Chaptet CLVIII: A royal play

The courtyard of the castle was alive with the sound of laughter and music. Banners in rich shades of crimson and gold fluttered in the gentle breeze, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and sweet honeyed pastries. The court had gathered in celebration, their excitement only slightly shadowed by the bittersweet nature of the occasion: two of the seven royal children would soon be leaving court.

Kai was preparing for his departure to Allendor, where he would study in the hallowed halls of Rosehall under the guidance of the renowned Lord Wendell. Rya had been granted her wish to journey to the Stormlands, tasked with negotiating the reopening of the southern roads with Lord Belton. For both, it was an opportunity to step into their own and prove themselves worthy of their royal lineage.

Isabella’s heart was tight as she watched her children, but it was also brimming with pride. She stood beside Alaric, his hand resting on her waist, eyes sharp as he surveyed the courtyard. The gathered nobles and guests exchanged pleasant words, sipping on spiced wine and laughing at the jests of minstrels.

“Look at them,” Isabella said softly, her gaze lingering on their children. “Laughing, playing together… It won’t be like this much longer.”

Alaric’s eyes followed hers, and a rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “They’re growing up… It’s what they’re meant to do,” he said, though his voice carried the weight of a father who knew the pain of letting go.

On the makeshift stage, a troupe of actors dressed in bright costumes began their play, reenacting tales of old, of dragons and heroes who once walked the land. The younger children, Mahir, Dayan, and Kira, sat in the front row, their eyes wide with wonder. Zayr leaned against Ikkar, the two of them sharing a quiet joke that made their eyes sparkle with mischief. Rya stood slightly apart, the breeze playing with the loose tendrils of her dark hair, an expression of excitement and nervousness flitting across her face as she watched the performance.

The queen’s eyes softened as she watched her children. Moments like this, surrounded by joy and laughter, reminded her of why she fought so fiercely for their kingdom, for their future. The tournaments and festivities were not just a celebration of their children’s departure but of their journey, their steps toward fulfilling the roles destiny had carved out for them.

The actors on the stage erupted into a series of exaggerated bows, signaling the end of the first act. The crowd clapped and cheered, the sound rippling through the courtyard like a wave. Kai, ever composed, joined in the applause, though his eyes were thoughtful, already looking ahead to the future that awaited him in Allendor. Rya, on the other hand, clapped enthusiastically, her cheeks flushed with excitement. It was hard to tell if it was the play or the anticipation of her upcoming journey that had her so animated.

A small, unexpected pang went through Isabella as she looked at Rya. The girl who had once followed her around with endless questions, who had pushed every boundary just to see how far she could go, was about to step into the world on her own terms. The queen’s heart swelled with pride and a bittersweet ache.

“Mother!” Kira’s voice broke Isabella’s reverie. The youngest Dragon Princess ran over, her auburn curls bouncing with each step. “Did you see the part where the hero tamed the dragon? Was it like that when you did it?” Her eyes shone with innocence and admiration.

Isabella laughed, a clear, melodic sound. She knelt to Kira’s height, brushing a stray curl from her daughter’s face. “It was a bit more complicated than that, my love.”

Kira’s eyes lit up with pure excitement. “I want another play!” she announced, looking around expectantly. Her gaze landed on Isabella. “Mama, can we have another story? A love story this time!”

“Kira, the play is over, little dove,” Isabella said with a gentle smile, brushing a lock of Kira’s hair away from her flushed cheeks. “But you can watch it again tomorrow.”

Kira’s eyes, bright with energy, widened with protest. “I don’t want to wait for tomorrow! I want another play! Another story! A love story!”

Alaric, who had been watching with an amused glint in his eyes, leaned forward, folding his arms with a theatrical sigh. “Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to have a stage built right here in the castle,” he said, his voice mock-serious. “That way, my little princess can watch as many plays as her heart desires.”

Kira’s face lit up with excitement. “Really, Father?” she gasped, and before Alaric could respond, she darted over and flung her arms around his neck. He chuckled, lifting her effortlessly and placing her on his knee.

The older royal children exchanged knowing glances, and Zayr rolled his eyes with a smirk. “Of course, the favorite gets what she wants, whenever she wants,” he said, his tone both teasing and resigned.

Alaric arched an eyebrow, looking between them with mock offense. “The favorite? I have no favorites!” He paused, casting a dramatic look over his older children. “You all just stopped being adorable a long time ago.”

A burst of laughter escaped from Rya, and she shook her head with a smile. “Thanks, Father,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. The other children snickered, the shared humor lightening the bittersweetness of the evening.

Alaric’s expression softened, and his gaze landed on Rya, the daughter who had challenged him, who sought her own path away from the gilded cage he had once envisioned for her. “Kira’s my only daughter who doesn’t want to abandon me,” he said, placing a light kiss on the top of Kira’s head. “So, maybe she gets to be the favorite.”

Rya let out a genuine laugh, stepping closer and looping her arms around his shoulders in an embrace. “No matter where I go, I will always be your first daughter,” she said, her voice low but warm.

Isabella watched the scene unfold, a smile spreading across her face as she took in the sight of their family united in this fleeting moment of joy.

***

The new stage gleamed in the sunlight, a testament to Alaric’s indulgence of his youngest daughter’s whims. Princess Kira stood at the center of it, her wide eyes sparkling as she ran her small hands over the painted wood. Her excitement bubbled over, and she spun around, her dress flaring like the petals of a wildflower.

Talia, who had been tasked with keeping up with Kira’s endless energy, followed close behind, her smile warm and patient. “Your Highness, the actors and the crew won’t arrive until next week,” Talia reminded her gently, a touch of amusement in her voice.

Kira’s smile faltered, and her bottom lip jutted out in disappointment. “But I want a play now,” she said, her tone insistent, the plea of a princess unaccustomed to waiting.

Talia chuckled softly. “I’m sorry, my princess, but we’ll have to wait.”

Kira’s brows knitted together in thought before she brightened with a sudden idea. “What if you made a play for me, Lady Talia?” she suggested, her eyes hopeful.

Talia’s cheeks flushed slightly as she shook her head, laughing. “Oh, I’m no actress, Princess Kira. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Kira’s eyes widened, and she looked at Talia as if seeing her for the first time. “But you’re so pretty, you could play a princess!” she said earnestly.

Unbeknownst to them, Ikkar stood nearby, half-hidden behind a pillar. He had been sketching, as he often did when Talia was around, capturing her unguarded moments on the pages of his notebook. Her laugh, her gentle movements, even the way the sun caught in her dark hair. When Kira declared that Talia could be a princess, Ikkar chuckled softly. She did look prettier than any princess or noble lady he had ever seen.

Kira spun around suddenly, her eyes darting across the courtyard. “Sir Thymond!” she called out to a tall knight who was passing by. The knight stopped mid-step, a look of bemused curiosity crossing his features as he approached the stage.

Before Sir Thymond could respond, Ikkar stepped out of his hiding spot with a casual, slightly awkward air. “Hello,” he greeted, trying to sound nonchalant. Talia, startled, quickly curtsied, her cheeks deepening in color.

“Better than having Sir Thymond play the king,” Ikkar said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why not have an actual king take on the role?”

Kira tilted her head at him, assessing. “But you’re not the real king,” she pointed out with a child’s bluntness.

“No,” Ikkar admitted with a smile, “but one day I will be. And until then, I’d be honored to make a play for my little sister.” His voice softened, genuine, and Kira’s face lit up. She ran to him, hugging him tightly around the waist.

“Yes! Yes! I want you to be the king!” Kira cheered, then she looked over her shoulder at Talia, who was standing there, hands folded nervously. “And Lady Talia shall be the princess!” Kira declared.

Ikkar turned to Talia, his gaze lingering. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them. Talia looked away, her cheeks flushing even more, but not before he saw the way her lashes fluttered and the delicate smile that hinted at her lips. She looked beautiful, more so than he could capture in any sketch. His pulse quickened, though he forced himself to remain composed.

“What kind of story do you wish us to perform?” Ikkar asked, breaking the moment with a question aimed at Kira but directed through a smile at Talia.

Kira’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I want the story of our great-great-grandfather, the one who traveled across the world and fought battles just to rescue his bride!”

The wind seemed to carry her words, weaving them through the courtyard and settling them like a secret between Ikkar and Talia. She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and shyness.

Ikkar’s smile softened, and he nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness.” The way he looked at Talia, the softness in his expression, felt like the prelude to a play they had yet to write.