Chapter 11 - Empty throne

  Over the many days, Ryn slowly recovered

  He accompanied Ariel often in his role as her guard. Some days, he found him standing quietly at the edge of her private lessons, a silent shadow as she had classes or struggled through etiquette drills. He rarely spoke, his calm silence sometimes only stoking her frustration further.

  Other days, he joined Ariel and Lilia on long walks through the city streets. Ariel darted from stall to stall with boundless curiosity, dragging Lilia behind her, while Ryn followed a step back, hands at his sides, watchful. They ventured through crowded markets where traders called out their wares, down narrow alleys that twisted like a maze, and sometimes toward the outer edge of Solvara, where the air grew cooler and the bustle of the city faded into quiet. Ryn always grumbled at these excursions, muttering about safety and distance, yet he never once turned them back.

  And in the quieter hours, when the palace grew still, Ryn would sometimes send letters to his comrades stationed along the city walls.

  On days when Ariel was too tired, it was often Lilia and Ryn who lingered together instead. They would stroll the palace gardens in companionable silence, Lilia pointing out blooms that reminded her of her home, Ryn occasionally offering a low remark that carried more thought than he intended. Sometimes they sat beneath the shade of the old trees, sharing little more than the calm of the afternoon.

  But as summer waned, calm gave way.

  For the first time since naming Ryn as Ariel’s personal guard, the king summoned him to the throne room.

  ***

  Ryn pushed open the tall doors, their hinges groaning as the sound carried into silence. The throne room stretched out before him, vast and echoing, its ceiling soaring high above like the vault of a cathedral. Light spilled in through narrow stained-glass windows, painting fractured colors across the polished stone floor. The air was cool, touched with the faint scent of incense and old wax.

  At the far end, upon a dais of white marble, the throne stood waiting. It was not gilded with expensive trinkets or jewels. But carved of silver wood, its sheer weight commanding more authority than any ornament ever could. The high back rose like a wall, etched with the sigil of Solvara, a golden sun, catching the dim light so that it glimmered faintly.

  Beside it sat a smaller throne, less commanding and long unused. Its vacancy lingered in the chamber like a shadow, a quiet reminder of what had been lost.

  The king sat in silence upon the greater throne, his figure straight yet still, his golden silver-threaded hair falling down his face, a presence that filled the cavernous hall more than the stone seat itself.

  At his side stood Ariel, her posture dutiful but her expression tense, as though the grandeur of the hall, and that silent, empty throne, was suffocating. Her hands fidgeted at her skirts, and though her chin was lifted, her eyes betrayed a quiet discomfort.

  Ryn stepped forward, each footfall echoing against the walls, a reminder of how small one man seemed beneath the weight of crown and throne.

  The king regarded Ryn with a measured gaze, his voice calm but carrying easily through the chamber.

  “Sometimes I forget just how young you are,” he said at last. The faintest hint of amusement threading through the gravity of his tone.

  “My daughter tells me you’ve done well in your duties. A surprise, I admit, she is rarely so generous when it comes to knights.”

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  Ryn’s eyes flicked to Ariel. She shifted where she stood; though she forced her shoulders level, her fingers toyed with the ribbon at her wrist.

  With that, the king’s voice deepened, cutting through the chamber.

  “However,” he said, “it seems your task will grow more difficult from this day forward.”

  The words hung in the air. Ryn straightened, although his injury was all but fully healed, the ache in his chest seemed to tighten,he kept his face still. Whatever this was, Ariel’s unsettled gaze told him it would not be a matter of simple guard duty.

  The king’s gaze swept the hall, his words deliberate and heavy.

  “As you know, the tension between Varghelm and Solvara has only worsened. Our defenses grow stronger, our watch along the borders more relentless, and for every measure we take, they respond in kind.”

  His hand tightened faintly on the arm of the throne.

  “And now… they send a letter.” He let the words hang for a heartbeat. “An invitation, no less. A ball, extended to the great houses of Solvara, and even to the royal family itself.”

  A curl of distaste crossed his face. “A dance wrapped in courtesy.” His knuckles tightened on the arm of the throne.“However, the people of Solvara are not fools. It does not take a scholar to see this invitation for what it is: a trap, aimed squarely at the royal family.”

  Ryn noticed the king looked towards the empty chair, a surprisingly detached look on his face, but seconds later, it returned to its usual composure.

  His voice echoed against the high stone walls, leaving no space for doubt.

  “We cannot simply refuse them,” he said. “To do so would hand them the excuse they crave. Yet to attend… would be nothing short of a death wish.”

  The silence that followed was cold and absolute. Then the king leaned forward, his words deliberate.

  “So, we have chosen another path. Instead of walking into their jaws, we compel them to come here.”

  “On the autumnal equinox,” the king declared, “Varghelm’s delegation will be invited here, to Solvara Castle, to celebrate the Sol Festival as a ball.”

  Ryn’s expression hardened at the words. The Sol Festival was no mere gathering; it marked the waning of summer and the height of Sol’s fire. The city glowed with lanterns and celebration, and those blessed by the sun god shone brightest then.

  “Unlike Varghelm,” the king continued,

  “We have no desire for further conflict nor for war,” his voice steady, “But it would be folly to imagine this path as safe. Though nothing can yet be confirmed, it is plain enough where their aim lies.”

  His gaze shifted, sharp as a blade.

  “My daughter, Sol's apostle, will be their target. There is no other reason they would dare accept our summons without some scheme of their own.”

  His jaw tightened, and a low sound of disgust escaped him.

  After a long stretch of silence, the king continued;

  “So, boy, I trust you understand what this means.” The king’s voice carried the gravity of command, leaving no room for misunderstanding. His gaze settled firmly on Ryn, sharp as steel.

  “Although our aim during the ball will be a peace treaty, you will accompany my daughter. There, you will act not as her guard but as just another guest, blending in. Yet all the while, you are to protect her from any harm that might come her way.”

  Only Ryn, watching closely, caught Ariel’s brow tightening, as if she’d started to answer for her own life, then closed her mouth and let the moment pass. Her shoulders stiffened as though she held the words inside by force.

  Her chin lifted a fraction higher, the smallest act of rebellion against being spoken of like a pawn.

  “You have merely 2 weeks to prepare,” the king continued, his words clipped, leaving no space for doubt or protest. “In that time, you will learn the manner, the poise, and the silence required of you. When the ball begins, no one will see a guard, only a guest. Fail in this, and you will fail her.”

  Ryn’s hand brushed the hilt at his side, then fell back to his thigh.

  “Do you understand ?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Ryn answered, his voice steady.

  “Good,” the king replied, his eyes narrowing with finality. “From tomorrow, you will accompany my daughter to her classes. You will learn the dances, the etiquette, and the mannerisms expected of one in noble company. Do not falter, and do not fail me.”

  Ariel glanced at Ryn, her eyes carrying a quiet, solemn look. He held it for a moment too long before looking away, uncertain of what to do with it.