The crisp, earthy smell of spring fluttered in the morning breeze. The winds were always heavy in the morning, coming off the Ironwind cliffs, sweeping salt and sea into the capital.
Cuinn stood on his balcony overlooking the Royal gardens. Buds of hyacinths sent their intoxicating scent of sweet honeyed floral nodes skyward. The morning dew fell from white snowdrops as if the weight of the ocean fell onto a single petal.
He focused his senses, attempting to ground himself in the moment to shake off the anticipation of his schedule that day. He looked beyond the gardens and saw Calemoor— his city and the core of his kingdom.
His brows furrowed, gripping the stone railing of the balcony as he considered how long it had been since he walked the streets of the capital. Months ago he had been in the Noble District to watch the Yuletide Symphony at the Royal Theatre -- a mesmerizing experience where the last note played continued to echo in his mind till the following morning.
A pang of guilt tightened in his chest at the thought of not walking among his people, let alone commoners. In his early youth, he often slipped away to the Merchants Quarter, eager to lose himself in the market's restless energy or stroll down Forged Row, watching the guilds at work, masters of their trade.
How am I to rule over people I don't even truly know or understand? Do I even know what they want in a ruler? Such questions pressed on his mind as of late, primarily in response to his concerns about the possibility of war. The druid’s requisition rang in his ears, an unwavering echo beseeching Cuinn to utilize his voice and position to change the course of the Kingdom potentially.
It is too early in the day for brooding he assured himself as he took in one more deep inhale of the earth springing awake before him.
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Cuinn fidgeted with the Pegasus pommel of his sword as he listened to Lord Wetherby, the Master of Coin, drone on about the rising costs of arms and provisions for an army on the move. The numbers blurred together but there was clarity for one thing — war was no longer a distant threat.
“We need more time to fulfill the weapons order,” The Master of Arms said. Cuinn grew to respect the man from a simple village, not another replication of a nobleman who felt entitled to their opinion just because of the blood in their veins. “My nephew, the Royal Smith has been forging day and night to meet demands. We cannot take shortcuts when it comes to our weapons and defenses.”
“I will agree to that, Lucan,” said Commander Blackburn, head of the Royal army, as he knocked a fist onto the wooden table. “I have been waiting to send recruitment notices to the villages to ensure that this is the path we will take.”
“This is our only path, Commander. Our only option,” said King Aramis as he splayed his hands wide on the table looking among the council members. Cuinn watched as his father’s fingers pressed into the wood, the tips curling ever so slightly.
“My King, this is not our only option, I beseech you to examine the evidence for foul play from Eryndor.” Eldrin, seated at the farthest end of the table, said bowing his head graciously to King Aramis. “The peace treaty has not been violated.”
“Vio— Violated?” the King repeated, his voice growing with distress as his gaze darted around the room. “It is a violation that those dark magic servants have sent death to our capital!” He slammed his hands against the table.
The council members exchanged uneasy glances, each breath held as if one wrong word would push the King over the edge. Cuinn felt the weight of the tension, his jaw tightening as if the table before him would split under the pressure from it.
“Eryndor has long balanced the realm through the darker side of the coin. However, they have never resorted to acts of violence.” Eldrin’s voice remained constant but laced with urgency. “I am suggesting we send an ambassador to discuss our concerns without bringing accusations.” His gaze swept the table, silently pleading for support.
“Eryndor houses the Noctis Order. You should be aware of the dark magic that your kind could bring— to a kingdom, to a King.” King Aramis pointed an accusatory finger at the druid, thought the council remained unsure of what the King was accusing Eldrin of. “They finally want their revenge for the conquest my father began. I will not allow another citizen of Calemyra to be tainted by their dark magical revenge.”