As the final, haunting notes of the choir faded into the night, a murmur of anticipation swept through the room. Lennon and Thadeus rose from their seats with the fluid grace of those accustomed to such rituals. I followed their lead, feeling a tinge of excitement and curiosity. The royals and their guests moved as one, a coordinated flow that spoke of long-held traditions. It was customary, I learned, for them to leave before the crowd surged forward, a silent acknowledgment of their elevated status. The opulent splendor of the opera house seemed to hold its breath as we joined the procession. As we neared the exit, I expected us to head toward the grand front entrance, where the night awaited. But to my surprise, the path veered toward a more discreet exit at the back of the hall. A staircase beckoned us upward, its polished steps gleaming under the soft, golden light. I inhaled deeply, savoring the last vestiges of the opera house's intoxicating ambiance—the blend of aged wood, rich blue velvet, and lingering echoes of celestial music. With one last look at the grandeur we were leaving behind, I ascended the stairs, curiosity piqued and heart racing, ready to see what awaited us beyond this hidden passage. As I followed Thadeus up the winding staircase, my navy gown swirled gracefully around me, trailing like a shadow in the dim light of the stairwell. The steps felt endless, each one a whisper of anticipation, and Lennon’s hand at the small of my back was a comforting anchor, guiding me upward with gentle assurance.
Laughter filled the staircase and I asked “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see!” someone answered, I’m not even sure who.
Finally, we emerged from the stairwell into the brisk night air. The rooftop garden unfolded before me, a hidden sanctuary in the heart of the city. The garden was a lush expanse of greenery, illuminated by the soft, silvery glow of the moonlight. Delicate flowers in hues of midnight blue, lavender, and silver bloomed against a backdrop of dark, velvety foliage. The air was filled with a crisp, refreshing scent—an intoxicating blend of floral notes and the clean, earthy aroma of dew-kissed leaves. The garden was adorned with elegant, wrought-iron lanterns casting a gentle, flickering light, creating a soft glow that mingled with the starry night sky above. Comfortable seating areas, draped with luxurious fabrics, were scattered throughout the space accompanied by abundant spreads of charcuterie boards and beverages, inviting relaxation amidst the tranquility. As I stepped onto the rooftop, the cool breeze caressed my face, carrying with it the faintest hint of the opera house's lingering perfume and the subtle tang of the city below. The night was alive with a serene, almost magical quality, a stark contrast to the opulent chaos of the opera. I could feel the weight of the evening’s grandeur melt away, replaced by the soothing, intimate ambiance of this secluded retreat. I stood in awe, mesmerized by the enchanting scene unfolding around me. Champagne bottles popped with a crisp, celebratory fizz, their effervescent bubbles rising like tiny stars against the velvety night. The sound of wine bottles uncorking added a harmonious melody to the evening, mingling with the laughter and cheerful banter that drifted through the air. Inside jokes and light-hearted teasing floated effortlessly, their warmth and camaraderie creating a bubble of pure joy around us. The sheer splendor of the rooftop garden, now alive with revelry, made me wonder how Lennon could have ever turned his back on such a life. The sophistication and allure of this world, so vividly on display, was a far cry from the shadows he seemed to inhabit. The thought lingered, a wistful curiosity gnawing at me, even as I tried to savor the moment. Just then, a sharp, melodic female voice cut through the din, drawing my gaze to where Lennon stood amidst the crowd.
"I can’t believe you crawled out of your hole, Lennon! And with a human no less. Ever the mystery you are!" The tone was playful, yet edged with a hint of intrigue, as though this unexpected appearance was a delightful puzzle she was eager to solve.
I watched as Lennon’s lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile, his eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. It was clear that his presence here, so starkly contrasted with the life he’d left behind, was as much a source of fascination for others as it was for me. The female approached with a magnetic presence, her arm gracefully intertwining with mine. She was a vision of opulent elegance, adorned in a gown of vibrant orange, its richness only matched by the gleam of the stones and jewels that covered it. Carnelian stones sparkled on her tiara, catching the moonlight in fiery glimmers. The gown itself was a masterpiece of intricate design, a tapestry of detailed embroidery and shimmering fabric that seemed to dance with every movement. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair cascaded down her back, intricately braided into patterns that spoke of meticulous craftsmanship and countless hours of effort. Each braid shimmered under the starlight, and I could almost feel the weight of the artistry that went into creating such a stunning piece of art. Her rich hazel eyes, flecked with warm hues of orange, glimmered with a playful light as she clasped my arm. She gave me a gentle nudge and raised her glass high with a radiant smile.
“To the Prince of Mystery!” she declared, her laughter ringing clear and bright amidst the revelry. The crowd responded with exuberant cheers, raising their own glasses in a synchronized salute. “To the Prince of Mystery!” they shouted in unison, their voices echoing through the rooftop garden.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The clinking of glasses was followed by hearty laughter and the sound of drinks being downed, the shared toast weaving an even tighter bond among the guests. The warmth of the moment and the infectious energy of the crowd created a cocoon of joy that enveloped us all. I felt a swell of emotion rise within me, a wave of warmth and acceptance so profound it nearly brought me to tears. Sorelle’s welcoming embrace felt like a lifeline, pulling me from the isolation I’d felt since arriving in this world. Her genuine kindness was a balm to my frayed nerves.
"I'm Sorelle, Princess of Svadhi," she introduced herself, her voice as vibrant and warm as her appearance.
"I'm Ace, it's a pleasure to meet you. This is magnificent!" I responded, my voice trembling with a mix of gratitude and wonder.
Sorelle’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she turned to Lennon. “How did you get him to leave his coffin?” she asked with a teasing lilt. The laughter that followed was infectious.
Lennon’s eyes sparkled with a rare hint of amusement as he replied, “Do you even have to ask? How could I not come show her off?” His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of genuine affection.
Sorelle playfully threw a grape at Lennon, her laughter ringing out like a clear bell. “We miss you! Please tell me you're fixing to leave that terrible place and come back to us!”
I felt a stir of curiosity at Sorelle’s comment. The way she spoke about Lennon’s past, the hint of longing in her voice, suggested there might be more to his departure from royalty than I had previously known. My mind raced with possibilities, wondering if Sorelle might hold the key to understanding how to bring Lennon back sooner—or at least learn more about the world he had left behind.
Lennon’s eyes were a mix of tenderness and concern as he poured me another glass of diluted wine. “One can only hope,” he murmured softly, his voice carrying a note of quiet resignation. He handed me the glass with a careful, almost reverent gesture. “Only drink this if the other one is wearing off,” he instructed, his touch gentle and his gaze full of an earnest concern.
Sorelle’s eyes sparkled with mischief and interest as she observed us. “You two are absolutely adorable!” she exclaimed. “I must know the story.”
With a shared glance that spoke volumes, Lennon and I began to recount our tale, finishing each other’s sentences with a sense of effortless synchronicity. The wine had relaxed me, making me feel uncharacteristically loose and comfortable in the company of these royals. Their acceptance was like a warm embrace, wrapping me in a cocoon of belonging that I hadn’t expected. As we spoke, the royals listened with rapt attention, their expressions a blend of amazement and curiosity. The fact that I had survived crossing the bridge, an event so rare and perilous, was met with astonished murmurs. Many of them speculated about my heritage, wondering aloud if I might have Sidhe blood somewhere in my lineage to account for my survival. Their fascination with my story was a testament to the extraordinary nature of the journey I had undertaken and the unexpected place I now found myself in. I wished I could dig through the fragments of my past to uncover any hints of Sidhe blood that might run through my veins. The thought gnawed at me, but I pushed it aside, determined to savor the night. As time passed, the atmosphere in the rooftop garden became increasingly lively. A few of the guests began to play instruments, an upbeat melody, punctuated by the joyous sounds of horns, string instruments, and a fiddle. The small crowd began to dance, their movements fluid and carefree, laughter blending seamlessly with the lively tunes. The more they drank, the bolder their displays of power became. Illuminated by the flickering lights, their magic shimmered and danced around them, creating an ethereal spectacle that left me spellbound. They were shapeshifting, levitating, punching each other with full force only to heal the wounds immediately. I marveled at their abilities, feeling a thrill of fascination as they showcased their powers with abandon, each Sidhe holding a different set of powers from the next. It was evident that they reveled in my awe, their enjoyment palpable as they demonstrated feats of magic that seemed almost effortless to them. But as I watched, I noticed a shift in Lennon. His gaze turned solemn, a shadow crossing his face. While the other royals displayed their powers with an almost careless ease, Lennon’s expression spoke of a different reality. For him, power was precious and limited, not to be squandered. The contrast was stark: where others saw a playground of endless potential, Lennon saw a resource to be guarded and used sparingly. The wastefulness of their displays seemed to weigh heavily on him, a reminder of the constraints and sacrifices he faced in The Dread. Ozzy seemed to sense it, it was as if the pegasus had developed a sixth sense, a deep understanding of our emotions that allowed him to anticipate both of our needs. And in that moment, Ozzy chose to make a grand entrance, flying up onto the roof with a majestic sweep of his wings, his hooves clicking on the stone as he landed with a gentle thud. The small crowd gasped in awe, their eyes fixed on the pegasus as he stood tall, his wings held high, his pearly feathers fluttering in the moonlight. The iridescent glow that danced across his coat was mesmerizing, a shimmering aura that seemed to draw the eye inexorably to him. And as the crowd's attention was captivated by Ozzy's splendor, Lennon seized the opportunity. It was a clever move, one that spoke to the deep bond that was forming between Lennon and Ozzy, a bond that seemed to transcend words and speak directly to the heart. Lennon took my hand with a gentle firmness, guiding me away from the lively cluster of royals and Ozzy’s dazzling display. We walked in silence, the warmth of his hand a reassuring anchor as we moved across the rooftop garden.