It was the most opulent ball that the diminutive Western Ballroom had seen in a thousand years, with drapery, furnishings, and food fit for a hundred kings, let alone their small gathering.

The king and queen of Adaria danced alone in the middle of the room while fifty of their closest friends watched with rapt attention. Many of the guests held tightly clasped hands and bright, wet eyes, fervent with hope for the future and genuine love for their monarchs.

The dance was to the king’s favorite song, an enchanting Elvish melody artfully adapted for Adarian instruments, and the octet of master musicians nearby poured their hearts into every note. The song was the perfect ending for the king’s birthday celebration and the couple leaned into each other, deeply in love.

At the second movement of the piece, their friends eagerly joined them on the resplendent marbled floor beneath glittering chandeliers. Within moments, the intimate setting was fluttering with the spinning silk dresses of court maidens and the dapper military uniforms of their suitors, all twirling in harmony with the music. A discreet squad of wind mages guided twinkling fairy dust through the air on sweeping thermals as the dancers moved, bringing the scent of jasmine and the warm kiss of summer to their necks. Meanwhile, a small army of servants rotated gold platters of exotic delicacies around the feasting tables. Atop each table was a small fountain of the finest aged wine, ostentatiously boasting a dancing liquid sculpture that moved via magic in time to the rhythms in the room.

The joy in the air was palpable, from the rosy complexions of the guests to their raucous laughter and beaming smiles. There was a deep feeling of peace permeating the place. Rightness. Rest.

King Robert let out a deeply contented sigh and rested his chin against his wife’s cheek as they danced, their bodies pressed close together.

I made it.

The nation had been at peace with the dwarves for ten years now, the elves for fifteen. The merchants guild was prospering and the economy was booming. Monsters had been almost entirely eradicated from the kingdom as the military pivoted from waging wars to addressing internal threats. If the king’s council were to be believed, the average citizen now led a healthier, wealthier, and more contented life. Even their efforts to improve the justice system had yielded fruit.

In short, after twenty long years of the king striving for ambitious reforms, the kingdom was stronger than ever. Robert finally felt like he could rest, just for a week or two, and savor what he had built.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

His enthralling elvish queen, Sofialyndel, watched him with a twinkle in her eye. She wore a draping gown of tasteful green silk that brought out the color of her eyes. Her hair, the hue of a worn beech nut, was naturally straight and typically fell as far as her waist, but tonight it was intricately woven into a pattern of cascading waterfalls. Her face, ever a picture of peace and calm—for hers was the magic of healing—held an unusually sly grin tonight that teased her husband’s fancy.

“There is one last birthday surprise I wanted to give you,” she said, smiling coyly as she fingered the collar of his shirt. Then she met his eyes and made sure to hold his gaze for a moment before delivering the news. “I’m finally pregnant.”

His eyes grew wide and his mouth blurted, “Sofia! Oh, thank the goddesses! They finally heard this poor man’s prayer!”

Her smile grew wider, curling mischievously. “That’s not to say we have to stop practicing, of course.” She poked one of the dimples in the king’s smile, as only she had the right to do.

Suddenly, a chilling scream rang out, abruptly silencing the music and bringing a gasp from the guests. Robert raised his head to the guards at the door, only to see their bodies slumping to the floor, covered in blood. As he stared, a guard's head landed on the marble floor before him, rolling lopsidedly across the ballroom until it came to rest on its side, in front of the king and queen.

Robert’s brother, Killian, strode forth boldly from the shadows, dressed in black leather and carrying a wicked-looking scimitar that was still flecked with the guards’ blood. His manic grin and crazed eyes locked onto the king before he whisked his sword at the floor, flicking off the blood.

Robert hardly recognized the man amidst the wild glare he was being given. What had happened to his brother? For the maniac standing before him was like another person entirely.

In a flash, six members of the Royal Guard drew their own mana-imbued swords and leaped in front of the king and queen. In response, a large retinue of armed men poured forth from the door behind Killian and began to rapidly encircle the room. The king's guards were outnumbered ten to one.

“I wouldn’t move a muscle if I were you,” called out a man in elaborate robes, stepping from Killian’s shadow. It was Mage Rankel, Killian’s personal adviser. And a total scumbag.

“What have you done to Killian?” said Robert.

“Nothing more than set his mind free from the shame of living in your shadow.”

“Your reign of terror is over, brother,” spat Killian, “and I’ll not play second fiddle to you one day longer.”

The mage lifted an old, crooked wand into the air, and in the next moment, hands of obsidian stone burst from the floor and wrapped tightly around the six guards.

“Bag him,” said Killian, nodding to someone behind Robert.

Something hard struck Robert’s head. Then it all went dark.