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“Sir!” Another guard burst in, his voice trembling as he addressed Tristan. “It’s Ryke, sir. Seems like he’s refusing to allow King Midas to stay in the palace. Please, come. He must know of your return.”
Tristan’s eyes locked onto Aurora’s for a fleeting moment before he took her hand. “Don’t leave,” he pleaded. “I'll be right back.”
As he turned away, their hands slipped apart, and Aurora felt the weight of his absence settle around her like a heavy shroud. The room emptied, and voices and footsteps faded until silence reclaimed the space.
And there she stood, alone amidst the echoes of what they’d shared. Tears welled up again, but she held them at bay, determined to be strong. The room seemed to expand, its walls stretching to encompass a sea of memories—whispered confessions and stolen kisses.
And just like that, the sweetest release became the cruelest farewell.
TRISTAN
The grand hall of the palace, illuminated by a constellation of flickering candles, was a sight to behold. Banners of deep blue and gold, the colors of Tristan’s kingdom, hung with an air of regality, fluttering gently in the cool breeze that swept through the high arched windows. The moonlight filtered through the glass, casting a soft glow that danced on the polished marble floor. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the murmurs of the gathered nobles and dignitaries creating a low hum that resonated through the air.
As Tristan stood by his throne, his heart raced in synchronicity with the growing excitement in the room. In mere moments, he would ascend to the throne of his kingdom, and the grandeur of the hall seemed to echo the weight of the responsibility that was about to be placed onto his shoulders.
Among the sea of faces, he searched for Aurora’s in the crowd. She wasn’t there. She hadn’t stayed. He’d returned to his room only to find her gone. The memory must’ve wiped away his smile because when his eyes landed on his cousin, Ryke’s brows were furrowed with concern.
Tristan forced a smile and then glanced at Lexa, standing at Ryke’s side. Killian stood with the guards by the double doors, his cautious gaze sweeping the room. King Midas, with his golden crown and opulent robe, sat on the front row with an unreadable expression.
Tristan’s crown, a magnificent creation of gold and precious stones, lay atop a velvet cushion, glinting enticingly in the gentle light. Tristan took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his heritage and the hopes of his people pressing against his chest. As he approached the throne, the crowd’s murmurs grew hushed, and a sense of gravity settled over the hall.
The ceremony began with the royal herald announcing Tristan’s achievements and his rightful claim to the throne. The crown, studded with sapphires and diamonds, was placed onto Tristan’s head. The royal scepter was then handed to him, a symbol of power and authority. Holding it, Tristan felt the lineage of kings before him and the promise of the future.
“Today marks a new chapter in the history of our kingdom,” Tristan began, his voice carrying easily through the grand hall. “Today marks not just my coronation, but the dawn of a new era for our kingdom. An era of unity, prosperity, and peace.”
The applause swelled, and Tristan exchanged a knowing glance with Ryke and Lexa. He could feel their unwavering support radiating from their smiles.
As Tristan took hold of the gleaming scepter, a hush descended once more. The room seemed to hold its breath as he turned toward King Midas.
“King Midas,” Tristan called, his voice clear and steady, “please join me.”
Midas stepped forward, his expression unreadable. A large ornate bowl, half-filled with crystal-clear water, was placed on a stand in front of the throne. This was no mere formality; this was the binding of two kingdoms, the forging of an alliance that would shape the course of history.
Tristan turned to Midas, a silent understanding passing between them. “In the spirit of unity, we form an alliance with King Midas,” Tristan continued, “binding our kingdoms together for mutual prosperity.” He then turned to a nearby attendant, who presented a knife to each of them.
Tristan approached the bowl. He made a small incision on his palm, the sting a reminder of the sacrifices leaders must make. Beside him, Midas did the same, and together they held their bloodied hands over the bowl. The droplets mingled, a poignant symbol of their shared alliance.
As the mingling blood shimmered in the water, the crowd erupted into applause. It was a moment of hope, a tangible representation of the bonds they were forging. Yet, even as the clapping echoed through the hall, a sudden tension crackled in the air.
Midas, with a swift move, tried to grab Tristan’s arm. Instead, he caught Tristan’s bleeding hand. The gasps of horror echoed through the hall.
Midas smirked, a wicked glint in his eye. “Thank you for the alliance,” he whispered, his voice dripping with venom, “because now your kingdom will be mine.”
A shiver raced up Tristan’s arm, and a creeping sensation spread across his skin like liquid gold. Tristan watched in horror as his hand began to turn to gold, the very flesh changing into a shimmering, metallic hue. The gasps in the room intensified, and he felt the weight of the crowd’s gaze on him with astonishment and dread.
Midas’ grin widened, a cruel triumph dancing in his eyes. He had orchestrated this, and used the alliance as a means to seize control. And in that moment, as the truth crashed over Tristan like a tidal wave, he realized that the battle for his kingdom had only just begun.
AURORA
Aurora’s room was lit by flickering candles that made long shadows dance across the walls. She was busy gathering clothes—dresses, tunics, and soft fabrics—but her thoughts kept drifting to Tristan. It was like her mind was a swirling storm of leaves, each one a memory of him. She could almost feel his touch, warm and comforting against her soft skin.
A bittersweet ache tugged at her heart as she remembered their last kiss, his last words that now seemed to hang in the air like echoes of a song long gone. She had left without waiting for him, unable to bear another goodbye.
The sound of clashing steel and distant shouts from the guards outside her father’s castle snapped her to attention. Her heart raced, and her body tensed, her fingers involuntarily tightening around the fabric in her hands. The guards were on high alert, their duty-bound calls to arms penetrating the stillness of the night.
Aurora’s decision to sneak into the castle was risky, but it was a risk she had to take. She needed to free the women her father had enslaved. She would also never make it across the Northern Kingdom empty-handed. Part of her also wanted to say a silent goodbye to the only place she had ever known, no matter how much it had felt like a gilded cage—a prison masquerading as a home.
Her eyes swept the room, taking in all the things she’d collected over the years—little treasures that made her feel safe. She touched a delicate porcelain ballerina, a gift from her mother, her fingers tracing its smooth surface. It felt like a piece of another life, one she was now determined to leave behind.
