The interior of the royal carriage was a masterpiece of Eldo-Clearoth's craftsmanship, a moving testament to both artistry and magic. The walls shimmered with a soft golden hue, embedded with intricate carvings of ancient runes that pulsed faintly, casting a warm glow throughout the space. Ornate silk curtains framed the windows, their threads infused with mana to ensure privacy and ward off eavesdroppers.
The ceiling was a mosaic of enchanted crystals that reflected constellations unique to the kingdom, sparkling faintly in rhythm with the carriage's movements. The plush seats were upholstered in deep crimson velvet, embroidered with golden patterns resembling blooming roses. Magical heating stones concealed beneath the flooring ensured the cabin remained cozy, regardless of the weather outside.
Prince Meron sat with a confident posture, his youthful features bearing an air of precocious determination. His dark red hair, slightly tousled from the ride, caught the light of the glowing runes, making it appear like smoldering embers. His light orange eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and vigilance, hinting at the weight of his princely responsibilities. He gripped the hilt of his sword—a finely crafted weapon etched with protective sigils—resting it casually against his leg as if ready to spring into action.
Next to him sat Princess Agatha, her delicate frame wrapped in a flowing emerald dress embroidered with tiny mana-infused crystals that sparkled with her every movement. Her long dark red hair cascaded down her back in silky waves, framing a cherubic face that was twisted into a pout. Her yellow eyes were sharp and fiery, betraying a temper that often clashed with her brother's confidence. Despite her young age, there was an unmistakable air of regality about her, a spark that hinted at the formidable woman she might one day become.
Across from them, Princess Rissane of the Elf Kingdom reclined with an almost otherworldly grace. Her silver-grey hair shimmered like liquid moonlight, spilling over her shoulders in soft, cascading waves. Her vibrant green eyes were wide with curiosity, reflecting the enchantment of her surroundings. She wore a gown of silvery-blue silk that seemed to meld with her skin, adorned with delicate patterns of leaves and stars that glowed faintly, attuned to the mana coursing through her veins. She radiated a serene presence, her laughter a gentle chime that lightened the tension within the carriage.
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Their conversation flowed easily at first, filled with teasing and lighthearted remarks. Meron’s confident declarations of his role as protector elicited giggles from Rissane and a scoff from Agatha, who never passed up an opportunity to challenge her brother’s bravado.
“What bad thing can happen with the guards around?” Agatha declared with a flourish of her hand. “They’re the greatest in the kingdom.”
Her words were cut short as the ground beneath the carriage shuddered violently, causing the runes on the walls to flicker. The soft golden glow dimmed, replaced by an unsettling darkness that seeped through the windows.
“What’s happening?” Agatha’s voice wavered, her usual confidence faltering.
“Why is it dark outside?” Rissane whispered, clutching the edge of her gown.
Meron’s expression hardened, and he stood, placing a reassuring hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll check what’s going on.”
“What? Are you crazy?” Agatha snapped, her voice rising in panic. “What are you going to do, tickle them with your sword?”
Meron ignored her protest, moving toward the door. As he pulled it open, a wave of cold air rushed inside, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and something metallic—blood.
“Stay behind me,” he commanded, stepping out onto the small platform at the carriage’s edge. His sword began to glow faintly, the runes along its blade igniting in response to his grip.
A shadowy figure stumbled into view—Gulam, one of their assigned knights. His black hair was disheveled, and his dark brown eyes were bloodshot, wide with urgency. He coughed harshly, a faint wisp of smoke escaping his lips, and knelt before Meron.
“My Prince… My Princesses… we need to leave the carriage,” Gulam rasped, his voice strained but resolute.
Meron’s grip on his sword tightened. “Why? What’s happening?”
Gulam lifted his gaze, his expression grim as he forced the words past his dry throat. “We’ve been ambushed.”