CHAPTER 10

[THE GRAND BANQUET]

The Inauguration was only three days away. Tonight, however, was not for politics or prophecy-it was a rare evening of civility, a banquet meant solely for the rulers and their families who had arrived early for the grand ceremony.

A private gathering had been arranged-no advisors, no guards, no formal council attire. Just food, music, and fleeting peace.

Elvera was running late.

She had prepared an emerald gown the night before with silver embroidery woven in the patterns of Noreda's crest. Her hair had been pinned to perfection, every strand meticulous. But as she admired her reflection, Erevan had walked in, taken one look at her, and shook his head.

"You can't wear that."

She turned, confused. "Why not? It's formal enough."

"It's too formal," Erevan said, already opening her wardrobe. "This isn't the Council. It's a banquet. You need to blend, not boast."

With practiced ease, he thumbed through her clothes until he pulled out a forgotten sky-blue gown. Light silk, soft folds, beaded like dew along a meadow at dawn.

"Wear this," he said. "It's subtle. Approachable."

She hesitated. "You really think this is better?"

Erevan smiled reassuring. "You'll outshine them all."

Moments later, she emerged in the gown. It felt lighter, freer, as if she wasn't trying to be anyone but herself. Her hair was now loosely braided, strands curling at her temples.

"Now," Erevan said approvingly, "you look like a princess who doesn't need to prove she is one. That's real power."

Together, they walked to the banquet hall.

Golden lanterns floated mid-air, casting warm light over long tables overflowing with food from all five realms-Riverdolfia's roasted meats, Rusrich's jeweled pastries, Earth's deep wines, Zion's dark fruits, and Noreda's honeycakes that shimmered like starlight. Music played softly. Glasses clinked. Laughter and the low murmur of rulers filled the air.

But beneath the warmth... a quiet tension stirred.

Elvera's gaze moved across the hall.

Queen Philodolferin sat like a painting, swirling purple wine lazily. Alpha Zeronis, cloaked in black, said little but missed nothing. King Eren, her father, spoke with Zeronis while Philodolferin simply observed, ever composed.

Queen Elizabeth of Earth was absent-she would arrive only for the Inauguration.

Then, her eyes landed on her.

Queen Cecilia.

The Vampire Queen.

Draped in midnight-black silk that glimmered like obsidian, Cecilia's crimson gaze was unreadable-calm and distant, but sharp as a dagger. Elvera felt her throat tighten. Her breath hitched.

A cold storm surged in her chest.

Hatred. Ancient and buried deep.

The Vampires had murdered her ancestors in blood-soaked wars long before the Council's peace. Her lineage had paid in lives and grief. No treaty could rewrite that.

Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table.

Erevan noticed.

He leaned close, voice steady and low. "It's okay, Elvera. But do not let your emotions show."

She didn't respond. Her jaw was rigid.

"Don't dare disrespect any ruler, no matter the species," Erevan continued. "We are not here to make enemies. Not now."

She took a breath and nodded. Slowly.

The past still echoed, but tonight was not the time.

Across the room, Prince Xyran stood alone on a balcony, distant. He wasn't mingling, but he wasn't hiding either. His gaze wandered... until it landed on her, her pretty violet eyes.

Elvera froze.

Their eyes met.

For one breathless moment, she remembered. The figure in the garden. The one of starlight and stillness.

Then, she looked away.

He's a vampire, she reminded herself bitterly. And she hate that she found his appearence....

Beautiful.

Xyran too had noticed her the moment she entered. There it was again-that faint trace of lavender on the air. But what startled him more was her hair.

Silver.

A Nymph.

His expression remained neutral, but something stirred in him.

So, it was her who was at garden this morning.

He had heard of the Nymphs. The ones who always painted themselves as victims. Who laid centuries of blame at the feet of his kind. She had turned her eyes away from him-and he felt it.

The hate was mutual.

A Vampire is fated to hate a Nymph.

Just as a Nymph is fated to hate a Vampire.

Erevan, ever the social butterfly, had already blended seamlessly into the crowd. He moved from one group to another with practiced ease learning names, identifying allies, charming even the more stoic of rulers' companions. Before long, he had already made fast friends with the witches accompanying Queen Philodolferin, laughing over shared stories and clever remarks.

Elvera, in contrast, stayed to the edge of the gathering, a silver spoon in hand as she slowly enjoyed a delicate starlight honeycake. The flavors were comforting, and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply observe. No tension. No past. Just music, warmth, and the low hum of conversation completely Ignoring the Vampires.

Then, a soft voice interrupted her quiet.

"You are Princess Elvera, aren't you?"

Elvera turned, setting her spoon down with grace. A tall woman had stepped beside her-poised, dressed in warm golds with dark curls pinned elegantly at her neck. She seemed only a few years older, with a calm confidence in her eyes.

Elvera offered a polite curtsy. "Yes, I am. It's my first time visiting the Palace, so I fear I'm not quite familiar with you, my lady."

The woman smiled gently. "I am Arena, the fiancée of King Zeronis."

Elvera blinked, straightening. "Your Highness, please forgive me for my lack of knowledge."

"No worries, Princess," Arena said warmly. "It's my first time here too."

A flicker of relief crossed Elvera's face, and for the first time that evening, she allowed herself a small, genuine smile.

A flicker of relief crossed Elvera's face, and for the first time that evening, she allowed herself a small, genuine smile.

"It's easy to feel overwhelmed here," Arena continued, her tone light but knowing. "Everyone looks like they stepped out of a painting, and yet they all carry daggers behind their backs."

Elvera laughed softly. "You're not wrong. My brother says this banquet is more dangerous than the battlefield only here, the wounds are made with words."

Arena grinned. "I like your brother already."

They both chuckled, the air between them easing into something more comfortable. Elvera glanced across the room, where Erevan was now in deep conversation with a group of Riverdolfian warriors, animatedly gesturing with a cup of wine in his hand.

As the music shifted to a deeper, more resonant tone, the crowd began to quiet. A hush swept across the banquet hall like a sudden breeze through ancient trees. Servants withdrew. The rulers and their families turned toward the grand archway at the far end of the hall, where golden lanterns gathered like stars waiting to part.

Elvera felt it before she saw it a subtle change in the air, as if reality itself held its breath.

Then he entered.

Fate Stark.

Head of the Council. Keeper of the Oath. The one who walked between visions and reality.

He did not need guards or heralds to announce him. His very presence was enough.

Clad in a cloak the color of starlit midnight, embroidered with runes that shimmered faintly with every step, Fate moved like someone not entirely bound by time. His blonde hair cascaded down his back in smooth waves, untouched by age, and his eyes those eyes gleamed with something more than sight. They were knowing. Watching. Seeing far beyond the walls of the banquet hall.

All conversations ceased.

Elvera had never seen him in person. She had heard tales, of course-all of them sounding more myth than truth. But standing there, watching him cross the hall without a sound, she understood why the rulers obeyed him. Fate Stark was not just powerful.

He was inevitable.

He reached the center of the hall and turned to face them, standing beneath the massive glass chandelier shaped like a blooming lotus each petal lit with ethereal flame. He raised a single hand, not commanding silence but honoring it.

"Rulers of the Realms," he said, his voice deep and clear, like thunder echoing in a calm sky. "Tonight is not for rulings. Nor omens. Tonight is not for declarations or warnings. It is simply to remind us... that we are still capable of gathering without bloodshed."

Just as Fate Stark finished his final sentence, his gaze swept across the room one last time until it landed on her.

She stood near the far end of the banquet hall, her sky-blue gown glowing softly under the lantern light, as if the stars themselves had woven it from morning mist. Her silver hair shimmered, her presence quiet yet radiant. She didn't try to draw attention, but it found her anyway.

And Fate felt it.

A sudden, unmistakable pull in the threads of his vision.

It was her.

The nymph woman from his vision that had haunted him.

By the way she was carring her. That Tiara, She must be the Princess of Noreda, second to the Throne.

Fate Stark smiled softly, knowingly. So A Prince and A princess. It was too much interesting.

Then, as the music rose again and the other rulers returned to their drinks and quiet conversations, he did not linger in ceremony.

He moved.

He didn't wait, didn't hesitate. The moment was too rare, too vital. He stepped down from his place of honor, his cloak trailing behind him like shadowed starlight, and crossed the room with purposeful grace.

Toward her.

Toward Elvera.

Toward the Princess of Noreda.

Elvera was caught off guard when she noticed the room's energy shift again. It wasn't loud-just a subtle hush, like the wind holding its breath and she also didn't realise when Arena left her side. She was observing Fate stark.

She turned slightly, and there he was.

Fate Stark.

The Head of the Council.

His presence was intimidatingI v

tall, draped in robes of deep silver and navy, his long hair flowing like dusk itself. Eyes like stormlight, filled with knowing. Power radiated from him, but not the kind that shouted. It whispered, steady and ancient.

He stopped just a breath away.

"Princess Elvera of Noreda," he said, his voice smooth as velvet, laced with the weight of a thousand prophecies. "You wear the skies tonight."

Elvera blinked, surprised. "Lord Stark," she said, dipping into a respectful bow. "You flatter me."

"It is not flattery when it is truth." His gaze lingered, thoughtful. "Forgive the abruptness. I've meant to speak with you though I only just discovered why."

Her brow furrowed slightly, curious. "Why, my Lord?"

Fate tilted his head, studying her for a moment. "Sometimes visions come in fragments-like scattered reflections in water. I've seen you before, though never knew your name. Not until now."

Elvera stiffened. "You've... seen me? In your visions?"

He nodded once, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he asked, "So... have you met everyone yet?"

Elvera raised an eyebrow.She sensed he already knew the answer. Elvera couldn't understand why he would ask that.

"I met most of them," she replied carefully, taking a sip from her goblet.

Fate smiled faintly, eyes glinting with quiet mischief. "You know I can see through everything, don't you?"

Elvera stiffened just a little, caught.

"You didn't meet everyone, You caught glimpses of some of them that too from a far away." he said softly, his voice carrying a teasing lilt, though the truth beneath it was firm. "It's very bad to lie... especially to someone like me."

Elvera flushed-not from embarrassment, but mild irritation. "I didn't lie," she said, lifting her chin. "I said most. Not all. Why are you asking in the first Place when you know, Lord Stark."

"Did I make the Princess flustered?" Fate asked, more to himself than anyone else. Elvera didn't reply.

She was no ordinary royal daughter, that much he had already sensed. There was something sharp behind her calm eyes, something deep that had not yet been fully revealed. She didn't bask in attention. She didn't shrink either. She simply was, like a mountain beneath the snow silent, strong, and waiting.

Fate tilted his head, observing the way she composed herself even when flustered.

She is delicate, yes... but not fragile.

He could see it-woven into her gestures, her silence, her words. She carried knowledge like an unseen blade, careful not to unsheathe it. And yet, she hadn't even discovered the full scope of her abilities. There was more beneath the surface. So much more.

She was beautiful the most beautiful Fate had ever seen. But it wasn't just her beauty that would pave the way. She was more than appearance she was presence. Essence. Fate could feel it in every breath she took.

Before Fate could say anything more, Erevan appeared beside them, his tone light but edged with warning.

"Fate, are you disturbing my sister?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Fate turned to him with a playful smirk. "Disturbing? Never. But I must say, I'm very disappointed in you, Erevan. You never told me Princess Elvera was this breathtaking."

His tone was teasing, but the glimmer in his eyes betrayed genuine admiration.

Erevan crossed his arms, unimpressed. "I didn't think I needed to advertise my sister's existence."

Fate rolled his eyes at him. It was almost time for dinner, and the scent of roasted herbs and freshly baked bread was beginning to fill the air.

"Let's go," he said with a sigh. "I think the dinner preparations are done." Fate said.