Page 26 of Warrior Princess (Blood Weaver Trilogy #3)

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T hree days had passed since the meeting with Abigail left us reeling. Each piece of information was a thousand-pound weight that seemed to press upon my chest as we navigated Eldwain’s ornate streets. Today was the day of King Alwyn's funeral, and the tension was palpable. The entire city seemed to be holding its breath.

As Chief Aryan, Ronan, Shiro, and I approached the palace, the gravity of the occasion was underscored by the opulence that greeted us. The palace was a magnificent structure, its towering spires and silver rooftops shimmering under the soft light of the morning sun. The architecture was a blend of elegance and fortitude, much like the half-fae themselves.

The air was thick with the scent of mourning; floral arrangements lined the pathway, their fragrances mingling with the crisp air. Nobility and dignitaries from across Asteria had gathered, their somber faces and whispered conversations adding to the solemn atmosphere.

When we entered the palace's vast hall, it was like stepping into another world. The ceiling arched high above, adorned with vibrant frescoes depicting Eldwain’s history. Glimmering chandeliers soared high above, casting a gentle glow over the guests who were dressed in their finest, though muted, attire.

In the distance, amidst a sea of faces, I spotted my family. My father, supported by my mother, looked frail and pale. I wondered if my brother had given him the concoction with my blood yet. Marcellus stood close by, his expression one of quiet sorrow mixed with the burden of impending responsibilities.

Unable to push my way through the crowd without disturbing the ceremony's solemnity, I caught Marcellus's eye from afar and gave a small, reassuring wave. He nodded slightly and a ghost of a smile crossed his features.

My mother, elegant as ever, was clad in a flowing gown that belied the tension in her eyes. She held my father gently, guiding him with a care that seemed at odds with the secrets we had just unearthed about her. It was a jarring sight, the tenderness of her touch against the backdrop of the dark truths we now held.

As the ceremony began, the murmuring voices around us fell silent. The royal family of Eldwain stepped forward to pay their respects, their solemnity setting the tone for the rest of the gathering. They went in order of oldest to youngest, starting with Prince Cosmo and ending with Princess Avery. The king of Eldwain had sired a total of six children. His queen and concubines followed, a total of five wives. As they said their final goodbyes to King Alwyn, I wasn’t sure whether they were sad he was gone, or relieved. Their impassive expressions gave nothing away.

All of the king’s children were silver haired and dressed in white mourning attire, as was the custom of the fae. I watched Caelan, the fifth child and youngest male prince. It felt like an eternity had passed since I last saw him, when it was just two weeks ago. Although his father had just passed, I couldn’t quell the anger that bubbled within me at the sight of him.

Caelan, once my best friend and now my mortal enemy. How times had changed. If only we could go back to when we were innocent children.

After the royal family was seated, the ceremony unfolded with an orchestrated solemnity befitting a king. Elders in flowing robes lined up to offer their blessings, their voices echoing softly through the grand hall, their words a mix of ancient dialects and solemn vows for peace and guidance to the departed soul. Incense burned at the altar, sending spirals of fragrant smoke into the air, mingling with the muted whispers of the assembled crowd.

An elder from Ellyndor, draped in a silver and blue robe that shimmered under the chandelier's light, stepped forward to lead the service. His voice was clear and resonant as he began to speak, invoking the blessings of the gods.

“We gather here today under the watchful eyes of the gods to honor King Alwyn, a ruler who was as wise as he was just. His spirit now journeys to the Vale, where he will find peace in the great beyond,” he intoned, raising his hands towards the ornate stained glass that depicted the mythical Vale.

As the elder spoke, a procession of young maidens, each representing one of the provinces of Eldwain, approached the altar. This procession was followed by my mother, who cried uncontrollably as she supported my father. When it was their turn to pay their respects, they stepped forward. Her movements were graceful, yet there was a barely perceptible tremor in her steps—a hint of the strain under which she labored. She laid a wreath of white blossoms on the casket, her grief-stricken expression unbefitting of the Queen of Valoria.

Marcellus followed. His posture was rigid, his face an unreadable mask. His tribute was a beautifully crafted miniature sculpture of a fae stag, the emblem of Eldwain’s royal lineage. His gaze lingered on the casket for a moment longer than necessary, his jaw set tight as if this was the last place he wanted to be.

After Eldwain’s closest neighbor Valoria had paid their respects, it was time for the remaining royal families of Asteria. They consisted of Mykal and Queen Sariyah of Keldara; the elders from Ellyndor; the governor from the Central Plains; and Chief Aryan, Ronan, Shiro, and me, representing the Crimson Clan. The elder called upon each of the noble families to step up, their tributes varying from heartfelt speeches to solemn promises of continued alliance and peace. The air was thick with the gravity of diplomacy and the unspoken tensions that such gatherings inevitably stirred.

As the ceremony drew to a close, the elder recited a final benediction. “Let the light of the gods guide you, King Alwyn. May your spirit soar high with the winds of Eldwain and watch over us as we strive to uphold the harmony and justice you cherished.”

The congregation bowed their heads in a moment of silence, the only sound the soft rustling of robes and the distant tolling of a bell. As the echoes faded, the assembly slowly began to disperse for the grand hall, the murmur of voices gradually rising as plans were made and condolences exchanged.

Ronan leaned close to whisper, “Do you want to attend the reception?” he asked. “We can leave now. We’ve done our duties.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s fine. It would be in poor taste if we left right after the ceremony.” My mind was already racing with the idea of having to speak with my mother.

As the crowd thinned, we followed the crowd to the grand hall where one of the princes was going to be crowned king. It was a show of weakness if a new king didn’t take over the throne, so it had to be done right away. Just these last few days without a king had put Eldwain in a precarious situation if another nation had wanted to invade.

Following the somber formality of the funeral ceremony, the reception in the grand hall of the Eldwain palace was a striking contrast. The vast space had been transformed into a sea of vibrant colors and lively conversations. The ceilings, high and vaulted, were adorned with intricate frescoes. Numerous crystal chandeliers hung overhead, casting a sparkling glow that bathed the hall in warm light.

The hall was lined with long tables covered in white damask cloths, each table boasting an array of exquisite floral arrangements. The centerpieces featured native Eldwain flora—silvery leaves and white blossoms intertwined with subtle hints of gold, artfully reflecting the royal colors. At the far end of the hall, a large banquet table displayed an impressive spread of delicacies: roasted meats garnished with rare herbs, trays of colorful fruits from across Asteria, and fine pastries that were a testament to the skilled confectioners of Eldwain.

Servers in elegant attire weaved through the crowd, offering glasses of wine and exotic juices to the guests. A soft melody played by a group of musicians filled the air, their instruments—a blend of harps, flutes, and stringed instruments—creating a soothing backdrop that encouraged mingling and gentle laughter among the attendees.

Throughout the hall, the atmosphere was one of cautious celebration. Despite the occasion's mournful origin, the gathering served as a platform for reaffirming alliances and forging new ones, as representatives from different lands exchanged words and promises under the watchful eyes of their leaders.

“I’m going to make the rounds. Do not embarrass me,” Chief Aryan growled under his breath before striding away through the crowd.

Shiro shrugged. “I guess I will, too.” The demon fox sauntered off and quickly became lost in the crowd.

Ronan took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as he pulled me toward him. “Do you want to go say hello to your family?”

I blew out a breath. “I know I should, even though I truly don’t want to… But you’re right. I eventually have to do it sometime during this trip. Might as well get it over with.”

He nodded and led me through the crowd where my parents were talking to some dignitaries from the Central Plains.

I cleared my throat. “Father… Mother,” I interrupted their conversation. The dignitaries nodded hello and quickly excused themselves when they saw Ronan.

“My Lyanna,” my father said weakly. “Come.” He waved me toward him and embraced me. His mouth met the shell of my ear. “You were right.”

I tensed in his arms, but I didn’t have time to respond before my mother pulled him back, none the wiser. He gave me a look that held an ocean of meaning in his dull blue eyes.

“Lyanna,” my mother said dismissively. “I see you’re a fully-fledged Crimson Clan member now. How disappointing, after they attempted to assassinate you.”

“No they didn’t,” I gritted between my teeth. “Don’t start rumors you cannot prove!”

She grunted and flicked her hair off her shoulder before turning and giving me her back. “If you say so.” Without another word, she ushered my father away from me.

I’d been gone for years, endured hell and fought my way back, and that was all she had to say to me? I didn’t recognize the woman she had become. But did I ever truly know my mother?

Just then, I heard my name as Marcellus called for me and made his way to us. Before I could greet him, a bell chimed loudly, snaring the crowd’s attention as they looked toward the front of the room.

On the dais, Prince Cosmo proudly stood with his luminous wife on his arm, his silver hair and hazel eyes shining brightly with excitement. He had been waiting a long time for his father to die so he could finally take the throne.

“Attention!” an Ellyndor elder called out. “It is time for the transfer of the crown. Please bear witness to the rise of the new King of Eldwain, chosen by King Alwyn himself… Prince Cosmo!”

With a sharp whistle, an arrow sailed through the crowd and pierced Prince Cosmo’s heart. Shrieks rang out around the room and startled onlookers glanced around frantically to see where the arrow came from.

Ronan pushed me behind him and used his body as a shield for whatever was to come. I lifted my head to see Caelan standing on a table in the back of the grand hall with a bow in his hand, wearing a sinister grin.

He’d just assassinated his eldest brother in front of everyone.

Cosmo’s wife was on the floor, crying as she held her dead husband. She begged the crowd for help, but no one knew how to handle such an unprecedented event. Their sense of self-preservation won out and they scrambled to leave the grand hall, but all the exits were sealed. We were trapped inside.

Caelan’s brothers swarmed out of the crowd from different directions, gripping their swords and ready to fight.

Prince Draco, the fourth prince, was the first to engage. He met Caelan mid-way, the crowd parting hastily to give them space. Caelan dropped his bow and unsheathed the sword from his back.

“Are you mad?” Draco shouted. “You just killed our brother, you bastard!”

Caelan smirked. “And you’re next.” He charged toward his brother with hate swimming in his eyes.

Ringing steel shrieked through the room, sharp and ominous, as the two princes dueled in a heated battle to the death. Their swords glinted menacingly under the dim light of the chandeliers, sparks flying with each violent strike and parry. The crowd pushed back against the walls and watched in horror and disbelief, their terrified whispers drowned out by the deafening sound of battle.

Ronan kept me shielded behind him, his eyes scanning for any signs of further danger. His body was coiled, ready to move at the slightest provocation. “Stay close to me!”

Caelan was relentless, his attacks precise and fueled by cold fury. Draco, a less experienced sword fighter, struggled to keep up and his blocks became increasingly desperate. The clash of swords was a dance of death, each movement calculated and lethal.

Shiro found us in the crowd, his eyes narrowed and calculating, his bristly white tail swishing behind him agitatedly. “This isn’t a mere family dispute,” he muttered. “Caelan’s making a power play, and he’s willing to spill his own family’s blood for it.”

Prince Fintan, the second prince, joined the fray, attempting to flank Caelan and aid his younger brother Draco. But Caelan was prepared to fight dirty. He kicked back and caught Fintan off-guard with a swift, brutal punch that sent him reeling.

The chaos escalated as Caelan’s secret army—previously hidden among the crowd—drew their weapons and began to clash with the royal guards that were pushing through the crowd to reach the remaining princes. The grand hall turned into a battlefield. Brutal combat echoed off the stone walls, mixing with the cries of the injured and frightened.

I clutched Ronan’s arm and tried to quell my galloping heart. “We need to do something!”

Ronan’s jaw was clenched. “If we intervene now, we’re dead. He has too many on his side. Caelan was prepared.”

Shiro stepped up to my other side. “We need to keep out of it. It’s best not to get involved.”

“But—”

“Leila,” Shiro stopped me. “This is not our fight… not yet.”

A scream pierced the crowd and we turned to see Caelan’s sword plunge into his older brother Fintan’s chest. In a fit of rage, Draco ran toward him with his sword raised and murder in his eyes. Smooth as silk, Caelan spun around, pulling a dagger from his belt, and slit Draco’s throat before he could even blink.

I watched his brothers die, one by one. “By the goddess!”

“Lyanna!” Marcellus pushed his way through the crowd and gripped my arms. “I have to get our parents out of here. I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, Marcel. Keep them safe.” We embraced quickly and I watched as he shuffled our parents away from the melee.

It was in that moment that I saw my mother’s expression. Instead of terror, she was biting her lip to keep from laughing. I wondered what she thought was so damn funny about this situation, but I didn’t have long to consider it because Ronan threw himself in front of me when someone threw a chair against one of the windows in their haste to escape. Shards of glass rained down and I watched in horror as they fell over Ronan.

I shouted his name, visually checking him for cuts, but he held me tightly until we were in the clear.

“I’m okay,” he muttered. “My leathers took most of it. Don’t worry.”

He was always doing things to protect me, even when it cost him.

“Where is Prince Adler and Princess Avery?” I didn’t see either of them in the hall and hoped they’d managed to flee.

I peered around at the chaos of the grand hall. Dead bodies lay strewn on the exquisite marble floor and arcs of blood were splattered everywhere, painting the room red.

Just then, Caelan’s voice boomed across the opulent space. “Adler! Where are you?” His sing-song voice had a maniacal twang as he searched for his final brother in the crowd. The only remaining threat to him taking the throne.

With a sinister smirk, Caelan maneuvered through the disarray, his sword dripping with his brothers’ blood. He bypassed duels and dodged desperate civilians, his focus sharp and unyielding. The tension thickened as he approached a shadowed corner of the hall where a figure lurked, trying to blend with the darkness.

“Adler…” Caelan's voice sliced through the air, smooth and menacing. “Come out, big brother. You can't hide from destiny.”

Prince Adler emerged from the shadows, his expression a mix of fear and defiance. Unlike his brothers, Adler was a known coward who always took the easy way out. “This is madness, Caelan!” Adler's voice trembled slightly, but he held his ground. “You've gone too far!”

Caelan laughed, a sound that sent chills down the spines of those who heard it. “Too far? No, Adler, I am merely taking what is rightfully mine. If you stand with me, you can share in the glory.”

Adler shook his head and tightened the grip on his sword. “You would never let me live. While I breathe, I will always be a threat to you. I just can’t believe we never noticed your thirst for power. You did well hiding it, little brother.”

“Yes, you’re right.” With a feral grin, Caelan lunged, initiating a deadly dance.

Adler, driven by desperation and a sudden surge of courage, parried the first few blows with surprising skill. The two brothers moved with a grace that belied the violence of their intentions, their swords clashing in a lethal ballet.

The crowd parted around them, forming a circle that became the arena for their private war. Adler fought with the ferocity of one fighting for more than his life—he fought for the soul of Eldwain.

As the duel intensified, Caelan's superior skill began to overpower Adler. Blow after blow, Adler's defenses weakened until, with a swift and brutal motion, Caelan disarmed him, sending his sword clattering across the stone floor.

Adler stood defenseless, his chest heaving as he faced his younger brother, whose sword was poised at his heart. The hall held its breath, the silence oppressive.

“Any last words, brother?” Caelan's voice was soft, almost regretful.

Adler lifted his chin, his eyes resolute. “You may kill me, but you will never rule Eldwain!”

With a nod, Caelan sunk his sword deep into Adler’s chest. Blood spewed from his mouth and he hunched over.

Adler smiled, his teeth bloody as he grinned at his brother. “May we haunt you in the afterlife.” With those as his final words, he collapsed to the ground. The final obstacle in Caelan’s way had been eliminated.

Silence encompassed the grand hall as everyone stopped fighting. The victor was clear.

Caelan may be king, but the fight for Eldwain's future had just begun.