When Your Dusk Arrives

Chapter 1

As the sun beamed its golden rays, Laynie Multon, dressed in a um as she walked down the lively streets of Baycliff. Numerous stalls surrounding her showcased an array of goods, the air filled with the luscious scent of ripe fruits and fresh vegetables, alluringly wafting from the ample produce on display.

Villagers were engaged with the retailers, haggling over prices and examining the quality of the wares, while the children ran about through the hustle and bustle. Behind her chased a young boy, no older than 10, his face etched with exasperation.

"No."

"Come on, Laynie! Just a bit, just spar with me for 5 minutes!" cried the boy.

"No, Keven."

Laynie grabbed a red apple from her pocket and took a few bites, the savoury sour and sweet flavor filling her mouth as she crushed the bites with her teeth.

"But the tournament is in just a week!"

Laynie stopped turned around with an indifferent expression, and asked, "Just why do you care about the tournament?" her tone tinged with a hint of playful boredem, "It always seems complete rubbish to me."

Keven gaped at her, his face blank. He gasped as soon he regained himself, "Rubbish? It's the exact opposite of rubbish! You get to see legendry warriors, knights, and even the aristocracy! How can that be rubbish?" Laynie snorted, at which Keven frowned, "And you should be careful, Laynie. You know that the tournament is hosted by the aristocrats, right? They have got many spies planted in Baycliff, so there is a high chance they might hear you."

Why the aristocrates held the tournament every season was clear as day, but probably not for a child like Keven who was, unfortunately, too naive to understand their wicked schemes to keep themselves entertained.

'By letting commoners fight each other into b****y battles at that.'

Laynie leaned and tapped Keven's nose with her finger, "The very least I know is how utterly clueless are the so-called aristocrats that they can't even tell the difference between peace and war."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Kaven, following Laynie as she started to walk again and turned a corner, "I mean, why talk about war?" he seemed to have forgotten about the tournament.

Laynie sighed, "Don't you know what's going on with the Royal family?"

Kaven looked up at her, "About the Crown Prince being a rebel?"

'If only that was the case.'

They arrived at a much desserted place, rows of stone-brick cottages came in sight, "Well, yes and no, because though the Crown Prince being a rebel is quite a big problem, it's not the only one." said Laynie.

He tilted his head, "Then what?"

"You know how many children the current King has?" Keven shook is head, "5, The Crown Prince Victor, The Second Prince Carlsen, The First Princess Eliza, The Third Prince Luke and finally, The Second Princess Viola."

Keven looked up puzzledly at her, "So?"

"So, though the had court tried to hide it, you already know that the King is sick, right?" He nodded, still looking puzzled, Laynie turned another corner, "The King's about to die, so one of his children will have to ascend to the throne, but there are too many candidates. In other words, the royal palace has become a battlefield for them to fight over the flimsy little throne."

'Tsk, all they do is just scheme against each other.' thought Laynie, slightly annoyed.

"But... what about the nobles?" asked Keven, they were now approuching a small cottage, its walls painted in a delicate shade of pale yellow. The windows were adorned with lovely flower pots and delicate white curtains, added a touch of elegance to the cottage's facade. And just in front of the cottage, there was a garden planted with lush shrubs and vibrant flowers.

"What can they do expect for adding more fual to the fire? The royals have noble factions supporting them, the higher the noble's status is, the better, so all is playing smoothly for them."

They were now almost in front of the cottage.

"Then... what about the royals? Is not even one of them better than the... others?" Laynie halted, and looked back at Keven but he wasn't staring at her. His eyes wide, he was looking at the cottage, their cottage, his mouth hanging open in shock.

"What's the ma-" but there was no need for him to answer, for when she looked down at her doorstep, her head turned blank.

There lay an unconscious young man, his clothes muddy, crimson blood slowly seeping from the lower sleeves, a blue cresent shining on his palm. A sign of royalty. A sign of the heir.

Laynie didn't want to believe it, but no matter how much she wanted to deny it, the truth remained the same.

That Crown Prince Victor lay half-dead on her front doorstep.

'I'm doomed.'