Night had fallen again for the second time. It was a dark night, one where the whispers of crickets could not be heard, drowned beneath the distant bustle of the capital city. The sky was donned with a million blinking stars scattered like shards of silver.
Drayce stood atop a lone hill looking down at the bustling capital, the grass whispering against his boots as it swayed in the night wind. He looked every inch the handsome shadow he was. His half-braided hair catching the faint moonlight was only sharpening the austere beauty of his face. Below him, nestled in the cradle of silver river and carved terraces, stretched the capital of Elarion—'Elaris'.
It shimmered in soft lamplight and moonstone architecture. The streets were not tall, yet each was placed with care. They were arranged not for reach but for beauty, designed to mirror the grandeur of a capital. Fountains glittered like scattered jewels across courtyards, their water catching the night lamps. From somewhere deep within faint music drifted up the hills.
For a moment, Drayce allowed himself to drink the beauty laid out before him. To any passerby he would look like a wandering merchant lord admiring new world.
So this… is Elarion. A place that poets would protect with paper, not blades. His mouth curved faintly, almost mocking. No verse could ever stop him.
The first look of it had been almost endearing, but sentiment was a luxury he did not allow himself, he hadn't ridden through two night and a whole day for just admiration. His gaze tightened on the inner stretched palace, the heart of the city, where the royal house of Elaris guarded its bloodline.
Drayce whispered into the darkness to himself,
"Now I wait for the face behind the name. The princess. Let's see if she shines like a jewel worth keeping… or is just a flame that deserves to be snuffed out."
He stepped forward into the road towards Elaris, mounting his horse once more, his eyes never leaving the shining capital below, as if the city were already within his grasp.
And somewhere behind Drayce the strange, glitching hiss came again, faint and fleeting on the wind, Zzk… zzzkkk… zkk.
****
It had been twenty-eight years since Elarion last celebrated a royal union.
Now, the capital city of Elaris was overflowing with life. The streets surged like rivers brimming with perfumed nobles, commoners, all kind of merchants and flower-crowned children darting between carts. Vendors shouted over one another, their stalls spilling with every delicacy and luxury imaginable.
But it was not only the shops that shone. The shopkeepers themselves had adorned in their finest attire, eager to honor the day and ready to greet the flood of guests from every province. Jewelers glittered behind their counters, bakers dusted flour from embroidered sleeves, spice merchants polished bronze scales until they gleamed. Beneath the laughter and cheer, all shared the same quiet hope: business would bloom as brightly as the festival lights.
Fire lanterns meant to be released into the air, which were not yet lit, multiplied with every passing moment, carried by hundreds. Some were delicate and handmade, glowing in uneven streetlight, others grand and ornate, commissioned by noble houses with their family crests sewn into silk so fine it caught the streetlight like water.
At the heart of the celebration, past the laughter, within the palace walls, the royal procession stood poised to depart. From the gilded gates of the palace to the marble steps of the sacred silver river, the march would move with measured grace, each step steeped in centuries of ritual. There, before the water, the ancient rite of lantern release would be performed.
This was no mere wedding blessing. It was a proclamation to gods and men alike that Elarion still lives. Elarion still shines.
Foreign banners fluttered atop the guest balconies snapping against the river breeze. Diplomats from distant kingdoms had already gathered at the riverfront, each escorted with ceremony. The air itself seemed alive, buzzing with a hundred voices, a dozen tongues, all blending into the great hymn of celebration.
And yet, through it all, no one recognized the solitary figure adorned in earth-brown robes, drifting through the throng like smoke through a festival flame.
Drayce.
He moved between merchants and nobles with ease, his Vortalis edge carefully blunted beneath Elarion cloth. The bustle of the crowd folded around him like water and his presence was no more suspicious than a passing stranger.
But still, stray glances found him again and again, lingering as though the crowd could not help itself. He received looks from passerby, especially from women. Handsomeness alone might have explained it, but in Drayce it became something rarer. He was owner of the kind of beauty that lingered in the mind long after the eyes had moved on.
But he did not meet their eyes. He was accustomed to such attention and detected no hint of malice in it.
His golden, shining gaze was too busy drinking in the surroundings, cataloging every detail of the festival, when it came from things like the ebb and flow of the crowd, the placement of guards, the glint of weapon hilts beneath ceremonial robes, perhaps spies, the ease or tension in soldiers' stances. Even from a distance, he noted potential choke points along the streets and the patterns of movement that could serve as advantage or vulnerability should trouble arise. Nothing escaped him.
As he passed through rows of decorated stalls, his gaze wandered from one stall to another not with the awe of a tourist, but with a hunger barely veiled as curiosity. His feet made their way to walk towards the riverfront.
"Eh, ser!"
A voice called out, cutting clean through the noise.
Drayce turned his head slightly.
A shopkeeper, who was a broad man with cheeks flushed from heat and cheer, leaned over his stall resting his large belly against the counter using it to hold his weight. His voice sounded thick with the riverfolk's drawl. He was smiling beneath an elaborate headpiece that adorned his head.
"Will y'only bless me wares with them fine eyes o' yours, or will ye be loosin' that fat coin pouch ye keepin' so careful at yer belt?"
A few nearby shoppers chuckled, hiding grins behind their hands. A woman nudged her companion and whispered something that earned another chuckle. Drayce turned slowly, wearing the thinnest of smiles.
"Perhaps," he said mildly, "if your wares are worth loosin' it for." all the while his expression didn't shift.
"Oho! A smooth tongue!" The merchant grinned wider narrowing his eyes with interest of gaining a potential customer.
"Then ye're not from around here, eh?, Ye don't look local," he said with his usual thick riverfolk drawl.
He leaned in resting his hands on the counter. "So which is it, ser? Scholar or sailor? Where've ye come from? Where're ye bound? Here for the festival, are ye?"
Drayce didn't answer but moved towards his stall. He only picked up one of the wares, weighing it lightly in his hand. His gaze was trailing along its edge with a detached boredom.
The shopkeeper's eyes flicked over him. He noticed the cut of his shoulders, a sculpted breadth that spoke of strength, the elegant veins of his arms, the way the fine cloth draped yet failed to conceal the power beneath. The lines of muscle that shifted with each subtle movement of a body that was more weapon than ornament. His chest muscle although hidden, were evident. His waist tapering with a precision that made his every motion fluid and controlled. Even standing still, he seems unearthly. And even as a man, he couldn't deny it: there was something magnetic about this stranger. Something that pulled the eye, whether one wanted it to or not, that left him half-mesmerized by the stranger's presence. The shopkeeper swallowed before he realized it, unsettled by the way his gaze lingered.
Perhaps, he thought, this was no mere merchant at all. A knight? A bodyguard in disguise? Who knows.
"Oh! My… lord! Bless me old eyes!"
The voice came from a small, bent woman seated at a nearby stall, her features were wrinkled and her eyesight with age turned poor. Only now, as Drayce came closer, could she see his face clearly. She squinted at him with marvel written across her face.
"Young lad… ye married, be ye?"
A chuckle escaped from Dracye's lips.
"Not yet, ma'am." he replied.
The old lady's eyes sparkled. "Och! Would ye like me to introduce ye to me granddaughter? She's a fine cook, I tell ye, clever as a fox and sweet as cream."
Drayce tilted his head, his golden eyes were now gleaming with mischief. "Ah, ma'am… I don't know 'bout yer granddaughter, but I reckon your charm might've been a fine match for me if not for yer age." he said with a polite grin, earning a burst of laughter from the shopkeeper and the nearby crowd.