Chapter 15: A Royal Reprimand

Vulfen, Vesmere 24th, AE 1928, Dawngriffin, Kingdom of Arindor

The grand hall of the castle was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. King Gilford and Queen Bellafore sat upon their thrones, their expressions stern and disapproving. Lyra stood before them, her head slightly bowed, a faint bruise visible on her cheek from last week’s training.

King Gilford spoke first, shattering the awkward silence overtaking the room, his voice remained firm and steady, “Lyra, what were you thinking, sneaking out of the castle— dressed in a Guardsmen’s uniform no less? Do you want to kill us with shock? I hope you understand the level of danger you put yourself in last week? The embarrassment you could have brought upon this family— this kingdom?”

Lyra kept her gaze lowered, her jaw clenched. She tried her best to hold back the mix of anger and shame brewing inside her.

Her step-mother, surprisingly, spoke more softly, but still with a hint of disappointment, “The festival is only a few days away, Lyra. Our people look to us for leadership and stability. What will they think if they hear that their princess is behaving like a reckless child?”

Clenching her fists, Lyra took a deep breath before speaking, trying to keep her tone measured and quiet, saying, “I only wanted to get out of the castle… to see more of the kingdom… to understand what it’s like beyond these walls.”

King Gilford placed his head into his hands. “And you chose to do so in the most foolish way possible! Disguised as a common guard, exposing yourself to god knows what dangers. You should be focusing on your duties here, especially with the festival approaching. We have no time for your childish escapades.”

Lyra flinched slightly at the word “childish,” but kept her composure. She softly said, “I just… I wanted to learn. To be more than—”

Queen Bellafore interjected, “We know you long for adventure, Lyra, but your place is here, with your people, with your family. You have a responsibility to the kingdom, especially now.”

Nodding, Lyra bit back a retort and hesitated before speaking again, her curiosity getting the better of her. “And… what about the guardsman trainer? The one who—”

King Gilford raised an eyebrow, cutting her off sharply. “What about him?”

Swallowing briefly, Lyra attempted to find the correct words. “Will anything happen to him? For… what happened during the training?”

The King snorted, shaking his head with a faint, dismissive laugh. “Your injuries, my dear daughter, are the result of your own childish stupidity. You brought this upon yourself, not him. It would be foolish to punish a trainer for doing his job— especially one as skilled as Eamon. He is one of the best we have, and I will not have his reputation tarnished because you decided to run off and play soldier for a morning.”

Lyra’s face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment, frustration, and intrigue. She knew better than to continue an argument with her stubborn father. A piece of her was relieved that nothing would happen to Eamon and another part of her was excited to learn his name.

Nodding, she quietly muttered. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

Queen Belladore sighed, her expression softening significantly, “Go to your chambers, Lyra. Reflect on what you’ve done, and prepare yourself for the festival. I do hope those bruises go away sooner, rather than later. We will speak no more of this… for now.”

Turning around, Lyra walked out of the grand hall, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions. As she stepped into the corridor, she clenched her jaw, reminded of the pain that trainer, Eamon, had put her through. She felt a stubborn resolve settle in her chest. She would get him back for this.

The heavy wooden doors of the grand hall closed behind Lyra with a soft thud. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the tension from the recent reprimand lingering in the air. King Gilford exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples. “That girl…” he grumbled, “She has no idea of the dangers that loom over us. Running around like a child when we have far greater matters at hand.”

Queen Belladore, still seated upon her throne, watched her husband with a concerned expression. She rose and stepped over to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “She is young, Gil. Spirited and curious… as I imagine you must have been when you were younger.”

Sighing, King Gilford allowed his shoulders to slump slightly, the weight of his crown seeming heavier by the day. “I know, Bell… but these are dangerous times. If the Drakorians make a move… if war comes to our gates…” He trailed off, his voice growing quiet, almost fearful. “I’m not sure we’d survive such a conflict. Our forces are already stretched thin, and we have no allies close enough to call upon.”

Queen Belladore’s face softened with understanding. She reached for his cheek and gently cupped it in her hand, her voice steady and calm, saying, “We cannot control what the Drakorians will do. But we have time yet, Gil. Time to prepare, to strengthen our defenses. And for now, the festival is upon us. Let it brighten your mind and raise the morale of our people, even if it is for but a moment."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

King Gilford nodded, though his brow remained furrowed with worry. “And what if the scouts bring news… of an advance or a raid? We can’t wait idly while the shadow of war creeps closer. I fear the Drakorians. If that boy is as brutal as he is with limited training from them, I fear what an army of them could do. I recall his father… I doubt we ever truly saw what he was fully capable of doing.”

Queen Belladore stepped closer, her eyes softening further and her voice lowering to a soothing whisper, “I understand. Come what may, we shall face it together, as we always have. But let’s not let fear rule us just yet. We’ll wait for news from our emissaries and scouts. If there is any to be had… then we shall act. Until then let the festival distract you, let it give you and the people the strength and hope we need for the trials ahead.

Looking his wife in the eyes, King Gilford appreciated the calm determination in her gaze. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You always know how to soothe my worries, Bell. Even when the world feels like it’s about to crumble around me. You truly are my greatest treasure.”

In response Queen Belladore smiled warmly, her hand moving to rest on his chest, over his heart. “As you are mine. It is strange what love can do, my dear. It gives us strength, even when we feel like we are at our weakest.”

She leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. King Gilford closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the comfort of her touch. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, finding a moment of peace in her embrace.

Softly, he told her, “Thank you… for reminding me.”

They sat there for a few moments longer, holding each other amidst the uncertainties befouling their proud kingdom. The world outside may be fraught with dangers, but within this quiet moment, they found solace in each other’s arms, united against what may come.

Elsewhere in Dawngriffin, Sir Eamon stood in a dimly lit training hall, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Even a week later, his thoughts were still spinning from the revelation that he had sparred with Princess Lyra herself. Lost in his thoughts, he heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind and turned to see his old Master Sir Gerard, entering the hall. He folded his arms across his chest, his mouth twisting into a stern, disapproving frown. “So… I heard an interesting thing when I was in the palace last Vulfen. I guess you’ve decided to add beating princesses to your repertoire.”

Eamon straightened, a flicker of surprise and frustration crossing his face. “Look… it was all just a simple misunderstanding. I didn’t realize—”

Gerard raised a hand to stop him, a small, amused grin breaking through his otherwise stern demeanor. “A simple misunderstanding? You realize she is a princess?” He chuckled before continuing, “Relax, Eamon. I know it was a misunderstanding. How do you think I found out?”

Eamon frowned, replying, “How did you find out, Sir?”

Gerard chuckled more, a deep rumble that filled the hall. “The guard who went searching for her was one of my closest pupils. He came straight to me, surely thought the King would have his head. We had a good long laugh about it, too. Said you looked like you’d seen a ghost shitting its breeches when you realized who you just pummeled into the ground.”

Eamon shook his head, “I suppose… A ghost shitting its breeches?” He paused, “What does that even mean?”

Gerard shrugged.

Eamon continued, “Still, I’m surprised the King hasn’t demanded my head for laying my hands on his daughter like that. I don't know if I should feel relieved or concerned that it's been a whole week and all I've heard from the palace is... silence.”

An awkward silence falls over the room, Gerard’s expression turning more serious. “You didn’t do anything inappropriate with her, did you?”

Flabbergasted, Eamon responded, “No!”

“Well then I wouldn’t worry too much, lad. The king’s either too afraid of you to do anything… or too afraid of your father’s ghost.” Gerard chuckled.

Eamon stiffened at the mention of his father, his eyes narrowing slightly, quietly muttering, “Wouldn’t you be?”

Gerard took a moment to think before responding with a nod, leaning in a bit closer, his voice lowering to match his pupil’s volume. “Aye. Your father was a force to be reckoned with. And you’ve proven yourself on more than one occasion. The King knows better than to willingly make an enemy out of a Drakorian.”

Exhaling, Eamon nodded, though the tension remained in his shoulders. He shifted the conversation to a more pressing and urgent matter. “What about the other Drakorians? Any news from our scouts?”

Gerard remained uncharacteristically nonchalant, “Nothing solid. Just rumors. But I heard a rather interesting one… that the Drakorians aren’t mobilizing to fight us at all.”

Eamon’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his voice, “Not mobilizing? That doesn’t make any sense… What are they plotting? And where did you get this information?”

Gerard shrugged, his expression unreadable, “Who knows? Insider knowledge, perhaps.” he said before winking.

A frown crawled across Eamon’s face, his curiosity piqued. He glanced at his master, wondering what else he might know. “Insider knowledge pray tell? And where would you hear such things, sir?”

Gerard’s grin widened as he tapped the side of his nose with a knowing gaze, “Oh, here and there, lad. You learn to keep your ears open in this line of work. Don’t you worry about it.”

Nodding slowly, Eamon still mulled over the odd piece of information. He knew better than to press his master further; Gerard always had a way of knowing more than he let on, but never gave any of it away freely. Eamon’s mind churned with new questions, wondering what the Drakorians were doing— and if his master knew more than he’d ever reveal.