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The room grew quiet as the advisors, one by one, slipped away, their murmurs dissipating, leaving the room in a hush.
Tristan took a moment to compose himself before making his way up the staircase to the room where Midas was taken. The door was left open, revealing him hunched over on the edge of the bed.
Tristan cleared his throat, a subtle cue that caught Midas’ attention. He sat a bit taller as Tristan approached. In the stillness of the moment, neither of them uttered a word.
“Congratulations,” Midas finally said, his tone low and deflated. “You defeated me.”
“You left me no choice,” Tristan replied.
“How did you know?” he asked, giving Tristan a side glance. “How did you know I was going to betray you?”
“I didn’t,” Tristan confessed, “but I was prepared for it.”
“You couldn’t have predicted the venom in your blood would counteract my gold,” Midas said. “You were brave in the risk you took. I underestimated you. My daughter, on the other hand, was right to believe in you.”
Tristan’s chest tightened at the mention of Aurora, and he forced his voice to remain steady despite the emotions swirling within him. “I never wished for any animosity between us.”
Midas let out a mirthless chuckle. “You took the only thing of value I ever had, and now you have the nerve to say you don’t wish to become my enemy?”
“Your daughter is worth so much more than gold. How could you have chosen your own power over her happiness?”
Midas’ eyes narrowed at Tristan. “Everything I’ve ever done was to protect my daughter. She may not have approved of my methods, but it was the only way to keep her alive.”
“Living as a prisoner is no way to live.”
Midas waved a dismissive hand in Tristan’s direction. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just send me to the gallows and let’s get this over with. All I ask is that my daughter not be present at my execution.”
A heavy silence draped over them, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
“You will not be executed,” Tristan replied.
Midas turned to look up at him, surprised.
“We are allies, and our kingdoms are one,” Tristan continued. “My guards will escort you back to your castle. I am also willing to honor our alliance and offer you my protection to prevent your enemies from taking your throne.”
Midas’ eyes glimmered with a hint of gratitude, but the dim of sadness still lingered. “I was wrong about you,” he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of a shattered man. “You will become a legendary king one day.”
Tristan responded with a grateful nod. “That means a lot coming from someone as powerful as you.”
Midas turned away, his face a portrait of shame and grief. “I am no one,” he murmured, his voice a mere echo of the man he once was. “My gold was all I had.”
“You have your daughter,” Tristan assured him. “I am positive that if you reach out to her, she’ll forgive you. She has a wonderful heart.”
The corner of Midas’ lips tugged slightly. “That she does. She took after her mother. But I cannot in good conscience ask for her forgiveness,” he murmured, his shoulders weighed down by the burden of his self-perceived failure. “I am not sorry for the things I’ve done. For the power I acquired. And I shall not rest until I have regained my gold.”
In a swift motion, Midas reached for the sundrop drink resting on Tristan’s nightstand. The liquid disappeared in a single gulp.
Tristan snatched the bowl from his hand, but it was too late. Midas’ eyes rolled back, and he crumpled onto the bed, his body limp and defeated.
Tristan stood frozen in place, shocked. The world seemed to fade into a hush, with only the distant sound of the sea flowing through the open window.
TRISTAN
Months later, the once-devastated land was now buzzing with activity. Homes were being rebuilt, children played in the streets, and the air was filled with the sounds of laughter and hope. Tristan, in simple attire, was among the villagers, lifting beams and helping to reconstruct a village ravaged during the war.
The horizon was momentarily obscured by a rising cloud of dust, signaling the approach of a vehicle. The rhythmic sound of hooves pounding the ground grew louder, harmonizing with the creaking of wooden wheels. As the dust began to settle, the silhouette of a chariot emerged, its intricate designs and craftsmanship evident even from a distance. The chariot’s wheels, reinforced with iron, carved deep tracks into the soft earth.
The chariot bore the emblem of the Chanted Kingdom—a white owl in full flight, a symbol of peace and friendship.
