--A Crown Prince--

The Citadel of Draxurio

King Adheesh felt something wrong. He couldn’t escape the feeling of unease that kept nibbling at him. For the fourth time, he leaned over to his royal consultant. “Has the scholar arrived yet?”

The consultant shook his head. “Not yet, Your Majesty.”

He ran a hand through his white beard in thought. His old friend was supposed to join the feast, yet there was no sign of him.

Around him, the long oak table stretched across the hall, lined with noblemen and advisors from both the High and Low Councils. The hall was lit by chandeliers, glowing over the feast. Plates of roasted meats, fruits, and bread were spread across the table, but the king’s mind was elsewhere. The feast wasn’t just a celebration of the harvest festival—it was also a carefully disguised political meeting. He gazed at the grape on the circular golden plate, its size reminded him of the magical seed.

At the far end of the table, the conversation had come to a close on the matter of the north. Lord Harren of the High Council had just finished proposing a temporary solution to the drought. “We should consider diverting some of the southern rivers to the north. It will take time, but the infrastructure could save them from ruin.”

A few agreed, while others murmured their doubts.

“Diverting rivers? Easier said than done,” Lord Darnell whispered.

“And what of the south? Will they not revolt if we steal their water?” Lady Brielle muttered to her companion.

"Costly, too. Who's paying for this grand scheme?" Lord Varnen grumbled.

The king nodded, half-listening, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the side of his goblet. It had been an hours since Clementé’s return, and the scholar's unexpected absence at the feast bothered him. The drought was important, yes, but there was a deeper worry tied to Clementé’s research and his findings on the seed.

“Ahem, Your Majesty,” a member of the Low Council spoke, clearing his throat. “We should also discuss..." There was a pause - too long pause.

"Speak it, Lord Rayner," from higher council said.

Lord Rayner was sweating profusely. And the king met his gaze. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, for my abruptness. We should discuss also the matter of appointing a crown prince.”

The hall grew silent. The suggestion was abrupt, and the king’s brow furrowed slightly as murmurs of concern echoed around.

He leaned back on his chair. The question of appointing a crown prince had been looming for years, yet he found himself unable to make a decision. Prince Lionel, his eldest son with Queen Maldria, was the obvious candidate for the crown, yet something held King Adheesh back. Lionel was capable, but the king found himself hesitant, unable to commit to naming him as the heir.

Then there was his daughter, Princess Sierra, the only child from his union with deceased Queen Aelira. Her beauty and grace admired by all. But despite her charm, Sierra had never shown much interest in political matters. She was gentle and fragile, more suited to courtly life than the harsh realities of governance. The council knew this as well, and while she was adored by the people, she was not considered for the throne. The tradition still favored a male heir.

As the king wrestled, Lord Roderick, a respected voice in the High Council, spoke up. “Your Majesty, we have yet to consider your second son, Prince Eodred.”

The council members exchanged glances.

Prince Eodred, younger and more reserved than Prince Lionel, had largely stayed out of the public eye. He had neither the commanding presence of his elder brother nor the fragile charm of Sierra. Still, there were those who thought his neutrality might make him a suitable candidate for the crown.

Just then, the large doors to the hall creaked open, interrupting Lord Roderick’s words. A palace consultant, his face pale and his movements quick, stepped inside. He bowed deeply. He felt nervous.

“Your Majesty,” the consultant began urgently. “I bring news.”

"Has the scholar finally arrived?"

The consultant hesitated, glancing around at the council members, as if unsure whether to continue in such a public setting. His eyes held a heavy concern, and the king’s instincts told him this was no ordinary message.

“Where is he?” the king asked firmly.

“Your Majesty,” the consultant stammered, “the knights… and the son of Duke… they are here. They’ve brought something… something you must see immediately.”

As the king listened, the consultant’s urgent tone still hanging, King Adheesh narrowed his eyes. “The son of the Duke?” he asked, glancing at Duke Alexander. “It has been years since your son set foot in the capital. Does he finally intend to address the matter of… Princess Sierra?” The king’s voice held a note of tension as his thoughts briefly drifted to the unspoken expectations surrounding his daughter and the Duke’s son. There had long been a notion that a union between them might solidify political ties, yet nothing had come of it.

The hall remained quiet, and as all eyes turned to Duke Alexander. The Duke, however, remained calm. With a respectful bow of his head, he spoke in a measured tone. “Your Majesty, I cannot speak for my son. Felix has always been one to follow his own path, and he has shared little with me of his intentions since his departure from the capital.” He met the king’s eyes steadily. “If his visit has other purposes, I am as unaware as you, my king.”

Lords exchanged knowing glances, their whispers too low for the king to hear clearly, but their meaning unmistakable. Four years had passed since the rumors first spread — whispers of a budding romance between Princess Sierra and Felix, the Duke’s son. Though there had been no confirmation, many recalled the king’s bold offer at Felix’s birthday celebration. The offer of his daughter’s hand, which, if the rumors were to be believed, Felix had quietly rejected. Since then, Felix had not set foot in the capital.

One councilor leaned in close to another. “The young lord never returned after the princess was offered to him. Surely there’s more to this.”

Across the table, Lord Cain, seated among the Low Council, sipped his wine with a calm. He watched Duke Alexander closely, his lips curling into a subtle smile as he listened to the murmurs. He was a man who understood the politics of power all too well, Lord Cain could see the shifting tides. He set his goblet down softly.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Lord Cain spoke smoothly, “perhaps young lord returns with other matters on his mind. After all, much has changed in his absence.” His eyes glinted as they met the king’s. “It may be that his ambitions now extend beyond simple marital alliances.”

A few council members shifted uncomfortably, while others nodded. They had all heard the latest rumors—rumors that Princess Sierra and Elijah, Lord Cain’s own son, had grown close during Felix’s absence. Cain’s smile widened just slightly, though he kept his expression otherwise unreadable, the perfect picture of a loyal councilor, even as he silently relished the pretending drama.

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But before their conversation could wander further, the consultant took a step forward. “Your Majesty, I believe this is not about that. This matter… it is unexpected, and urgent.”

If the Duke’s son had returned, it would have made sense for him to join the feast and reintroduce himself formally, especially given the unspoken expectations of the court. The king had hoped that if the young man were finally addressing the issue of marriage, he would handle it with decorum. But the consultant’s urgency suggested something far graver.

“What could be so pressing that it cannot wait until the feast concludes or at least until we are in my office?”

The consultant swallowed. “Your Majesty, this is… not something that can wait. I ask for your forgiveness, but you must see it immediately."

Whatever had brought the Duke’s son back to the capital, it was clearly not the reunion or political discussion the king had expected. He thought. He glanced at the doors to the grand hall, considering the ongoing feast and the council members within.

“Very well,” the king resigned. “Lead the way.”

As they took a step toward the door, ready to follow the consultant, another commotion stirred at the entrance of the hall. This time, a second messenger hurried in, his face flushed with panic, and he stumbled as he rushed to bow before the king.

“Your Majesty,” the man gasped. “Forgive the interruption, but… there’s urgent news from the town square.”

The king, already tense from the unknown message about the Duke’s son, turned to face the new arrival. “Speak,” he commanded.

The messenger, still catching his breath, glanced nervously at the council before blurting out the words. “The town square… it’s on fire! A great blaze has broken out, and it’s spreading quickly. We fear it will reach the marketplace if it’s not contained soon.”

“Fire? In the heart of Draxuropolis?” one of the lords muttered.

“How could this happen during the festival?” another councilor added.

The hall was now abuzz with voices, some rising in alarm, others whispering in frantic consultation. King Adheesh remained still. First the message about the Duke’s son and now the fire.

“Enough!” he ordered. The council fell quiet, all eyes now on the king.

Turning to the first consultant, who still stood beside him, the king's eyes narrowed. “This matter with the Duke’s son and Clementé will have to wait,” he said coldly. Then, moving his gaze to the messenger, he added, “Send word to the town guard. They are to do everything in their power to contain the fire.”

The first consultant stepped forward cautiously. "Your Majesty, a few of the town guards are already here... with the son of the Duke."

"What?" he asked. "The town guards are supposed to be guarding the square, especially during the festival. What are they doing here?"

The messenger shifted uneasily, glancing nervously between the king and the consultant. “Your Majesty, the fire... it’s believed to have been caused by a spy… a witch.”

"A witch?" King Adheesh echoed, and the councils hear it. "Are we telling children’s stories now? What nonsense is this? A spy? Spy of what? Another kingdom? How do we have spies within our borders during the festival?"

The messenger, caught off guard by the king’s sudden outburst, stammered, “Your Majesty, I–it’s not just rumor. The townspeople believe it was a witch... but she could be a spy from another kingdom...they saw her..."

“A spy, or a witch?" the king growled. "You throw around these wild claims—witches don’t exist, not outside of bedtime stories. Who exactly do you think is spying on us during our most public festival? And where are our guards if we’re under threat?”

The messenger glanced at the consultant whose eyes remained focused on the floor. The king’s impatience grew.

“Answer me!”

The messenger swallowed hard. “Sire, the guards are... they are here, with the Duke’s son. They were there when it happened.”

“When what happened?” the king pressed frustratingly. “The fire, the witch, the spy—what exactly am I supposed to believe?”

The consultant stepped in, finally breaking his silence. “Your Majesty, this... witch, or spy—whoever she was—attacked Lord Clementé.”

King Adheesh’s eyes widened. “Attacked... Clementé?” He repeated, stunned. "This is what you meant to show me?"

“Yes, Your Majesty. I'm afraid... The scholar is no longer alive.”

The king’s breath caught in his throat as the room seemed to shrink around him.

In an instant, the king brushed past them both, unwilling to wait for further explanations, leaving the council murmuring in shock. The only thing in his mind was the unexpected news tragedy of his oldest friend.

He felt a sudden tightness on his chest as he walked down the hallway. It couldn't be. The man who had promised to join the feast, to finally shed light on the mystery of the seed—was now gone.

Minutes later, the king arrived in the chamber where Clementé’s lifeless body was laid on a stone slab. His breath hitched when his eyes landed on the scholar. His hands clenched at his sides. His old friend who had traveled far and wide for knowledge, the one he had waited for all these years, lay silent and cold.

How could this happen?

Everyone noticed the king's presence. They bowed.

Royal Captain Nikolai stood a few feet away, engaged in conversation with a town guard, their voices low. In lasted seconds, he approached the king, holding a piece of parchment. “Your Majesty,” he said, handing over the paper. “We managed to gather descriptions from the town guards. This is a sketch of the woman they believe is responsible for Lord Clementé's death.”

The king took the paper and stared at the image. It was a rough sketch of a woman, her features soft and her long hair flowing down her back, and her face small. There was nothing inherently dangerous about her appearance, but her unfamiliar features stood out—she did not seem to be from this kingdom.

“A woman?”

The captain continued. “Not all the guards saw the same thing, but many witnessed her running toward the outskirts after she... after Lord Clementé was attacked. It's as if she vanished."

Before the conversation could go further, Felix, who had been standing nearby, interrupted. “With all due respect, Captain, I don’t believe this woman is responsible. I was there, and I swear to you—she didn’t kill my master. She was terrified, yes, but a murderer? No.”

"I understand your loyalty, but the town guards saw her with the scholar. They saw her hands stained with blood before she fled," Nikolai narrowed.

Felix’s jaw tightened, and he took a deep breath before responding. “Stained with blood? That proves nothing, Captain. I saw her tending to my master with this.” He held up the blood-soaked cloth, his eyes locking with Nikolai’s. “Fear does strange things to people—she ran because she was scared.”

“Fear? Or guilt? But fear doesn’t explain why the town guards saw her fleeing, covered in blood, with a dagger at her feet. You may have seen her aiding your master, but others saw her standing over him. Tell me, why did she run if she was innocent? We find your master dead. That’s not fear, that’s guilt. You’re trying to defend someone who fled the scene of a murder."

“You’re jumping to conclusions, Captain. If she’s innocent, and you hunt her down like some criminal, you’ll be condemning someone without knowing the truth. Aren’t you supposed to uphold justice? She might’ve been scared of being accused—scared of knights like you who’d rather find a scapegoat than the truth," Felix's tone though was calm but deep down, he was reeling as he tried to convince himself not to sheath his sword.

Nikolai narrowed, not backing down. “Scapegoat? Justice is exactly what I’m upholding. We have eyewitnesses, and we have a dead scholar. Innocent people don’t run with blood. Your loyalty to Lord Clementé doesn’t excuse blind defense of the wrong person. I’m not about to let your emotions cloud the facts."

Felix clenched the bloodied-cloth on his side, making the little blood dripped on the floor. "Facts can be misinterpreted, especially when fear is involved. If you’re wrong, Captain, you’ll have blood on your hands. I’m not blind. I, too, saw her with my own eyes. She was trying to help him.”

“And yet,” Nikolai countered. “the only evidence we have is a dead scholar, the dagger, and a woman fleeing the scene. Helping? I’d say that’s more than questionable.”

“You think catching her will bring you justice? Or are you more interested in a swift conviction?” Felix's eyes flared.

Nikolai smirked, though his eyes remained hard. “Justice is about ensuring those responsible face the consequences, whether you like it or not. I'll bring her back to the palace, and if she’s innocent, she’ll prove it. But if not...”

The king had heard enough. “Enough both of you!” the king commanded. Both men turned to face him as he glanced down at Clementé’s body. “Pay your respects to me as your king and to the dead before you tear into each other."

Both Felix and Nikolai fell silent, bowing their heads slightly in acknowledgment.

“Whatever the truth is,” the king said. “I want that woman found and brought to me. Alive. Now!"

Nikolai gave a stiff nod. “I will see to it, sire.” He stepped back from the king’s presence, his posture snapping to attention as he turned toward the gathered knights. “Royal Knights, prepare to ride out immediately! We have a fugitive to find.”

As he walked past Felix, he mumbled just loud enough for him to hear, “Murderer or not, that woman needs to be punished. One way or another, I’ll have her in the palace before anyone else could do it.”

Meanwhile, Felix, his jaw clenched. He looked over his shoulder as Nikolai walked away with cold confidence, the knights falling in line behind him. He remained silent, though his heart raged. His master deserved justice, but not the kind Nikolai seemed so eager to deliver.

He needed to find that woman.