Audience of Masks & The Second Prince

Dawn cast the marble halls of Caledonia's palace in ghostly hues of pearl and rose. Beneath the delicate light, every polished floor seemed to reflect more than just the ceiling frescoes—it reflected secrets, ambition, and blood long since spilled.

Arthur's breath hung cold as he walked beside Princess Lilith toward the grand audience chamber. Behind him, Fenrix padded silently, tail low, while Umbra vanished into the shadows above the arched doorways. Lilith wore her composure like a cloak, but Arthur felt the slight tremor in her hand.

He, too, bore tension in every muscle. Today, the mask he would wear had to hold.

They paused before towering oak doors inlaid with silver. A herald announced them in a voice that echoed across marble and stone: "Her Royal Highness Princess Lilith of Caledonia… and her guest, Arthur."

Only Arthur. No family name. No whispered truth.

The doors swung open.

---

Inside, nobles stood in semicircles draped in brocades and jewels. The scent of rosewater masked undercurrents of sweat and fear. At the end of the hall, beneath a domed ceiling painted with the phoenix sigil, sat the King of Caledonia—grey-bearded, crown heavy, eyes deep as an old wound.

And beside him, the man whose gaze locked onto Arthur with hawk-like precision: the Second Prince. Broad-shouldered, wearing black and crimson, and carrying the air of command—and contempt.

Arthur's mother's brother.

The one who had called her traitor.

Lilith stepped forward, her voice steady despite the storm around them. "Your Majesty, I bring before you Arthur—a traveler and ally, who aided my safe return."

Whispers rippled through the chamber. The King lifted a hand, quieting the court.

"And who is this Arthur?" the King asked, his gaze falling heavy as stone on the young man.

Arthur felt sweat bead at his temples, hidden under his travel-worn cloak. "A healer, Your Majesty," he replied, bowing low. "My family lost to war. I have wandered since."

The words were true enough to pass a surface test—but only just.

The Second Prince stepped closer, boots tapping on marble, every move radiating quiet menace.

"A healer?" the prince murmured, circling Arthur like a hound scenting weakness. "Yet armed, scarred… and, I hear, quite skilled with unorthodox magics."

Arthur kept his gaze down. "The roads are dangerous, Highness."

Lilith opened her mouth, but the prince raised a hand. "You remind me of someone, boy," he said, voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "Your eyes… they carry the same insolence Cecilia once had."

The name struck the air like a blade.

Arthur's fists clenched under his cloak. Fenrix let out a low rumble, barely restrained.

The King's gaze narrowed. "Peace, brother. We will not dishonor Cecilia's memory here."

"Memory?" the prince spat. "She betrayed us. She ran with a guard, bore his whelp, and died a coward's death."

Arthur's vision tunneled, rage blooming behind his ribs. The mask cracked.

"Careful, Highness," Arthur forced through clenched teeth. "Speak ill of the dead at your own peril."

A hush fell over the hall.

The prince's mouth curved into a smirk, but his eyes glittered coldly. "So the stray has fangs. Good. Caledonia breeds strength, not meekness."

---

Lilith stepped forward, her voice sharp. "Enough. Arthur saved my life more than once. Whatever your suspicions, he is under my protection until proven otherwise."

The King's hand rose again. "We have unrest on our borders, bandit attacks growing bold, and whispers of the Kidnapped Rose. We need allies, not more division."

Arthur bowed low once more. "Your Majesty, I ask only to stay as a healer. I owe my life to Princess Lilith—and would see her safe."

The King studied him in silence that stretched painfully. Finally, he nodded once. "Very well. You may stay, but under watch. The times are too troubled to grant blind trust."

A gesture, and the audience was dismissed.

---

Outside the chamber, Lilith let out a breath she had held too long. "You should not have spoken, Arthur. He could have had you executed for less."

Arthur's gaze darkened. "And let him spit on her name? Never."

She met his eyes, softening. "She would have been proud."

Fenrix brushed against Arthur's leg, grounding him. Umbra slinked closer, yellow eyes unblinking.

---

Later, Arthur walked alone through the palace's shadowed corridors, past tapestries depicting phoenixes reborn from ash. His mother's face haunted every corner. His own reflection in a polished shield seemed a stranger—eyes too tired, burdened beyond his years.

The mask had held. Barely.

But the prince had seen through the cracks. His uncle.

And Arthur had seen something in the prince's eyes too: fear. The same fear Cecilia must have inspired before she fled.

He whispered to the darkness, "I won't run. Not now."

From the shadows, Umbra's shape shimmered. Fenrix's quiet growl echoed his resolve.

Beyond the marble and gold, the true battle waited.

The mask must hold—but the truth would burn brighter in the end.

And Arthur vowed, under silent stars and ancestral stone, that when that day came, he would not kneel.

---

To be continued...