Gaia

Chapter 12 Beneath the Veil

The scent of roasted fruit and warm bread met Shay as she entered the grand dining hall. Sunlight poured through tall stained-glass windows, painting the stone walls in fractured colors — crimson, gold, and amethyst. The air shimmered faintly with heat from the iron braziers.

A table stretched nearly the length of the chamber, crafted from ancient oak and carved with intricate ancient symbols that seemed to glow. . Upon it lay a feast fit for kings — golden platters of spiced meats glazed with honey, bowls brimming with grapes, pomegranates, and dark berries glistening with morning dew. Wheels of soft cheese were crowned with herbs, loaves of fresh bread steamed beside pitchers of rose-colored wine, cream, and citrus water, and fresh churned butter.

A dozen Paladin Knights sat in high-backed chairs, their white armor trimmed with gold gleaming like mirrors of dawn. The moment Shay stepped into the room, conversation ceased. Every helm turned, every gaze fell upon her — some curious, others cautious.

Sir Damian was among them, seated near the table’s center, his dark armor absorbing the light instead of reflecting it. His expression remained unreadable, though his eyes flickered briefly to hers — a silent reassurance, or perhaps a warning.

“Lady Shay,” said a deep voice from the far end of the table. It belonged to Sir Cassian, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from temple to jaw. “Come, sit. You’ll find we’ve left you no shortage of food or ears for company.”

The tension broke like glass under laughter. The men resumed talking, the clatter of goblets and cutlery returning to fill the vast hall. Shay took her seat beside Shiloh, whose small frame seemed almost swallowed by the carved chair. He grinned at her, lips stained purple from grapes.

“Sir Cassian says knights used to train by fasting for seven days,” Shiloh said eagerly, tugging at her sleeve. “But Sir Orren says that’s nonsense — that you can’t wield a sword on an empty stomach.”

“I said,” interrupted Sir Orren, a younger man with amber eyes and an easy smile, “that a knight fights better with strength in his belly. A man’s honor can’t stand if he can’t stand himself.”

The others laughed, and Shiloh joined in, though his laughter came late and loud, earning more smiles.

“But Sir Damian said it’s not the sword or the stomach,” Shiloh went on, his small voice clear and certain, “it’s the promise that makes a knight. A vow.”

Sir Damian lifted his gaze, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Aye, I said that,” he replied, his tone steady, quiet. “Steel rusts. Flesh fails. But a promise… a promise is the one weapon no darkness can take from a man.”

A low hum of agreement circled the table. Even Sir Loric, the oldest among them — gray at the temples, his voice worn with years of battle hymns — nodded slowly. “Well spoken, as always,” he said. “Though I’d argue darkness tests the vow harder than any blade.”

Sir Damian’s gaze flickered briefly to Shay. “And that,” he murmured, “is why only those who’ve met the dark can truly keep one.”

The words hung heavy for a moment, the warmth of the hall dimmed by their weight. Shay said nothing, her hands folded around her goblet of spiced tea. The dream of the Veiled Fates still lingered at the edges of her mind — their warning thrumming like a pulse beneath her skin.

Then, the great doors opened. Queen Nyxaea entered the room. Conversation halted instantly; every knight rose from his chair in reverence. Shay’s eyes were drawn to her, and in that moment she felt the sunlight streaming through the windows illuminate Nyxaea fully, without her veil.

Shay’s thoughts raced as she took in the queen: the gown of blood-red silk, trimmed with black velvet, hugged her form, flowing into a sweeping, dramatic skirt around her feet. Delicate golden runes were embroidered along the fabric, catching the light and twinkling like tiny flames. She had big, beautiful, striking green eyes, long waves of soft black hair framed her face and flowed down her back. Flawless skin glowed softly, and high cheekbones that cast delicate shadows made her face almost sculptural in its beauty. Her lips were full, precise, and impossibly perfect, as though carved by some divine hand. Shay felt her own breath catch.

“Eat well, my knights,” Nyxaea’s voice sounded then, smooth and rich, resonating with an authority that made the room still even after they had sat again. “There is strength in morning light — and the day will demand much of it.”

Shay allowed herself to relax slightly, the tension in her shoulders loosening as she picked up her goblet of spiced tea and took a slow sip. Cinnamon, flameflowers, and a trace of honey rolled across her tongue. She set the cup down and began to select small bites from the platters before her — a slice of roasted pear, a handful of grapes, a piece of cheese fragrant with herbs, and a slice of bread and fresh churned butter. Each taste was richer than she expected, the flavors alive and comforting after the long, empty nights she had endured.

For the first time since leaving her village, she felt a fragment of calm settle over her. The knights’ conversation resumed around her, and the soft sunlight, golden and warm through the castle windows, touched her face as she savored each bite. But even in this brief reprieve, the whisper of fate lingered at the edges of her mind — a reminder that the storm was far from over.