Chapter 13—The New Queen

The citizens of Adri collectively held their breath as the carriage made its way into the capital from the northeast—a path seldom traveled since the days when the late King Aeron waged a war over water rights. The carriage bore the intricate craftsmanship unique to Myrdadri, the very kingdom King Aeron had once fiercely contested. Its unexpected arrival sent a ripple of shock and confusion through the onlookers.

Murmurs spread like wildfire among the crowd. "Could this be another tyrant queen? Haven't we suffered enough at the hands of the last?" one whispered. "I've heard tales of a witch, akin to Queen Iona—" another began, only to be hushed. "Speak not her name so lightly," warned a third, "lest her curse befall you." The townspeople speculated and debated, their voices a cacophony of guesses about the nature of the newcomer. Yet, as the carriage doors swung open, a silence descended upon them all.

As the figure emerged from the carriage, the sunlight caught her hair, transforming it into a shimmering cascade of sapphire. Her voluminous curls tumbled down her back, a waterfall of light blue framed by the silver crown that adorned her head. This crown, studded with gems, was connected by chains that encircled her forehead like a halo of nobility.

Her gown, a masterpiece of ocean blue, featured an off-shoulder design rich with embroidery and beadwork that mimicked the intricate patterns of vines and foliage. The fitted bodice showcased the elaborate designs, which flowed down to the waistline, highlighting her regal stature.

The drama heightened as she stepped down from the carriage, the sheer sleeves of her gown billowing behind her like the wings of a mythical creature. But it was her pointed ears that captured the crowd's attention—a telltale sign of her distinguished lineage. To the people of Adri, she was no stranger; she was the concubine who had fled from King Aeron's side. Whispers abounded that upon her pregnancy with the king's child, the late Queen Iona's fury had driven her back to her own kingdom.

Eraviel's eyes sparkled with a mysterious allure, her demeanor gentle yet enigmatic, stirring memories of Queen Iona among the populace. Her presence was a delicate balance of vulnerability and an icy resolve that left the onlookers in silent contemplation. While her beauty was undeniable, her lineage drew mixed emotions—admiration from some, disdain from others. And amidst the silent gazes, questions hung in the air, whispers of her intentions, her return to Adri, and the possibility of a royal union.

As Eraviel glided across the carpeted expanse of the castle, her arrival was met with royal reception. The King and the Prince awaited her at the corridor's end. With a graceful curtsy, she acknowledged them, her smile directed at Daemon carrying a secret significance. Their exchanged glances were laden with dark intentions, a silent pact of madness and ambition.

"I am Eraviel of Myrdadri, Your Majesty," she declared with poise. "Welcome to Adri, Eraviel," the King proclaimed. "You come as a recompense for the water rights of the northeast—a valuable asset to our kingdom." "You are the destined Queen of Adri," the King continued, his voice echoing with expectation. "Much is anticipated from you." His declaration was punctuated by a chorus of sinister laughter, resonating through the halls of the castle.

Sui de Valentine's composure cracked at the sight of Eraviel, her ambition warring with her sense of propriety. Despite her aspirations, she wouldn't dare assume such liberties in the king's presence. The castle's banquet, thrown in honor of Eraviel's arrival, struck her as frivolous—a sentiment she could barely conceal.

Eraviel, the elven maiden poised to become Adri's queen, conducted herself with a disconcerting familiarity towards the new king. Her lingering touches and bold eye contact stirred a visceral repulsion in Sui, igniting a fierce desire to confront her. "Her audacity is unseemly, given her past with King Aeron," Sui whispered under her breath, her fan fluttering more rapidly as she struggled to mask her disdain.

The revelation of King Datura's demise cast a shadow over Sui's aspirations, extinguishing her dreams of queenship. Yet, she was not one to yield to despair; she knew a new tactic, a fresh ploy, was essential to claim what she believed was rightfully hers. With this resolve, she approached the royal table where the King, the Prince, and Eraviel were in conversation. But as Eraviel's gaze locked onto hers, a shiver ran down Sui's spine.

Could it truly have been Queen Iona's wrath that banished Eraviel from the castle? Sui pondered, her confidence wavering under the weight of Eraviel's intimidating presence. She had never known fear, but Eraviel's eyes were like daggers of ice, her stare a harbinger of death itself—a silent proclamation of her awareness of Sui's ambitions and a chilling warning to tread carefully.

Paralyzed by the intensity of Eraviel's gaze, Sui found herself rooted to the spot, her body betraying her as tremors took hold. Her breaths came in short, panicked gasps, and a sense of dread churned within her. She had barely closed the distance between them when her strength failed her, and she collapsed, a mere two tables away from her quarry. As the castle staff hurried to her aid, Sui was powerless to resist, her mind reeling from the potent aura of danger that Eraviel exuded.

"King of Adri, you are weary, replenish your energy or you'll find yourself ambushed. " Ydric's counsel echoed within Datura's consciousness, his assent silent, guarding the secret of Ydric's sentient blade from Sera's knowledge.

Datura Lucas was indeed spent. For twenty-two hours, their journey had stretched unceasingly, and yet, his resolve to press on was unwavering. To the east of Verdant lay Valadri, the verdant capital they intended to seek refuge in, albeit briefly, before venturing forth to Eldri. Valadri, a realm abounding with lush woodlands and meandering rivers, flourished through the commerce of its bounteous natural gifts. Here, the markets brimmed with the spoils of the forest—fruits, beasts, and pelts of both mundane and mystical creatures. To the south, the bustling seaport traded in rarities fetched from the depths—kraken ink and mermaid scales—a testament to its proximity to the enigmatic Mooncove Isles.

The path they embarked upon was challenging, navigating through small mountains dense with trees and teeming with animals. It was surprising they hadn't encountered a forest guardian yet. However, the howling of wolves still served as a warning of potential dangers. Sera seemed unfazed as she moved through the forest with ease, her clothes neatly tucked, albeit slightly dusty and possibly stained with blood, though her robe was already red.

The mermaid was asleep, seemingly still affected by the spell, akin to a fever lasting for days. They had cast a spell on her so they wouldn't have to carry her, but it proved futile as she continued to suffer its aftereffects.

Sera had offered to carry the mermaid for the past twenty hours, yet she showed no signs of weariness or strain. Datura, despite his proportional build, possessed a weak and fragile body. His handsome face, reminiscent of his mother's, did little to convey an image of strength.

"Do you need a rest?" Sera asked, glancing back at Datura who was falling behind. Her gaze, even more ethereal in the daylight, was accentuated by the leaf patterns casting shadows on her face, and the sunlight filtering through, illuminating her yellow eyes. Her pupils, now small, gave her a cat-like appearance. Datura thought to himself that such a face seemed wasted on a brute like her.

"No need for rest, I can already see the silhouette of the capital," Lucas declared, his gaze locked on the city nestled below the mountain path. "Ah, such keen sight," Sera mused, a spark of reminiscence flickering across her features. "Reminds me of someone I once knew."

"A former client, perhaps?" Lucas probed, a tinge of bitterness coloring his tone. "Not quite," Sera began, but her words were cut short by sudden peril. With reflexes honed by countless dangers, Sera dove, spiriting the mermaid to the safety of a tree's shadow. The mermaid, roused by the jarring landing, sensed the familiar shroud of threat enveloping them.

The assailant's weapon, a sword black as night, struck stone and dissolved into wisps of darkness. Sera's eyes tracked the vanishing smoke with a warrior's vigilance. A figure emerged, enshrouded in a cloak that bled shadows, four spectral wolves prowling at his feet, their gaze as void and chilling as the abyss. Sera's heart recognized the adversary before her even as he raised his head.

"Caelun," she greeted with a grin that split the tension like a blade. "Long time no see. Miss me?" Caelun responded not with words but with action, his hood falling away to reveal a scar—a silent testament to their shared history. "This time, Seraphine, you won't escape me," he vowed, his voice a low growl of promised retribution.