Chapter 21-22

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Chapter 21: Ashes to Embers

It had been three days since the temple.

Three days of quiet corridors and half-hearted conversations.

Three days since laughter last echoed through the palace halls.

Three days since Tia's smile stopped reaching her eyes.

Even the sunlight filtering through the windows seemed more muted, as if the heavens themselves mourned what had nearly happened.

Kaelen trained with single-minded fury, his strikes sharper than usual, his tongue even sharper when spoken to. Aina followed him wordlessly, always within reach, but never interrupting.

Alaric, ever the silent watcher, had not once left the war room unless summoned for meals. His eyes were sharper now—not just wary, but searching, calculating. Watching every report that came in from the provinces with a kind of cold focus that unnerved even seasoned officials.

Lucien lingered near Tia's wing—not intrusively, never speaking unless spoken to. But he was there. Always. Like a silent guard dog, waiting for a threat he could no longer name.

And Tia...

She wandered.

Not like before, when she'd sneak out of lessons or drag Lucien off to explore the palace grounds. Now she moved like someone wading through fog. Always polite, always smiling—but never quite present. Even her beloved sketchbook lay untouched, gathering dust by the windowsill.

---

That evening, Alaric stood before the Emperor and Empress in the study. The soft flicker of candlelight played on his features—tired, but composed.

"We need to leave the palace," he said simply.

Seraphina blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I think it's time we—Tia, Kaelen, Lucien, Aina, and I—go see the people. Really see them. Without guards or titles." He paused. "Let us travel in disguise. Investigate the tax collection ourselves. Check on the border provinces and how they're being handled."

Kael raised a brow, leaning back in his chair. "You think a royal trip will help after what just happened?"

Alaric met his gaze evenly. "Not a royal trip. A mission. We gather evidence against the corrupted nobles. We check in on the suffering we speak of in war councils. And... we give Tia something to do. Something real. She's wilting here."

A quiet hush fell.

Seraphina's expression softened with understanding. "Letting her be among the people again... might help her remember why she shines."

"And she won't feel like a victim anymore," Alaric added, voice low.

Kael exhaled slowly, then nodded. "Then go."

---

The next morning's breakfast was quieter than usual.

The long dining table felt more like a formality than a comfort. Plates clinked softly. Servants stood back, sensing the fragile atmosphere.

Tia sat between Lucien and Kaelen, gently stirring her porridge without taking a bite. Her golden hair was loosely braided, strands falling over her face like a curtain.

Alaric set down his cup and cleared his throat. "We're going on a trip."

Tia looked up, eyes blinking slowly. "A trip?"

"Not for fun," Kaelen added with a lopsided grin. "Well, maybe a little fun."

Alaric continued, "We'll be visiting nearby provinces. Disguised. No guards. Just the five of us. We'll see how the taxes are being handled, what the people need. Maybe even find some...interesting things hiding in the shadows."

Tia tilted her head. "Undercover?"

Lucien nodded. "Yes. Quiet, fast, and efficient."

There was a long pause.

Then, for the first time in days, Tia smiled. A real one. Not forced.

It lit her face gently, like the first dawn after a storm.

"I'd like that," she said softly.

Then she added, "Can we take Celestine with us?"

That surprised them.

"She's always been so composed, but she's never seen the world outside court walls," Tia explained. "And I think... it might be good for her too."

Alaric stared at her, then gave the faintest twitch of a smile.

"If she agrees, she's welcome."

Kaelen grinned. "A mission with two princesses, a knight, a warhound, and a crown prince. What could possibly go wrong?"

Tia laughed—a soft, melodic sound that made everyone pause.

Just for a moment, the storm passed.

And the embers of something brighter began to glow again.

---

That morning, after breakfast, Tia sent a handwritten letter to Celestine through the palace guards—inviting her to join their undercover journey.

Celestine's reply came by afternoon: a simple, graceful yes.

By evening, she arrived at the palace, travel cloak in hand and a rare gleam of excitement in her usually calm eyes.

Later that night, all six of them gathered in Kaelen's informal study—the most chaotic and least formal room in the palace.

The moment was meant to be about strategy.

Disguises. Covers. Maps. Supplies.

What it became was something else entirely.

Rolls of cloth, scarves, worn cloaks, old tunics, boots of various sizes—everything was scattered across the floor like a noble fashion emergency. Aina sorted practical gear with a soldier's focus. Alaric calmly reviewed their forged documents. Lucien stood in the corner like a statue carved from irritation. Celestine tried to help—until the door creaked open.

And Kaelen walked in.

Wearing a vivid plum tunic with golden vines, a forest-green scarf tied like a cape, striped boots, and—worst of all—a red ribbon in his hair.

He struck a pose like he was being painted for a mural. "Behold! A humble merchant from the east. Daring. Unique. Enigmatic."

Silence.

Aina's face twitched like she'd swallowed a lemon.

Lucien blinked once—then turned away as if shielding his soul.

Celestine gently put down the cloth she'd been folding, expression unreadable.

Alaric muttered, "Absolutely not."

Tia made a choking sound and tried—tried—to hold it in. She failed.

"You look like a walking bad decision," Aina said flatly.

"The people will assume you escaped from a cursed circus," Lucien added.

Then the door opened again. Emperor Kael and Empress Seraphina entered the room, drawn by the commotion.

They paused.

They saw Kaelen.

They stared.

And then, without saying a word, they both closed their eyes.

Seraphina whispered, "We have only one son."

Kael added, "A fine crown prince. No other."

Tia burst into giggles so loud she nearly fell off the rug.

Celestine politely hid her face behind a scarf.

Even Alaric's lip twitched.

Kaelen, unbothered, gave a theatrical bow. "Jealousy is unbecoming, dear family."

Eventually, they banned him from dressing himself. Aina burned the scarf. Tia tried on a peasant cloak. Lucien adjusted the hood to shield her golden hair, fingers lingering for a second too long.

And in the middle of that chaotic room, filled with teasing and laughter, something shifted.

For the first time in days, they felt like themselves again.

Tomorrow, they would leave the palace behind.

But tonight, they found a little light again—in each other.

---

The palace grounds were still asleep when they gathered in the inner courtyard.

The sky had barely begun to blush with morning light, casting a cool blue tint over the stones. Not a single servant stirred. Even the guards had been rotated and redirected, per Alaric's quiet orders the night before.

The six of them stood by their horses—cloaked in plain traveling gear, their royal identities tucked away beneath layers of dust-colored linen and old leather.

The air was silent, until footsteps approached from the archway.

Emperor Kael and Empress Seraphina stood there, framed in the pale light.

Kael walked up to Lucien, voice low but firm. "Watch over them."

Lucien nodded. "With my life, Your Majesty."

"No formalities," Kael said, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Not today."

Lucien met his gaze. "Then as a man to another... I swear. I'll keep them safe."

Behind them, Seraphina was already inspecting Tia's boots, brushing invisible dust off Celestine's shoulder, and tightening Aina's cloak tie like a mother hen on a mission.

"Don't eat anything suspicious. Don't let Tia ride ahead alone. Keep Celestine warm. And you—Kaelen—don't let them follow your fashion advice."

"I'm offended," Kaelen huffed. "I have impeccable taste."

"Impeccably horrible," Aina muttered.

Seraphina sighed, pulling Aina gently aside. "Please watch over them. Especially my daughter."

Aina's expression turned serious. "I will. No matter what."

Finally, it was time.

One by one, they mounted their horses. The leather saddles creaked. Hooves shuffled quietly against the stone.

Tia gave her parents one last wave. "We'll be back soon!"

Celestine offered a graceful nod. Aina gave a sharp salute.

Lucien said nothing, but his horse turned precisely in time with Alaric's.

Kaelen winked dramatically—and earned one last glare from the Empress.

The group rode out through the eastern gate.

Kael and Seraphina stood in silence, watching the six figures shrink into the horizon.

Seraphina exhaled, fingers tightening slightly around her shawl. "They're still so young."

Kael wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "They're also strong. Smarter than we ever were at their age."

"They're still our children."

He kissed her temple gently. "And they're growing into the kind of people this kingdom needs."

---

On the Road...

The wind whipped through the tall grass as the six riders moved in formation across the quiet countryside. The tension of the palace melted behind them, replaced with open sky and dirt paths.

Kaelen turned his head over his shoulder. "So, do I still look like a fruit basket?"

Tia, riding beside him, grinned. "No, now you look like a dusty fruit basket."

"You wound me, sister. Deeply."

"You dressed yourself," Aina muttered without looking back.

"I think I look mysterious," Kaelen insisted. "People will assume I'm a traveling bard or—"

"—A poorly paid clown," Lucien deadpanned from the front.

Celestine covered her mouth, shoulders shaking from suppressed laughter.

Even Alaric smirked. "Let's hope no one takes you seriously, then."

Kaelen huffed dramatically. "You're all clearly blinded by envy."

Tia leaned forward on her horse, voice teasing. "Sure, Prince Fruitcake."

That did it.

Laughter burst out, echoing down the empty trail. Real laughter. Warm, free, and unburdened.

The road ahead was long, and danger might wait in its shadows.

But for now, they were together. And that was enough.

---

Perfectttt 😘 Let's go then—here comes Chapter 22: Beneath the Surface – Part 1, with mystery, new faces, and that sweet royal squad undercover energy 🌾🎭🕵️‍♀️

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Chapter 22: Beneath the Surface

Part 1: First Steps into the Dust

They reached the village by midmorning.

It was called Brindlebrook, nestled at the foot of a rolling green hill, where once-happy harvest banners still clung limply to wooden posts. The dirt roads were dry, the air hot, and the people quiet—too quiet for a season meant to be full of laughter and grain carts.

As they trotted in through the gates, a few heads turned... and then quickly turned away.

No one greeted them. No children ran past with wildflowers. No old aunties waved from their porches.

Tia's brow creased beneath her hood. She nudged her horse a little closer to Celestine's.

"Something's not right," she whispered.

Celestine nodded subtly. "Too clean. Too silent."

They reached the center of the village and dismounted near an old inn that looked like it hadn't had a guest in weeks. Aina held the horses while Kaelen scouted the entrance. Alaric took a deep breath, eyes scanning the thin crowds moving through the square.

A child bolted past, clutching a half-loaf of bread. Behind him, the shopkeeper didn't shout. Didn't run.

He just sighed. Turned around. And went back inside.

"That's not usual," Alaric murmured.

Lucien, beside him, gave a quiet grunt. "Fear makes strange rules."

---

Kaelen & Aina wandered toward the outer fields.

They helped an old farmer lift sacks of grain onto a squeaky cart, and Kaelen's exaggerated complaints earned a chuckle from a few workers nearby.

"Taxman's due again next week," one of them muttered while wiping sweat off his brow. "Don't matter how much we bring in—he always says it's not enough."

"Does anyone ever challenge him?" Aina asked casually.

The man snorted. "Challenge? He's got the lord's seal. And thugs to back it."

---

Tia & Celestine visited the weaving houses near the west end.

The women there welcomed them cautiously, mistaking them for traveling seamstresses looking for work. Tia smiled and offered to help mend a torn cloth. Her fingers worked clumsily compared to theirs, but her chatter was easy, and soon the room softened.

"Had to sell most of our thread stock," one woman sighed. "Too many taxes. And the good thread only goes to the manor now."

"Do they take your work without pay?" Celestine asked gently.

"Sometimes. If we complain, we're fined."

---

Alaric & Lucien visited the local tax office under the guise of record-keeping traders.

The man behind the counter was a balding clerk named Mettar, with ink-stained fingers and a nervous twitch.

When Alaric asked to review past harvest reports "for trade estimation," Mettar hesitated. "Only the lord's steward approves document access."

Lucien's eyes narrowed. "The steward's name?"

Mettar cleared his throat. "Baron Farley's man. Sir Velric. He's... particular."

"We'll wait," Alaric said calmly.

The clerk twitched again.

---

Later that evening, they regrouped at the inn. The food was bland, the rooms dusty, but the table was full—with bread, cheese, and reports.

"They're scared," Celestine said, pouring water into mugs.

Tia nodded. "And tired. And angry—but quietly."

"They're being squeezed dry," Kaelen muttered. "Saw a kid lift a bag of onions and the merchant just looked away. That's not pity—that's surrender."

"They're used to being stepped on," Aina added. "The question is: by who?"

Alaric leaned back in his chair, arms folded. "Baron Farley's steward. Sir Velric. We need to meet him."

Lucien said nothing—but the edge in his jaw was answer enough.

Then suddenly—

"What if we all go to meet him wearing Kaelen's outfit from last week?" Tia chirped.

Aina snorted into her cup. "That would drive him out of the village on style violation alone."

"I still say I looked—"

"Like a glittery root vegetable," Tia cut in, smirking.

"Rude."

"Accurate," Alaric said.

Laughter burst around the table—quiet but real. The tension in their shoulders eased, if only a little.

Outside, Brindlebrook's lanterns flickered weakly in the wind.

Inside, the royal siblings and their allies began planning in earnest.

Tomorrow, they'd knock on Sir Velric's door.

Tonight, they remembered how to smile.

---

The next morning, the six of them stood outside the manor at the center of Brindlebrook—a large, stone-walled estate with iron-barred windows and guards who looked more like thugs than soldiers.

It wasn't grand. It was imposing.

Sir Velric's steward seal hung above the heavy door like a warning: Power answers to no one.

Lucien knocked.

After a few tense minutes, a man in a rust-red coat with gold buttons strutted out, flanked by two guards.

He looked to be in his late thirties, well-fed and flushed from morning wine. His eyes skimmed the group with visible disinterest.

"And you are?"

Alaric stepped forward, voice even. "Traveling traders from the north. We wish to discuss records and future levies in the region."

Sir Velric's eyes narrowed slightly, but the arrogance didn't waver. "Levies? Records? You think I'm a public clerk? I handle matters of real importance. I don't entertain dusty travelers seeking imaginary business."

Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I assure you, we're very real."

"Too real," Aina muttered behind him.

Velric's gaze flicked to the women, then back to Alaric, ignoring everyone else. "If you have no title, no writ from Baron Farley, and no formal introductions, then I have no reason to waste my time."

Tia's eyes gleamed under her hood, but she said nothing. Celestine pressed her lips together, unreadable.

"We were told access to tax records was a common courtesy for traders," Alaric said mildly. "Is Brindlebrook an exception?"

Velric bristled. "Everything here answers to me. And I answer only to the Baron. Not to dusty strangers pretending at business." He scoffed. "You people think putting on a cloak and walking into my village gives you rights? This land thrives because I manage it. The taxes are fair. The people are lazy. That's their fault—not mine."

Lucien's hand flexed near his belt. Tia caught the motion from the corner of her eye and casually shifted to brush her hand against his.

Easy. Not yet.

"Then allow us to confirm that brilliance with a glance at the ledgers," Celestine said sweetly. "If there's nothing to hide, of course."

Velric laughed.

Actually laughed.

"A little lady wants to see the numbers? Should I fetch you some embroidery too?" he smirked. "Run back to your kitchens, girl. You're lucky I don't fine your merchant for bringing you to the manor at all."

Kaelen stepped forward, face blank. "You're very confident for someone so... replaceable."

Velric's smile froze.

Alaric raised a hand before things could escalate. "We'll keep our request simple. Let us view the records. If you deny us, we'll take that denial back to the capital's merchants' guild and... interpret it accordingly."

That got through.

Velric's jaw twitched. He straightened, cleared his throat, and flicked his hand toward the guards. "Escort them to the outer study. Let them waste their morning with ink and numbers, if they like."

He turned to walk off, muttering, "Foolish mongrels."

The door shut behind him.

Silence.

Lucien muttered, "Can I hit him next time?"

"No," Alaric said flatly. "Not yet."

"Can I hit him politely?" Aina asked.

Tia grinned. "We'll do worse than hitting."

Celestine nodded. "We'll embarrass him."

---

The outer study was dusty, half-abandoned. A trembling clerk brought in several ledgers under guard supervision and fled the room without a word.

The six of them sat in silence, flipping through pages and scanning numbers.

Tax spikes. Miscounted grain. Missing coins.

A storm was building—one ink stain at a time.

But for now, they let Sir Velric enjoy his delusions.

He wouldn't be smiling long.

---

The doors creaked open.

One by one, the six figures entered the hall. Their cloaks were plain, their boots dusty, their faces unreadable.

Sir Velric gave them a dismissive glance, then smirked. "Well, here they are. Our diligent little merchants."

Baron Farley looked them over with amusement, not an ounce of recognition in his eyes. "You're the ones playing accountant with our village books?"

No one answered.

Kaelen's eyes remained locked on the Baron. Tia stood still, posture calm, chin slightly lifted. Alaric looked carved from stone.

"Well then," the Baron said, clapping his hands once, "did you find anything shocking? Any imaginary injustices to report back to your village mobs?"

Velric chuckled beside him. "They probably think they've uncovered some grand corruption. These types always do. They think running a province is all numbers and good intentions."

"They don't know how hard we work to keep things running smoothly," the Baron added, his tone now performative—loud, meant to be overheard by the guards and servants nearby. "While the royal family sits on silk cushions, we do the real work. But do we get thanks? No. Just suspicion."

"Or worse—blame," Velric said dramatically. "Any problem in the kingdom, and suddenly it's our fault. As if they even know what grain looks like up close. Especially the princess." He laughed mockingly. "Is she even real? Or just a porcelain doll in a tower?"

"The crown prince must be the same," the Baron sneered. "So coddled, he'd probably faint if he stepped in mud. What do any of them know about hardship?"

Not a word came from the six visitors.

They stood silently, like statues carved from rage and control.

Lucien's gaze stayed forward, unreadable. Celestine's eyes never left the Baron's face. Aina stood with arms folded, jaw locked.

Tia's fists tightened at her sides. Her nails bit into her palm.

Kaelen's usual smirk was gone. His face had gone cold.

And Alaric—Alaric just stared at the Baron with a calm so still, so perfectly empty, it was terrifying.

But none of them spoke.

Not yet.

The Baron mistook the silence for fear. Or weakness. Or stupidity.

He smiled wider.

"Well then," he said smugly, "if there's nothing more, you may leave. Be sure to spread the good word of Brindlebrook's hard-working stewards to the rest of your dusty little trade world."

Sir Velric bowed mockingly. "You've had your fun. Be grateful we gave you even that."

Still, no reply.

The Baron laughed.

The sound echoed.

---

The room was still thick with the Baron's laughter. Sir Velric basked in it, feeding off the false security like a man too foolish to feel the fire creeping up his back.

And then—

A voice rang out. Calm. Sharp. Deadly.

"Tell me, Baron…"

"…who was it you said would faint in the mud?"

The voice didn't shout.

But it cut through the air like a blade.

The Baron turned, still smiling—

Just in time to see Alaric Ardentis, Crown Prince of Aetheria, lift the hood from his head.

His ash-blond hair gleamed under the high windows. His silver-gray eyes met the Baron's—steady, unblinking, unreadable.

The smile died on Baron Farley's face.

Velric, oblivious, kept going with a scoff. "Probably that spoiled prince, right? What's his name? Al—something. The one who faints at paperwork. We do all the work—"

Tia pulled back her hood.

Golden curls spilled out, her emerald eyes gleaming with restrained fury.

Kaelen followed, tugging his hood off with a flourish, expression dark and smug all at once.

Then Celestine, her silver hair shining like moonlight.

Then Aina, cloak slipping back from her soldier-straight posture.

Finally, Lucien, calm and silent, shadows retreating from the sharpness of his gaze.

Six figures stood in that grand hall, cloaks undone.

Not travelers.

Not peasants.

Not merchants.

Royalty.

Power.

Velric's voice choked mid-word.

The Baron took a step back, his throat visibly working to form sound—any sound—but none came out.

Tia tilted her head. "Still think the princess is a porcelain doll?"

Kaelen smiled, dangerous and bright. "You looked so proud talking down to the crown prince. Want to try again?"

SLAP!

The sound echoed through the marble hall as the Baron turned and slapped Velric across the face, hard enough to send the steward stumbling sideways.

"You fool!" the Baron hissed, pale with panic. "You insulted the royal family! You slandered the future emperor—to his face!"

Velric clutched his cheek, gaping. His knees gave out a second later, and he collapsed to the floor. "I—I didn't know—Your Highness—I beg—"

The Baron dropped to one knee, head bowed. "Your Highnesses, please forgive this servant's ignorance. I had no idea—I would never have allowed such disrespect had I known."

Alaric watched them both with unreadable eyes, then… chuckled softly.

"Relax, Baron," he said. "We enjoyed the honesty."

That made Velric turn paler.

Kaelen crossed his arms. "But now it's time for the truth."

Tia stepped forward. "The real ledgers."

Celestine added, "The sealed reports. The private documents."

Aina cracked her knuckles. "Everything you've been hiding."

Lucien finally spoke, low and calm. "Or we'll burn the lies and start from ash."

The Baron scrambled to his feet. "Yes—of course—immediately! I'll have the full archive brought—"

Alaric's voice dropped, cold and final:

"Bring them yourself."

Velric didn't dare look up.

The Baron bowed again.

And the storm finally began to turn.

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