Chapter 4: The Golden Prince

The music softened to a lilting tune, played on strings that shimmered with a touch of magic. Candlelight refracted through enchanted crystals overhead, scattering colored motes that danced across the marble floor. Varyn paused at the threshold of the circle of noble children, forcing his shoulders back, heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest.

Behind them, illusions cast by the palace mages flickered and shifted. One moment, roaring waterfalls tumbled into mist behind the assembly; the next, the floor seemed to vanish into a starlit plain where ghostly fireflies hovered. It was all meant to delight and awe, to give the gathering of heirs and scions the sense of standing at the center of the world.

It worked.

A hush fell as he stepped forward. The other children bowed or curtseyed deeply, eyes darting to him and then to the Imperial insignia pinned at his chest. He could feel their expectations like a weight pressing on his ribs.

He remembered what his mother had told him. Remember their names.

He forced a polite smile.

"Lord Kethan of House Marrin," he said, inclining his head to a stocky boy in black and gold. "I heard your father's speech at the last Council. Very eloquent."

Kethan's face lit up. "Thank you, Your Highness!"

"Lady Yselle of Fenvale," he continued, turning to a tall, narrow-faced girl in silver and green. "Your family's lands grow the best medicinal herbs in the south, yes?"

She flushed at being recognized. "We do, Your Highness. I—I'd be glad to send you some."

The circle relaxed slightly at that, the tension draining as they realized the Crown Prince had done his homework.

He let himself exhale. Good. Keep going.

The conversations began to flow. They asked him about his tutors, his favorite subjects. He admitted he liked history, though the Empress wanted him to focus on diplomacy. A few of the boys started boasting about their martial training.

"I bested my mentor at the Academy last month," said one, a lean, hawk-nosed youth with smug eyes.

"Truly?" Varyn asked, with as much interest as he could muster. "That's impressive. Was it sword or staff?"

"Sword," the boy preened.

Varyn offered a solemn nod. "Then I should ask for a demonstration one day. I'd be grateful to learn."

The other boy blinked, flustered at being taken so seriously. "O-of course!"

They laughed a little, and the tension cracked further.

He was aware of the girls watching him. Their eyes lingered on his hair, on the Imperial colors stitched in his collar. He didn't know what to do about that.

One girl, delicate and pale, curtseyed so deeply she nearly fell over. When she rose, her face was red as wine.

"Your Highness," she managed breathlessly, "your hair is so dark. Like the night before new moon."

He blinked at that, trying not to fidget. "Er… thank you. That's very poetic."

Another girl held out a flower, its petals glowing with soft internal light, a clear enchantment. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"It's… for you," she whispered.

Varyn hesitated. He felt the pulse of magic in it, benign and carefully woven. He accepted it with both hands, bowing slightly.

"It's beautiful," he said sincerely. "I'll treasure it."

The girl gave a small squeak and ran behind her friends.

He tried not to sigh. Why does this feel harder than talking to the Archmages?

One bolder noble girl twisted her hands in her skirts and stepped closer.

"Your Highness," she said, voice quavering. "Would it—would it be acceptable if I… wrote to you? Sometimes?"

Varyn blinked. He felt the confusion tighten in his chest. Letters? No one outside family had written to him before, except for stiff, formal reports.

But he remembered his mother's warning. This is where you prove you're worthy.

He forced a warm smile.

"I would be honored," he said gently. "I'd be pleased to hear from you."

Her eyes went round with wonder. She fell into another curtsey so deep her hair brushed the floor.

He managed not to laugh, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

Around them, the illusions shifted to a blazing autumn forest, leaves like embers drifting in unseen wind. Music swelled, and Varyn realized he'd eased enough to let himself look around.

These were his peers. His future allies, rivals, maybe enemies. But for tonight, they were children at a party, trying to please him, hoping to be noticed.

They're not so bad, he admitted to himself.

The thought both comforted and frightened him.

He stood there, flower in hand, giving polite nods and carefully measured smiles, wondering if anyone could see the way his heart was hammering behind the Imperial crest on his tunic.

The noble children were finally drifting away, some still sneaking shy glances back at him. The flower in his hand pulsed with warm light, its glow catching on the gilded embroidery of his formal tunic.

Varyn let out a quiet breath, shoulders sagging just a little. His palm was damp where he'd been clutching the flower too hard. He wiped it carefully against his sleeve, praying no one noticed.

He was about to look for a safe spot to set the flower down when he felt a gaze on him. Heavy, assessing.

He turned.

Selene stood at the edge of the circle, arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow arched in regal amusement. Her formal mage-robes gleamed in the lamplight, heavy with layered wards and Imperial colors. Her hair was pinned in its elaborate braids, black as his but set with tiny silver charms that winked like distant stars.

And she was smirking.

Oh no.

She didn't move at first. Just watched, letting the moment stretch until he could feel the back of his neck heating. Then she pushed away from the pillar she'd been leaning on and sauntered toward him, steps measured and unhurried, as if she were stalking prey.

Varyn swallowed.

As she drew close, the giggling girls scattered like startled birds, some muffling laughter behind gloved hands.

Selene's smile sharpened.

"Well, well," she drawled, stopping just close enough that he had to tilt his head back slightly to meet her eyes. "Little brother. Collecting suitors already?"

Varyn scowled, cheeks flushing with mortification.

"Of… Of course not. I'm only ten."

But Selene just circled him slightly, gaze flicking from his stiff posture to the enchanted flower clutched in his hand. Her grin widened.

"You're going to break so many hearts," she murmured, loud enough for at least one lingering noble girl to overhear.

The girl squeaked and fled entirely, skirts rustling.

Varyn's ears burned. He clenched his teeth.

"They're just being polite!"

Selene threw back her head and laughed, the sound rich and delighted. It was one of the few times she let herself laugh like that in public. Her hair charms tinkled faintly.

"Oh, is that what you think?"

He glared at her, but it was a useless, childish glare, the kind that made her grin even wider. She reached out and, with careful precision that made it clear this was punishment, ruffled his hair hard enough to ruin the neat styling their mother's attendants had done.

He batted at her hand, scowling deeper.

"Sis!"

"Whatever you say, Prince Charming," she said, voice syrup-thick with fake sweetness.

And then she did something he hadn't expected. She leaned in and kissed his forehead lightly, just a quick, affectionate press. Her hair brushed his cheek, cool and scented faintly of warding herbs.

He went stiff as a board.

"I'm not a kid" he muttered again, but softer now, hating how small he sounded.

Selene just gave him a satisfied little hum, ignoring his scowl entirely.

"Who just said that he was 'only' ten?", she smirked.

Beyond them, the Empress was watching. She stood near the Imperial dais, hands folded, her expression as unreadable as always—but her black eyes softened at the corners, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her mouth.

Varyn saw it.

He didn't know if it made him feel better or worse.

He looked down at the glowing flower in his hand, cheeks still hot, hair mussed beyond salvation, and tried very hard not to grin.

The music softened to a regal but lilting tune, full of flowing harp runs and sweet, high pipes that danced above the murmuring crowd. The great hall's illusions shifted once more—from somber city walls to a starlit glade full of drifting, ghostly fireflies.

The Empress's hand rested on Varyn's shoulder, the faintest pressure a reminder to stand straight.

He swallowed hard as the herald raised his voice:

"High Princes of Moonglade—Their Highnesses Aelar and Corrin Moonglade."

They were unmistakable even before the words finished.

Fairy glamour clung to them like living light. Aelar, the elder, wore his silver-gold hair in relaxed warrior's braids, with a few strands unbound to sway as he walked. His robe looked like woven moonlight, subtle illusions of flowing water glimmering across the fabric. Corrin was leaner, his hair tumbling freely over one shoulder, his tunic embroidered with stylized leaves that flickered and swirled in slow, enchanted patterns.

They were smiling already as they approached—no stiff formality in their bearing, just an easy, practiced grace.

Varyn quickly remembered himself and bowed carefully, the way his mother had drilled him to do.

"Your Highnesses," he said, voice steady. "Valcrest welcomes you."

Aelar waved a hand lightly, as if brushing away the formality.

"Oh, none of that, Prince Varyn," he said, voice warm. "We're guests at your feast, not the other way around."

Corrin grinned, clapping Varyn's forearm in a light grip that was more brotherly than diplomatic.

"Besides," Corrin added, "your Empire would scold us for taking your bow too seriously. We'd hate to be blamed for corrupting you with Fairy manners."

Varyn blinked. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch before he caught himself.

"...I shall try not to be corrupted," he said politely.

Aelar laughed outright at that, the sound drawing a few curious glances from nearby guests.

"Spoken like a true diplomat! Careful, though," he added, voice dropping to something closer to a conspiratorial murmur, though still easily overheard by the Empress. "Our court loves to test visiting dignitaries with riddles, wine, and dancing."

Corrin elbowed his older brother with a grin.

"Especially the dancing. Our youngest sister will have a partner ready whether he agrees or not."

Varyn felt a moment of confusion tighten in his chest. Sister?

He tried to keep his tone perfectly polite.

"I did not know you had a sister."

Aelar's eyes twinkled with unmistakable pride.

"Ah, you'd remember her if you'd met her. She's nine now, and already has our father wrapped around her little finger."

Corrin nodded with mock solemnity.

"Terrifying child. She can recite half the council's treaties by memory and somehow argue they're all unfair to Fairies."

Aelar let his smile soften.

"She's clever. Curious about everything. Especially Valcrest. We think she'd... appreciate a friend here."

Varyn felt the weight behind those words even if he didn't understand it fully.

He bowed his head slightly, heart beating faster.

"I would be honored to know her one day," he said carefully. "If she is anything like her brothers, she must be formidable."

Corrin's grin turned almost fond.

"Oh, she's much worse," he said with mock dread. "But she's our pride."

Aelar's gaze flicked to the Empress, who watched them with unreadable black eyes, then back to Varyn.

"Take care, Prince," he said. "And don't let your tutors make you too stiff. The world has enough stone statues pretending to be men."

Varyn managed a more genuine smile than he'd given anyone else that evening.

"I'll do my best," he said softly.

They clasped arms one more time and drifted away, leaving behind only the faintest lingering scent of enchanted flowers.

The Empress exhaled softly beside him—less a sigh than an acknowledgment.

"Good," she murmured in his ear. "They will remember that."

Varyn nodded once, breathing in carefully, forcing himself back into the polished mask.

Because there was no time to savor it.

The Elven Scholar waited next, solemn and robed in shimmering silver. His eyes seemed to peer through Varyn's skull.

"You remembered our greeting last time," the elf intoned in formal Elvish.

Varyn felt his tongue stumble but caught it in time, reciting the old words carefully.

The elf's gaze softened by a hair's breadth.

"Your memory does you credit."

"Thank you, Master," Varyn said, voice low.

He barely had time to straighten before the Dwarven ambassador thundered in with all the subtlety of an avalanche.

"Ha! Still standing? Good lad! Keep this up and I'll forge you a coronet myself!"

Varyn tried not to wince at the heavy grip on his shoulder.

"I'd be proud to wear it," he replied, teeth barely showing in a careful smile. "Though you may have to reinforce my neck."

The dwarf bellowed laughter that startled two minor nobles into dropping their wine.

"Ha! Iron spine already!"

Through it all, the Emperor and Empress flanked him like black-armored sentinels.

"Not 'Lord'—say Master," the Emperor rumbled quietly.

"Mention their trade fleet," the Empress added.

"Careful—not too familiar," she warned a beat later.

Varyn obeyed each adjustment seamlessly.

But underneath the polite pageantry, tension rippled.

He caught the Orcish Warchief's narrowed eyes tracking the Elven Scholar's every movement, tusks flashing in a barely hidden sneer. The elf's expression stayed serenely cold, fingers flexing in the folds of his robe.

Archmages slipped through the space between them like smoke, offering gentle words, conjuring small illusions that burst into harmless motes of light, buying precious seconds of forced laughter.

Varyn watched it all with a tightening in his gut.

They hate each other. They'll smile tonight, but they'd spill blood tomorrow if we let them.

He felt Selene reappear at his side.

He tugged her sleeve gently.

"Will they fight?" he asked, voice low.

She didn't answer right away. Her gaze swept the room, sharp as a dagger's edge.

Finally she sighed.

"Not tonight," she murmured. "That's our job, Varyn. To keep them from fighting."

He swallowed and nodded once.

This is my duty, he told himself fiercely. To know them. To make them like us. Even if they hate each other.

He lifted his chin. The next guest stepped forward.

And he smiled.

The day had been a procession of ceremonies, each more carefully orchestrated than the last.

It had begun with the grand welcome banquet in the late morning, where the Emperor's speech had silenced the hall and left the guests applauding politely in the glow of magical chandeliers. That first meal had been all bright conversation and cautious testing of alliances, the air humming with unspoken bargains.

But that was only the start.

By early afternoon, they had moved to the Mirror Gallery, its vast arched windows spilling sunlight across polished marble and gilded portraits of Valcrest's conquering ancestors. There, the delegations had exchanged formal gifts: enchanted relics, ancestral weapons, casks of rare wines, and bound tomes of magic theory. Varyn had been made to stand at his father's side, memorizing names, bowing on cue, reciting thank-yous without error.

After that had come the Round of Audiences in the Inner Courtyard. The floor had been enchanted to bloom with illusions of roses and ivy as nobles and foreign dignitaries took turns requesting Imperial favor, promising tribute, or—more subtly—threatening withdrawal of support if slighted. The Empress had glided through those exchanges like a blade in velvet. Varyn had watched every move, mind buzzing with worry over what he might be asked to remember later.

There had been the diplomatic luncheon in the Sunlit Pavilion—lighter fare, but no less heavy with words. Delegations ate under vast enchanted canopies that showed drifting clouds and summer skies even as real winds battered the palace walls outside. Conversation was carefully steered to trade routes, shared threats, and polite boasting about magical academies. Varyn had found himself wedged between the Dwarven ambassador—who slapped his back hard enough to nearly make him drop his wine—and a minor Elven noble who corrected his grammar in Elvish with chilling courtesy.

By mid-afternoon, they'd moved indoors again for the Cultural Exhibition in the East Wing. Delegations had prepared magical displays, dances, illusions, even short recitations of epic poetry in a half-dozen tongues. Varyn had sat with his family in the front row, forced to look rapt and applaud at all the right times. Selene had elbowed him when his eyelids drooped during a particularly long druidic chant.

Even then it wasn't over.

There had been another session of greetings in the Marble Antechamber—smaller groups this time, private words exchanged under the watch of Imperial guards. The Archmages had joined there in quiet, careful counsel, smoothing over rising tensions with honeyed words. Varyn had shaken hands until he thought his fingers would fall off.

Only after all that had they retired briefly to their suites—barely enough time to change clothes, drink water, and breathe.

Now, at last, it was the evening banquet.

This one was darker, richer, the lighting dimmed to intimate pools of gold and red, the music slow and formal. Floating platters brought out steaming courses of heavy, savory dishes, and the wine flowed more freely. Laughter was a little louder now, alliances a little bolder.

Varyn felt like he'd been dredged through the entire Empire and wrung dry.

He kept smiling. He kept bowing. He kept remembering titles and family lines and which kingdoms had fought which wars together.

But his eyelids felt leaden. His mouth was dry. His head buzzed with too many voices.

He yawned discreetly behind his hand, hoping no one saw.

But the Empress noticed.

She appeared at his shoulder like a shadow given flesh, black eyes glinting with silent command.

"Varyn," she said softly.

He blinked hard, trying to stand straight.

"Yes, Mother?"

"You've done enough for now."

He opened his mouth to protest, voice cracking with exhaustion.

"I can keep going—"

But she shook her head once, very slightly.

"You've been on your feet all day, greeting the world," she murmured. "Go rest for a little while."

He hesitated, shame and relief wrestling in his chest.

He looked at the Emperor.

Aurelius regarded him with that cold, obsidian stare—but there was the faintest gleam of approval in it. He inclined his head.

That was as close to permission as it ever got.

Varyn let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

And then Selene's shadow fell over him.

She leaned in, voice pitched low enough for only him to hear.

"Careful, little brother," she murmured, lips quirking. "Don't fall asleep drooling on your fancy clothes."

Varyn's face burned.

"Sis," he hissed, voice cracking with indignation.

She laughed outright, unbothered, her hair charms tinkling faintly.

He scowled at her, the last of his diplomatic mask cracking just for a moment.

And for once—even the Empress let herself almost smile.

The Empress's quiet command seemed to ripple outward like a spell, subtle but impossible to ignore. Conversations near the Imperial table hushed as people noticed the Crown Prince being gently withdrawn from the center of attention.

A steward in deep-blue Imperial livery stepped forward immediately, bowing low.

"Your Majesty?"

"Show His Highness to the Blue Study," she instructed, her voice calm and certain.

The steward inclined his head with practiced grace, gesturing toward the side corridor lined with wards and silver sconces.

Varyn felt his legs go leaden. It struck him all at once how long the day had been. He was surprised he could still stand.

He swallowed, turned first to his father.

The Emperor's black eyes locked onto him like twin blades.

Varyn fought the tremor in his arms and offered a deep, precise bow, just as the Empress had drilled into him.

When he straightened, the Emperor regarded him in that cold, unreadable way that had terrified him as a little boy.

But this time, there was a sliver of something else.

Approval.

Aurelius gave a single, deliberate nod.

Varyn felt that tiny gesture hit like a physical weight, making his chest tighten with something dangerously close to pride.

He turned next to his mother.

She was watching every flicker of emotion on his face, black eyes sharp as obsidian, but there was a subtle softness around her mouth.

Varyn bowed again.

"You did well," she murmured, so low only he could hear.

He almost sagged at the words. He blinked hard, willing the sting from his eyes.

He turned slightly, feeling Selene's presence at his side even before he saw her.

She didn't move at first. Arms crossed, Imperial colors heavy on her mage-robes, hair braided and pinned with enchanted silver.

He hesitated. Then quickly stepped forward and hugged her around the waist, pressing his cheek to her robe.

She stiffened for a breath. Then one arm came up, resting around his shoulders in an almost grudging embrace.

When he pulled back, face burning, she immediately ruined it by ruffling his hair thoroughly.

He tried to scowl but it broke halfway into a yawn.

Selene's smirk softened for just a heartbeat.

Around them, the last few concubines lingered—these were the older, childless ones, their gowns cut to flatter but rich with subtle warding sigils. They had remained for this final, more formal portion of the banquet, faces schooled to polite interest as alliances were woven with words and wine.

One of them gave him a measured, approving nod.

"Rest well, Your Highness," she said, voice smooth as poured honey. "You made Valcrest proud tonight."

Another let her lips curve in an elegant, amused smile.

"You even impressed the elves. Not bad for a boy your age."

He managed a tired, lopsided smile in return, offering them a small bow.

"Thank you," he said softly.

The steward cleared his throat gently.

"Your Highness?"

Varyn turned back to his parents.

The Emperor hadn't moved, still that black-armored silhouette of power. But he watched Varyn with that same unblinking attention, as if memorizing every detail.

The Empress's gaze met his. She inclined her head, just once.

It felt like being knighted.

Varyn swallowed, lifted his chin, and followed the steward.

He didn't look back, but he could feel all of them watching.

The roar of the banquet hall softened behind him as they passed under the archway into the quieter corridor, the sounds of cutlery and laughter muffled by thick enchanted doors.

Here, the light was cooler and dimmer, magical lanterns glowing with a pale, steady blue meant to soothe tired eyes.

Varyn let out a breath that shook a little.

Ahead, the steward pushed open the door to the Blue Study.

Warm light spilled out over a thick carpet, plush chairs, and a deep divan piled with soft warded cushions. A carafe of chilled water gleamed on a low table, beside a silver plate of delicate pastries.

Varyn paused on the threshold for a long moment, taking it in.

The door closed softly behind him.