The air was thick with tension as guards escorted a frail figure through the palace halls toward the throne room.
Ulric, Orielle's father, shuffled forward, his steps uneven with exhaustion. His weathered face bore the strain of over a month's worry, deep lines carved by sleepless nights. Strands of gray hair clung damply to his brow, and his trembling hands hung uselessly at his sides as armored knights marched beside him, their synchronized steps echoing like a drumbeat in his chest.
The throne room loomed ahead—vast, imposing, for a farmer this would be a chamber unknown and uncomprehendable.
He had only heard the news a week after she was taken. The queen has been kidnapped.His Orielle. Then came the second information, but don't worry the king himself had left to retrieve her. Not sure if he should feel relieved or more concerened by that fact.
Since that day, Ulric had come to the palace gates every morning. And every morning, he was turned away. No answers. No reassurance. Just nothing. Until today.
"The king and queen will return," one of the knights had said at the front gates outside the courtyard.
Ulric had frozen when he heard it, his breath catching in his throat. "Return…?" he had echoed, his voice barely holding together. "Does that mean she's—she's alive?"
The knight had not answered. Only gestured. "Come. You've been granted an audience."
Granted. As if seeing his own daughter were a privilege to be earned. After stealing her away... The gods must have some sadistic humour. Still… it was enough. She's alive, he told himself again as they walked. I will see her again… Please… just let me see her. Just once. Let me hear her voice again…
The massive doors opened. Ulric was led inside, and the moment he crossed the threshold, the guards stepped away without a word, returning to their posts along the walls. The chamber fell into a suffocating silence.
He stood alone. Knights lined the room like statues, unmoving, unblinking. No one spoke or even acknowledged him.
Time stretched. Minutes blurred into something longer. His legs began to ache, then burn. His knees trembled beneath his weight, but he did not dare move at first.
Stand properly, he told himself. Is this a test?
Hours passed. Eventually, the pain won. Ulric bent slowly, lowering himself toward the cold stone floor—
Then suddenly doors opened again. He startled, scrambling back to his feet, nearly losing his balance.
King Tirian entered. Ulric straightened instantly despite the pain, bowing low, his heart pounding. "I greet the King of Eldoria. Thank you for allowing me to see—"
He glanced up instinctively.
Orielle wasn't there. —but he forced himself to continue. "—you so soon upon your return." Where is she? Oh, Orielle… you did return with him right…?
Tirian walked past him without pause, ascending the steps to his throne. He sat, his expression unreadable, his presence alone enough to weigh heavily on the room.
This is her father, Tirian noted silently, studying the frail man before him. He's frailer than I remember...
He cleared his throat. "State your purpose." His voice was steady and controlled trying not to be as harsh as it could have been.
Ulric bowed deeper, his voice trembling despite his effort to steady it. "My lord… I am Ulric. A humble farmer… and father to your queen, Orielle."
The title felt foreign on his tongue. "I heard she was taken. Three weeks… with no word if she lives or…" His voice faltered, but he forced himself onward. "I beg your mercy. Might I have the audacity… to see my daughter? Just once. To know she's well."
He remained bowed, his frail form seeming to shrink under the weight of the room—but his eyes, when he dared lift them, burned with desperate resolve.
Tirian watched him in silence. Of course he would come. Of course a father would stand here and beg like this. I can see where Orielle got her caring nature from... she must've grown up with plenty of love.
After a moment, Tirian gave a small nod. "You may remain in the guest wing," he said. "It is far from where Orielle resides… but you will be permitted to see her—when she wishes it. Guards will escort you."
Though his tone remained cold, there was a measured kindness mixed within.
Ulric's breath caught. Stay…? In the palace? His eyes fell back down to the ground, emotion breaking through. "Thank you, my king… It is more than I deserve. Such an honor…" His voice shook. "I am forever in your debt."
Relief flooded him so suddenly it nearly brought him to his knees.
*****
In the west wing, a servant approached Orielle, who sat near the window, her expression dulled by lingering unease with Tirian's recent behaviour.
"Your Majesty… your father is here. He's been allowed into the palace by the king's orders."
Orielle blinked, the words not quite settling. "My… father?"
The servant nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. The king has permitted him to stay." She hesitated, her face flushing as she swallowed. "And… His Majesty asked me to repeat something." She lowered her gaze, clearly uncomfortable. "He said… 'Did I do well?'"
The servant wished the floor would swallow her whole. How could the king say something like that so plainly…?
But Orielle— Her face lit up. She clasped the servant's hands suddenly, startling her. "Oh, Tirian… he's too much!" she laughed, her eyes sparkling with warmth. Then, instantly— "Where is he? Where's my father? Can I see him now?"
Her excitement bubbled over, impossible to contain. The servant smiled, recovering. "He's in the Green Room, Your Majesty. I'll take you."
The Green Room welcomed them in soft light and living color. Sunlight poured through arched glass walls, curling through carved vines that framed the space. Ferns and flowering plants hung from bronze hooks, their scents—mint, jasmine, gardenia—mingling gently in the air. At the center, a white stone table sat between cushioned couches, while a small sacred spring whispered quietly nearby.
Orielle didn't take any of it in. "Father!" Ulric looked up just in time to brace himself. She crashed into him. He nearly toppled from the force, catching himself awkwardly before wrapping his arms around her. His hands trembled as he held her, gripping her like she might disappear again.
"My girl…" His voice broke. "I was so worried… I heard you were taken, no one knew if you were even alive—"
"I'm fine!" Orielle pulled back, smiling through tears, speaking fast—too fast. "Truly, I'm fine! So much happened, Father—oh, you wouldn't believe it! I was taken by a knight, yes, but then I ended up in Veridelle and it was beautiful—truly, the gardens alone—"
"Wait—taken by who?" Ulric tried to interrupt, his brows pulling together. But she was already going.
"And then there was this basin... Called.. hmmm what was it again...? Oh! Aequira's Basin! they called it— yes! it showed me a prophecy!" she continued, waving her hands as if the memory might appear again. "Though… I don't remember it now," she added with a light laugh. "So I suppose it wasn't that important!"
Ulric stared at her, completely lost. "Aequira's... Basin—? Isn't that in the Veridelle palace how did you-"
"And King Sol!" Orielle pressed on, beaming. "He's so lively—you'd probably find him too much, I think. Always smiling, always talking. And his brother, Prince Loven—oh, he tries to be serious, but he's actually quite kind, just… a little misunderstood"
Ulric opened his mouth again. "Orielle—were you in danger? Did they—"
"But the food!" she gasped, suddenly turning as a maid approached with a tray. "Father, you have to try this—everything there was so different! Sweeter, richer—oh!"
She grabbed a pastry, took a bite, and promptly got crumbs across her face and lap.
Ulric blinked. Then, despite everything— He laughed. A quiet, shaky laugh, but real. "I… see you haven't changed," he said, wiping a crumb from her cheek.
Orielle grinned, completely unbothered.
His laughter faded, though, as the weight returned. "I was sick with worry," he admitted softly. "No word… no proof you were safe…"
Orielle's expression softened. "Father... I'm fine, I promise. They were the kindest kidnappers one would ever have to face" she said with a smile, Then, as quickly as it came, her thoughts shifted again. "Oh! How did you even know I was gone?"
Ulric rubbed the back of his neck, a bit sheepish. "I… asked a maid to keep an eye on you. She told me when you were taken. Otherwise…" He shook his head. "I would have known nothing."
Orielle's smile faltered slightly. "That could get her into trouble…" she murmured. "Tirian's been… different. Since we returned. More guards, people being dismissed…" She looked thoughtful. "He's worried about something. Perhaps that I could get stolen away again..." She gave a sad laugh this time.
Ulric's face tightened. "I hope that maid is safe… she only helped a father."
"I'll speak to him," Orielle said quickly. "But you must be careful. Here… even concern can look like betrayal." She squeezed his hand.
Ulric nodded slowly. Then he looked at her again—really looked. "You're… happy," he said, almost uncertain.
Orielle paused. Then smiled. "I am."
Ulric exhaled, long and tired. "It sounds more like a journey than a kidnapping," he muttered. "And the king… didn't threaten Veridelle?"
"No," Orielle shook her head quickly. "It was all a misunderstanding. Tirian and King Sol are… actually good friends." She smiled faintly. "I've never seen him so at ease before."
Ulric studied her face. The softness. The warmth. The way she spoke his name. "You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?" he said.
Orielle flushed immediately. "Father…" She hesitated, then nodded. "He's not what they say he is. He's not—"
"He's still a killer," Ulric said quietly. The words weren't sharp. Just tired.
Orielle's expression pained, but she didn't argue.
Ulric sighed, his shoulders lowering. "But…" he continued after a moment, his voice gentler, "if he protects you… if he treats you well…" He gave a small, reluctant smile. "Then I suppose… I can try to see him as a human at least."
Orielle's eyes brightened instantly. "Thank you, Father!" She leaned forward, hugging him tightly again.
After a moment, she pulled back, quickly wiping her cheeks. "Now! You must try this," she said, already reaching for another tart. "They brought it all the way from Veridelle!"
Ulric chuckled, allowing her to feed him a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed. "That's… incredible. What is this made of?"
Orielle's smile grew, lighting up the room. "Oh, let me tell you—"
And as her voice carried on—bright, animated, and unstoppable—the tension of the past weeks began, slowly, to loosen its grip.