Ruins And Royalty

Reality and it's True Colors - Chp 4 Part 3

“I have gathered you all here tonight to discuss matters of importance,” the old, commanding voice declared, resonating through the grand study. A low, burning fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room, while faint, youthful murmurs drifted in from the corridors.

“The Bellevey family of Freyah has long been a steadfast ally of Emperos. Their Kingdom is renowned for producing the finest blacksmiths in all of Pandora. And now, with spellwork infused into their weapons, they have become an even greater asset… and a potential threat,” he continued, his tone sharp, almost cutting through the warm air of the study.

I waited, calm, almost bored, for the true reason my father had summoned us. These gatherings rarely ended in anything other than tedious assignments or scoldings.

“They have little else to offer. Freyah is small, reliant on magic rather than brute strength or numbers,” he added, a note of disdain threading through his words. The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy and tense, like the mist of a winter morning that refuses to lift.

A sudden burst of laughter drew my attention to the hearth, where the twins played with hand-carved wooden horses, their small voices echoing across the study. My mother sat close by in her usual chair, silent and unmoving, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames.

“Quiet down,” she said, her tone flat, her expression unreadable, yet carrying the weight of command that brooked no argument.

King Goran’s eyes, dark and unyielding, scanned each of us. “Regardless, their enchanted weapons give them an advantage in the Game of the Gods. Every chance you have to win is diminished because of them.” His words were sharp, deliberate. I already knew where this was heading.

“Eliminate them first,” he ordered, his voice low but absolute. Typical. It surprised no one, and certainly not me. I said nothing, my face betraying no reaction.

“Father, with all due respect… is that truly necessary?” Dayron asked, measured and calm, though I detected the tightness in his jaw.

“You will do as I command, without question,” King Goran scoffed, disappointment flaring in his gaze at his eldest son’s hesitation.

Kalmin’s voice came next, timid and uneasy, almost swallowed by the grandeur of the study. “Is that… not against the rules?” The fire crackled again, louder this time, as if punctuating the tension that now clung to the room like a living thing.

“Not during the Game,” Queen Nymeria spat sharply from her side, rising from her chair with the authority of a predator on the hunt.

“The Game of the Gods is almost upon us. Now is the time to think strategically. Cut down the main competition, and the rest will fall on their own,” she continued, her heels clicking against the floor as she approached, each step deliberate, her presence suffocating.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of her words pressing down on everyone.

“Anyone else we should get rid of while we’re at it?” I sneered, the words slicing through the quiet. Saurora beside me froze, her wide eyes flaming with disbelief, yet she didn’t speak.

“This is not the time for your mockery!” Dayron barked, outrage sharp in his tone.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I spat back, venom dripping from every syllable.

“Enough!” King Goran’s roar cracked the air like thunder. Instantly, the study went still, though the tension lingered like a storm cloud ready to break.

“Do not disgrace our family name with childish bickering,” my mother added, her voice low, seething, each word a lash.

“You will do what must be done until one of you is crowned champion. A plan will be discussed in detail closer to the time,” she continued, her composure taut as she returned to her chair. The twins, Mayrin and Markus, stared at us with wide, fearful eyes. The Queen’s hands rested gently on their heads, comforting them, or so it seemed. I recoiled at the gesture, a flash of memory surfacing: her subtle manipulations, her lessons in control, poisoning their minds as she had mine.

“The Nightingales are fierce and ferocious, fearless in their climb to the top, even if it means stepping on others,” my father added, his voice final as he turned from us. “Now, leave.”

I was the first to bolt, flinging open the heavy doors. They swung outward, scraping the walls as I stormed down the hall, heart hammering, adrenaline hot in my veins.

A sharp tug on my upper arm yanked me back, spinning me halfway around.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Saurora snapped, fury blazing in her eyes.

I wrenched free, ready to push past her, but she wasn’t done. Her gaze pinned me, unyielding, a storm I couldn’t ignore.

“What did you hope to gain in there?” Saurora’s voice cut through the hall, sharp and furious.

“What are you talking about?” I snapped, irritation flaring.

“How can you be so… insensitive?” Her words hit like a whip. “You know how I feel about Princess Isalyn, and yet you take it as a joke when ordered to execute the Bellefey royals in the Game of the Gods!”

“Sister, what do you think happens when the game starts?” I asked, voice low but firm. “She either dies, or she kills you. It’s every person for themselves in there. Do you really think it’s going to end any other way?” Her naïveté stunned me. She's older than I am, yet blind to the brutal truth.

Saurora froze, her anger slowly replaced by disappointment.

“Would you… kill me if I were standing in your way to victory?” Her tone was calm, almost placid, but her eyes pierced through me, demanding an answer I couldn’t give.

I stayed silent, staring elsewhere, unable, or unwilling, to meet her gaze.

“I should not be surprised,” she said finally, her voice steady now, yet laced with lingering anger. “You are cold-hearted. A true Nightingale. Just like Mother and Father.”

Then she turned and walked away.

I remained rooted, watching her retreat, life draining from my face. Her words burned, not because they were false, but because they were true. How dare she compare me to the parents I despised? And yet… she was not wrong. I was their mirror. My lips stayed sealed; I could not articulate the truth I already knew.

When she asked if I would take her life to reach the crown, my mind answered before my lips could. Yes. I would. And the realization coiled in my stomach like a living thing, twisting, pulling guilt tight across my throat.

This was why I cut myself off. This was why I had always kept people at a distance. The Game, the family, the alliances, it left no space for sentiment.

Saurora’s words lingered in my mind, but so did the inevitable truth of fate. Even if the Bellefey royals were spared in the Game, her life, like all of ours, was preordained. Royal blood meant obligation, marriage, alliances. Choice was an illusion; destiny, a cage gilded with gold.

That night, sleep refused me. I twisted beneath the blankets, haunted by nightmares long buried. Flashes of the forbidden Forest returned: the blood on my hands, the stains on my clothes, the screams of the lost echoing through twisted shadows. I stood, frozen, in the abbess of a distorted world, witnessing horrors I could never forget.

I woke with a heaviness that clung to every muscle, a residue of both restless sleep and the nightmares that refused to leave me. My body felt leaden as I pushed myself up, moving slowly toward the open stilted arch window. Morning light spilled across the courtyard, soft and golden, warming my skin while the crisp air filled my lungs, sharp and bracing.

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to force the fog from my mind. The events of last night lingered like an itch I couldn’t scratch. The tension with Saurora, the shadow of the dream...

Pulling myself together, I dressed with deliberate precision. My dark blue, nearly navy tunic clung to my form, layered beneath a black-and-silver muscle cuirass, the leather belt cinching it tight. Black arm bracers with fine detailing encased my forearms, and my gladiator sandals laced up to just below my knees, molding to my calves. My thick black hair caught the light beneath a gold olive-leaf crown, and my signature chain-drop earring swung slightly with each measured step.

I moved toward the arena ahead of schedule, wanting to be first. The grounds for training, and soon the crucible of the Games, were already stirring with early risers. My expression was a weapon in itself. Sharp, focused, and very much deadly. Passersby gave me wary glances, sensing the storm lingering behind my dark eyes.

Sleep had done little to calm me; the echoes of my nightmare and last night’s argument with Saurora still clung stubbornly to my thoughts. But the morning’s training offered a release, a chance to channel my irritation into movement, into strength. Whoever was chosen as my sparring partner would find themselves a convenient target for my focus... and my fury.