Farris's interjection

make this more human and keep the word count the same thisis too ai sounding,The audience chamber, a cavernous expanse of grandeur and solemnity, resounded with a tumult of voices. Each utterance carried the weight of urgency, as men clad in regal attire and armour alike stood poised for action. At the focal point of this tableau sat the king, his imposing figure perched upon the throne at the summit of a sweeping staircase. Beside him, his queen Fleur, a portrait of grief and despair, wept inconsolably, her anguished a palpable presence in the room.

"Your Majesty, my son!" Her voice pierced the air, a desperate plea for justice that reverberated through the chamber. The king, his countenance etched with sorrow, acknowledged her anguish with a solemn nod, though his own heartache remained veiled beneath a facade of royal stoicism.

"Commander Zand, are you certain of what you are saying?" The king's voice, deep and authoritative, cut through the din, commanding the attention of all present. All eyes turned to the figure of Commander Zand, kneeling before the throne with an air of unwavering resolve.

"Yes, Your Majesty," came the commander's unwavering reply. "I have scoured every corner of the palace, yet there is no trace of the prince or the general."

"And what of the general's forces?" queried the king, his brow furrowed in concern. "Have there been any signs of movement?"

"Not as of yet, Your Majesty," Zand responded, his tone betraying a sense of urgency. "But it is clear that this is part of a larger scheme. We must act swiftly."

Before the king could issue a decree, however, a dissenting voice echoed through the chamber. "Objection, Your Majesty!" The interjector, garbed in resplendent blue and adorned with a sigil of silver, strode confidently into the room, commanding the attention of all with his presence alone. HIs dark hair and a pair of mystery deep eyes watched the faces attentively. 

The king's gaze fell upon the newcomer, whom he recognized as Duke Farris, a man of formidable stature and unwavering conviction. His unexpected arrival elicited a mixture of surprise and curiosity from those assembled, as the king awaited his proclamation with bated breath.

"It is premature to pass judgement," declared Duke Farris, his voice resonating with authority. "We must not allow our emotions to cloud our judgement. There may yet be crucial details that have eluded us. A thorough investigation is warranted."

The king, taken aback by Farris's intervention, regarded him with a mixture of admiration and scepticism. Here was a man who had endured unimaginable suffering at the hands of the general, yet who now advocated for restraint and prudence in the face of adversity.

"Duke Farris," the king addressed him, his tone measured yet inquisitive. "Are you not swayed by personal vendettas? How can you advocate for leniency toward one who has caused you such anguish?"

Farris met the king's gaze with unwavering resolve, his eyes betraying a depth of conviction that belied his years. "Your Majesty," he replied, his voice tinged with earnestness, "I speak not out of forgiveness, but out of a desire for justice. We owe it to our people to ensure that every avenue of inquiry is explored before we pass judgement."

As the echoes of their exchange lingered in the air, a sudden interruption shattered the tension. A knight, breathless and trembling, entered the chamber with news that sent shockwaves through the assembled throng.

"Your Majesty," he gasped, his voice trembling with urgency, "your presence is urgently requested."

The king's brow furrowed in concern as he rose from his throne, his every movement fraught with anticipation. Yet before he could depart, Duke Farris spoke up once more, his expression one of earnest concern.

"Your Majesty," he implored, his voice resonating with sincerity, "may I accompany you? I fear there is more to this than meets the eye."

The king regarded him for a moment, his gaze probing yet ultimately yielding to a sense of shared purpose. With a nod of assent, he motioned for Farris to join him, setting into motion a chain of events that would alter the course of their kingdom's history.

The knight, his demeanour trembling with deference, led the royal couple through the bustling corridors of the palace. Maids and guards, their expressions a blend of anxiety and reverence, crowded the entrance to a room on the first floor, their anticipation palpable in the air.

"Make way for His Majesty The King and Her Highness the Queen!" The knight's proclamation echoed through the corridor, prompting the assembled servants to part with hushed reverence, their heads bowed in deference.

As the doors swung open before them, the king and queen entered the room, their presence commanding respect and attention. Yet, Duke Farris remained outside, his gaze sweeping the scene with a keen intensity. Approaching a guard stationed at the door, he sought answers with a directness that belied the gravity of the situation.

"Greetings, Duke!" The guard exclaimed, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness at the nobleman's approach.

"Where is the princess?" Farris's inquiry hung heavy in the air, eliciting a visible reaction from the guard. The mention of Princess Noori, it seemed, struck a chord of apprehension in all who heard her name.

The guard swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as he struggled to form a response. "The princess brought the prince back and went away, I am not aware of her whereabouts." HE replied. 

"Very well," Farris acknowledged, his expression inscrutable as he turned away, his thoughts consumed by the events unfolding before him.

Amidst the desolation, Noori, her form a silhouette against the backdrop of ash and smoke, exuded an aura of strength and defiance. Her blood-red hair, like flames flickering in the wind, framed her ivory skin adorned with scars of battles past. As she crouched down to touch the ashes, her frown deepened, a testament to the weight of her thoughts.

The crunch of footsteps caused her to tense, her grip tightening on the ashes clenched in her fist. A familiar voice pierced the silence, its tone laden with both admiration and reproach.

"You made quite an entrance, I must say," Commander Farris Griffith remarked, his words a mix of awe and resentment. Noori's lip curled in a silent snarl, her teeth grinding against one another as she resisted the urge to turn and face him.

"Commander Farris Griffith of Silver Fox Battalion. I'm glad my little trick impressed you enough for you to come to visit me personally," she retorted, her voice low and hoarse, carrying the weight of unspoken grievances. Though her tone was dry, it held a power that commanded attention, a remnant of her days leading armies into battle.

Farris's fists clenched tightly at her words, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Why did you do it?" he demanded, his voice tinged with accusation.

Noori stood, brushing the ashes from her hands with deliberate care, her gaze fixed on a point beyond Farris's shoulder. Her eyes, fierce and unyielding, betrayed no hint of remorse as she addressed him.

"Were you worried?" she countered, her words a subtle challenge. She never met his eyes not even once, As if unable to see them, she walked towards him with a slow pace and stood a step away, and With a patronising pat on his shoulder, she continued, "You can't reveal your tactics to the enemy. Have you already forgotten the laws of war?" she chuckled in her hoarse voice. 

Her words hung in the air, a reminder of their shared history and the sacrifices made in the name of victory. With a final glance, she turned and disappeared into the ruins, her voice echoing in the aftermath.

"Check on that body," she called out, her command ringing through the charred remnants of the palace. And with that, she vanished, leaving Farris to ponder the implications of her actions amidst the ruins of their past.

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The room was ensconced in heavy curtains, their rich fabric casting a warm, inviting glow as the flickering candlelight danced across the space. The walls, adorned with paintings and ornate decorations, lent an air of grandeur to the chamber. At its heart lay a sumptuous cushioned bed, upon which reclined a man of breathtaking beauty. Bathed in the soft luminescence of the candles, his flawless visage seemed to radiate an otherworldly aura. Silvery blond locks cascaded like liquid silk upon the pillows, framing features that spoke of ethereal elegance.

Beside him sat the queen, her countenance a reflection of both despair and hope as she clasped his hand tightly, her tears bearing witness to the agony she had endured. She refused to loosen her grip, unwilling to be parted from her son for even a moment longer.

Meanwhile, Azorius, the King, resplendent in regal attire, engaged in earnest discourse with the Imperial Physician. His voice, laced with concern, pierced the solemnity of the chamber. "Are all things as they should be? How is the Prince? Has any harm befallen him?" 

The aged physician, a venerable sage of medicine, maintained an air of calm assurance as he delivered his report. "Your Majesty, I bring tidings of great joy. The Prince's condition has shown a remarkable improvement," he announced, his words tinged with palpable elation.

Azorius's features betrayed a blend of astonishment and scepticism. "Do not deceive me, for I will brook no falsehoods," he cautioned, his tone unwavering.

"I would never dare, Your Majesty," the physician hastened to reassure, dropping to his knees in a gesture of deference. "I speak only the truth. The Prince's vital signs have stabilised, and it appears as though he may awaken imminently."

A glimmer of hope illuminated the King's mournful countenance. "You suggest he may soon awaken?" he queried, his voice laced with cautious optimism.

"Yes, Your Highness," the physician affirmed emphatically. "It is entirely within the realm of possibility."

"Can you ascertain the cause of this sudden change?" Azorius inquired, his curiosity piqued and his resolve to expedite the Prince's recovery evident.

The physician bowed his head, a furrow of uncertainty creasing his brow. "At present, Your Majesty, I cannot offer a definitive explanation. However..." he trailed off, his gaze intense as he deliberated his next words.

"Speak," Azorius urged, his voice taut with anticipation.

"The only conjecture I can offer is that it may be attributed to his betrothed, as prophesied," the physician ventured, studying Azorius's reaction intently.

At the physician's revelation, a flicker of bewilderment crossed Azorius's face, his gaze locking with the physician's in a moment of contemplation. "Indeed... if that is the case, then we must verify it, mustn't we?" he mused aloud, his curiosity piqued. And with a nod of agreement from the physician, the King resolved to delve deeper into this intriguing possibility.