lit, their warm glow rising to meet the stars.
He lit the candle inside, and together, they released it, watching as it joined the others.
"What about you?" she asked. "If you were not my royal knightguard, what would you wish to be?"
"A traveler," he replied without hesitation. "I would go wherever the wind takes me, taste every kind of food, see what the world has to offer, like my parents once did, just not the part where the ship got capsized, killing everyone on board…" he added softly. "They were looking for a cure for my—" he paused, "Mother's illness…" he swallowed. "They wrote, saying they had found it, and that they were coming home, but they never did; that is why I wished to pick up where they left off, in case my sister has it too."
She was unsure of how to proceed until he spoke again.
"I made a wish, though," Eric murmured, lifting his eyes toward the drifting lantern above them.
Artizea turned her head toward him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I thought you did not believe in that wish nonsense?"
"Eh…" He shrugged slightly. "It is growing on me, so what?"
She looked at him with quiet curiosity. "So… what is the wish? "
He exhaled slowly, "For you to be happy." his gaze softened as it returned to her, "With or without me."
Her smile fell. "Do not say that."
"You are going to be Queen of the Realm, one day, Artizea. I am no fool." He gave a soft, bittersweet laugh. "But I love you anyway. And when that day comes— when you walk down the aisle beside a king, or a duke, or some lord who can protect you in all the ways I never can. I will be cheering you on."
"Enough…" Artizea whispered, reached for his hands, holding them tight, and one single tear slipped down her cheek.
Eric brushed it away gently with his thumb. His fingers lingered at her jaw, tracing her cheek with a tenderness that made her breath catch. "You are my shooting star," he whispered. "Bright and beautiful… but in my heart, I know—you are someone else's too, someone more deserving of you, someone who stands a chance." She closed her eyes, pain written across her features. And then he asked, voice nearly breaking, "If this is the last time we get to leave out our titles in the palace… can I kiss you goodbye?"
Artizea did not answer with words. She simply leaned in, her hands trembling while cupping his face, and finally she kissed him. Deeply. Desperately. Tears ran from both of their faces as if they were kissing across a farewell. When they parted, breathless, she said, "This is not goodbye, and I will not hear of it. We will figure it out—"
"We can't…"
"We can! We'll get married as we promised—under the oak tree—" she whispered, "Do you remember it?"
Eric sighed, "Of course I remember. But it has been four years, Artizea… four years since you stopped speaking to suitors… four years of slow realization that they will never accept me, your father will never accept me…"
"I accept you." She smiled through her tears and kissed him once more, fiercely, like she was trying to burn the moment into time, until he stilled. "Is that not enough?"
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I am going to lose my head because of you. I am sure of it."
Artizea turned to him, Not if we are married… she almost said.
"That reminds me—" Eric exclaimed, as his hands tucked into his pockets. "I have another surprise for you," He pulled a small, intricately carved box from his pocket, holding it out to her.
"Another one?" Curiosity was lighting up her features. "You have already outdone yourself for a cycle…"
"This is different," he added.
Artizea took the box, her fingers brushing his upon opening it, together. Inside lay a necklace. a delicate yet striking piece, forged in the shape of a dragon coiled around a sword. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the metal catching the light of the lanterns and glinting with an almost ethereal sheen.
"Eric…" she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "It is beautiful."
"It is a symbol," he said softly, stepping closer. "The dragon for you, the sword for me."
She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of gratitude and wonder. "It must have cost a fortune."
"I could not give you a ring to wear in public, so I thought this was the next best thing." He replied, gently taking the necklace from the box, the chain gleaming between his fingers. "Turn around."
She hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, gathering her long hair and holding it up.
He stepped closer, his fingers lingered upon brushing against the back of her neck while fastening the clasp.
When she turned back to face him, her hand instinctively went to the pendant, her thumb tracing its intricate design. She looked up at him, her eyes shining. Until a gasp escaped her lips. "Look—" she whispered.
Above them, tearing silently across the velvet sky, a single streak of light painted itself across the stars, a shooting star. Brightening the night sky. They both looked up, the glow reflecting in their eyes, in their unspoken dreams.
"Guess someone's wish just made it to the gods," Eric murmured.
Artizea's head snapped toward him, her expression softening as her hand tightened in his.
Eric smiled, then leaned in to kiss her once more.
ARTHUR
The cool air brushed against Arthur's face while striding through the maze of a city, but she was nowhere to be found. His heart was heavy with worry and irritation. It could have been a familiar smell in the breeze or the biting sense of deja vu, but in that moment, he remembered the past Dawn Rites. His eyes narrowed as a thought struck him—"It is a personal tradition." It was not the first time he had heard that sentence.
"Impossible," Arthur muttered under his breath.
He spurred his horse toward the hill overlooking the festival. Elaine had been unusually quiet when the topic of Artizea's absence came up, and now he knew why.
When he reached the hilltop, his sharp eyes scanned the glowing lanterns. Among them, a familiar figure caught his eye.
There, silhouetted against the soft glow of the lanterns, was Artizea with her hood pushed back.
He was right, and she was not alone.
Arthur's stomach clenched when he saw Eric standing beside her. His sister's shawl was streaked with paint, and a small smudge adorned her cheek; their heads closed while they laughed at something only they could hear. Then, before He could call out to her, Eric leaned in and pressed his lips to his sister's.
His fists tightened around the reins, his heart thundering in his chest. He was not sure if it was anger, protectiveness, or sheer disbelief that rooted him in place. But when the kiss ended and Eric smiled at her as though they actually stood a chance, it was then that Arthur knew this had gone far enough. He had to intervene."Artizea Pendragon." He called, his voice firm.
She froze, her eyes widening when she turned to see her brother standing just beyond the lantern's glow. Her heart sank. "Arthur…"
He dismounted his horse, "If we do not return now, Father will send a search party."
Artizea turned toward Eric, "I have to go," she whispered to him. "Thank you for tonight," she said softly.
He smiled, his gaze steady and full of warmth. "Thank you for gracing me with your presence," Eric nodded.
Artizea's fingers brushed against his briefly before pulling away.
Arthur said nothing when she approached, nor did she, but the weight of his glare on Eric spoke volumes: I will deal with you later.
There was only one horse, so the ride back to the palace was steeped in an almost suffocating silence. Artizea sat in front, her legs draped to the side, while Arthur guided the horse through the quiet trail.
"Are you going to tell him?" She asked softly, breaking the silence.
He did not answer immediately, his jaw tight. "I will handle it," he said finally.
She did not press further.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, the rhythmic clatter of the horse's hooves the only sound between them. By the time they reached the palace, the hour was late, and the halls were empty.
"Arthur," Artizea whispered. "Let me explain first—"
Arthur turned, eyes wide with alarm. He moved fast, placing a hand gently over her mouth before she could say more. His other hand lifted, a single finger pressed to his lips.
"Do not tell me anything you know I will not be able to keep," he mouthed silently.
Artizea's eyes softened, then she nodded.
Arthur gave a single, sharp breath through his nose and backed up a step. He rolled his shoulders, mimed a count with his fingers: three, two, one. He knocked on the door, signaling for the door to be open.
"Ready?" he gestured.
She nodded again.
When they entered the dining hall, Gilgamesh was still there, his imposing figure seated at the head of the table, his expression unreadable.
"You missed the lanterns," their father said sternly.
Arthur took a deep breath and stepped forward, his tone calm but firm. "Father, you know how carried away she gets with the jars."
Their father's eyes narrowed. "Painting?" he repeated, in a suspicious tone.
"Yes," Arthur said, holding his father's gaze without faltering.
Artizea remained silent, her heart pounding in her chest. She dared not look at her father for too long, worried he would see through the lie. All she could muster was "I am sorry for breaking my promise, Father."
After a long moment, Gilgamesh nodded, though the suspicion in his eyes did not entirely fade.
"Clean yourself up, Artizea."
"Goodnight, Father," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions within her. She quickly left the room, leaving Arthur alone with their father.
The tension in the air was palpable, an invisible weight pressing on his shoulders.
The King remained seated, his gaze fixed on his son with intensity. "So." He began, his voice calm yet laden with authority. "You are not going to tell me the truth?"
Arthur's jaw tightened. He knew this was bait. "I cannot know of which you speak, Father", he said
The corner of Gilgamesh's lips twitched ever so slightly. "You are saying you do not know where your sister was, or who she was with?"
"As I said." Arthur stood his ground. "She was painting lanterns."
"With Whom." His father asked outright.
Silence.
Gilgamesh nodded, ever so slowly. "How is your friend?" he asked.
Arthur's chest quickened. He knew, he thought.
"What was his name?" his father's tone was sharper now. "Eric?"
The name sends memories through Arthur's brain all at once. His father was a master strategist, and any slip of the tongue would be exploited without mercy.
However, Arthur had an advantage.
While Artizea stood at their father's side, absorbing his wisdom and authority in plain view, Arthur had learned from behind. There, he observed his father more internally —his words, his gestures, the subtle shifts in his expression. He noticed things his sister did not. Because while Artizea was facing the future. Arthur was protecting it. Which is exactly what he was about to do now.
Arthur's head jerked up, locking his father's gaze, and there it was. The truth behind the mask, A single tap of the finger against the side of his goblet.
Not of impatience—uncertainty.
He suspects yes. But he does not know.
"What of him? " Arthur asked.
"You tell me," his father said, leaning back in his chair as though settling into a battle stance.
Arthur clenched his fists, fighting to keep his composure. "Whatever happened between us is irrelevant. He serves his duty to the crown."
Gilgamesh slowly rose, then stepped toward his son. "You have always been a loyal brother, Arthur. Just as you have always been a good son. And yet here you are, standing between your father and said loyalty. He tilted his head slightly. "I wonder… which do you think will break first? " His voice lowered, "You… or your vow?"
Arthur flinched internally. Godsdamit, Artizea. However, he held firm, with a poker face he had spent his entire life mimicking, perfecting. Secretly trained under the very man now trying to read him.Then he remembered something, "I heard he fathered a child with his favorite concubine. Then the council married her off to a foreign envoy." His eyes locked in with his father's, "I have said all there is to say, Father. How could I possibly know more than you already do?"
For a moment, the room was silent. His father's gaze bore into his son, searching for a crack, a weakness. But he foundnone. With that, he turned and left the room.
The moment the doors closed, Arthur collapsed to one knee, his body trembling from the effort of holding his ground. It was not just the pressure of standing toe-to-toe with the scariest man in the realm; it was the weight of everything else. Eric had been his friend once. They had trained together, shared dreams, but even though the friendship had long since soured. It was still entangled. He pressed a hand to his chest, his breath shaky.
"Tell me, Son. Which do you think will break first? You or your vow."
The answer was him, even if it meant standing against their father, even if it meant sacrificing what little peace he had left. The answer would always be him.
ARTIZEA
Artizea hurried through the quiet halls of the palace, the paint-streaked shawl clutched in her hands. She reached her chambers, pushing open the door with a frustrated sigh.
Madeline perked up
"Your Highness! How was it ?"
She smiled, "It could not have been more perfect, Maddie."
Madeline quickly helped Artizea out of her paint-stained attire when Elaine burst through the door. "Sister!" she called out.
"Oh no," Artizea muttered under her breath, bracing herself. She turned to see her younger sister sprinting toward her, then retracting her steps to close the door behind her, "Well?" she demanded, while panting.
"Well?"
Elaine put her hands on her hips, "Do you think for a one second you are getting out of this?"
Artizea groaned, holding up the ruined shawl. "Firstly, I am sorry about this. I will have it cleaned—"
"Oh, forget the shawl! I have 10 more—" Elaine interrupted, waving it off. "Details! I want details! A deal's a deal.Spill." She hesitated, glancing at the door as if Arthur or her father might barge in at any moment. "Fine," she relented, pulling Elaine closer so they could sit on the edge of the bed. " But you have to keep this between us."
Elaine leaned in, practically buzzing with excitement. "I swear on Mother's roses."
With a resigned sigh, Artizea began to summarize the evening. She described the hill of lanterns, the festival's magic, and the kiss she had shared with Eric. She even admitted the moment of panic when Arthur had found them.
Elaine's eyes grew wide, her hands clutching Artizea's arm. "You kissed?! How romantic! Is that sooo romantic, Maddie? "
Madeline stood by the window, watching the distant glow of the lanterns. She imagined Artizea and Eric standing together, laughing and painting their lanterns. The thought sent a sharp pang through her chest.
"I am happy if you are, Princess," she said, though the words rang hollow.
"So romantic!" Elaine gasped. "Did Father say anything?"
"Not much." She admitted. "But he gave Arthur a look that could have leveled an army."
Elaine giggled. "That sounds like Father. Did Brother scold you?"
"No." She said softly, her gaze falling to her hands. "He covered for me. Again."
Elaine's teasing smile softened. "He always does."
She nodded, her heart heavy with gratitude and guilt. "I do not deserve him." Elaine reached out, squeezing her sister's hand. "We do not deserve him." Her eye caught on the necklace she had never seen before, dancing across her sister's neck. She tilted her head and said, "A Gift?"
Artizea's hand brushes across it. She had not removed it since Eric had given it to her, and it had become a quiet, constant presence—a reminder of the night she shared with the man who had given it to her.
"Yeah. A gift." She smiled softly.
Meanwhile, Madeline watched from across the room in silence. Turning away from sight, her hands were trembling slightly. For now, she would keep her feelings locked away, a silent sacrifice for the bond she shared with Artizea.
They were friends after all, that is what friends do.