Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 270. Royal Show III

Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 270. Royal Show III

Ophelia couldn't help but find the irony downright hilarious. In a twist of fate, she now found herself riding alongside Angel, the same scenario she once envisioned for her brother Ilex. The horses trotting side by side spoke volumes—an unspoken understanding that had eluded Angel and Ilex in the past.

Her lips curled into a subtle smile as the wind tousled her hair. The spectacle played out before her like a scene from a play she had penned in her mind. Ilex, always the one leading the charge, had his perception of status, of superiority.

But now, the script had been flipped, and Ophelia couldn't help but revel in the irony. Angel now rode side by side with the princess. The last time he led the way, he was guiding Ilex and the others, but they ended up executing him—an ironic reversal of roles.

The weight of her newfound responsibilities bore down on her like an unexpected storm. Her gaze, now focused on the path ahead, couldn't shake the truth that destiny had dealt her a surprising hand.

'Gods surely play with our fate,' she pondered, a tinge of uncertainty underlying her thoughts. The journey, once a mere ceremonial ride, now unfolded into a corridor of doubts and fears. Her heart, beating in sync with the hooves beneath, couldn't escape the anxiety that crept into her consciousness.

The transition from a spoiled princess to a dutiful heir weighed on her like armor forged in the fires of uncertainty. Could she seamlessly step into the void left by her brother? Would she prove capable of safeguarding Asteria?

The questions reverberated in her mind like echoes in a cavern. Ophelia, aware of the stark contrast between the education she received as a princess and the demands of a princely role, grappled with the enormity of her impending duties. The dichotomy between the pampered life she once knew and the mantle she now carried stirred a whirlwind of emotions within.

The procession rolled on, the somber vibe stretching beyond the city limits. The mournful streets, once alive with chatter, now echoed with the weight of sorrow. Cries and whispers danced through the air as people lined the path, their faces etched with grief.

Outside the city, the atmosphere shifted. The hushed murmurs of the crowd gave way to the rhythmic percussion of hooves on the ground. The journey to the King's Grave unfolded in a quieter cadence, each step a beat in the funeral dirge.

The participants, lost in their thoughts, rode with a heaviness that transcended the physical. The air buzzed with unspoken concerns and reflections.

After what felt like an eternity of quiet contemplation, the procession rolled to a halt. Ten minutes, maybe less, but it was enough to soak in the weight of the moment. They stood before the entrance to the King's Grave, a place of both reverence and temptation.

The fences loomed high, a somber barrier between the living and the resting place of royalty. Unlike most royal soldiers, the grave royal guards weren't disarmed. Weapons glinted in the muted sunlight, a stark reminder that the world outside the fence wasn't always kind.

Thieves and bandits, drawn like moths to the flame of forbidden treasures, often saw the King's Grave as a jackpot. The fences weren't just for show; they were a line of defense against those with less-than-honorable intentions.

Angel tightened his grip on the reins, guiding his horse to the edge of the line. His gaze fixated on the entrance to the King's Grave, a place laden with memories and the weight of royal lineage. It beckoned him, an echo of a past where he bore the name Reinheart with both pride and burden.

The pull to step inside, to pay homage to the father who rested within, was palpable. The desire tugged at him, a yearning that transcended the boundaries of titles and kingdoms. But reality intervened, stark and unforgiving. He wasn't a Reinheart anymore, a fact that cut deep, relegating him to a position outside the sacred threshold.

As a royal from a foreign kingdom, he found himself shackled by the unyielding rules that governed the King's Grave. A place that held the remains of his father, yet one that denied him entry. He had breached that boundary before, seeking solace when emotional turmoil gripped him without mercy.

But today, as the funeral procession unfolded with the weight of formality, Angel made a choice. He pulled back, restrained by the understanding that this wasn't the moment for personal indulgence. The solemnity of the occasion demanded a different stance, a sacrifice of personal emotions for the sake of royal decorum.

So, with a heavy heart, he stepped aside, his gaze lingering on the entrance—a silent acknowledgment of the familial ties that lingered beyond his reach.

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