Ruins And Royalty

Rules and Traditions - Chp 3 Part 4

I made my way up the stairs, each step echoing faintly in the night air. Duty demanded I return to the festival, a requirement I had long since learned to accept. Yet after my confrontation with Prince Zander, a lightness I hadn’t expected settled over me. Friendship with him, unexpected, almost out of character, felt… surprisingly pleasant. Not that it would change anything. One more friend wasn’t about to derail my pursuit in the Game of the Gods. I still operated by my own rules, unattached to the earthly realm… or so I told myself.

“Where did you run off to?” a commanding voice called, cutting through the din of the hall.

“Nowhere,” I replied bluntly, glancing up at my eldest brother, Dayron.

“You’re expected to be here and—”

“Yes, yes,” I snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. Of course he had to check in. Dayron lived to obey, tethered to the King and Queen like a shadow, always waiting for the next command, keeping every move measured, every word precise. It suited him. Better him than me. Leadership had never been my calling. Give me a throne, and I’d either burn it down or leave it to rot, unconcerned.

“At least stay until everyone gets too drunk to notice your absence,” he suggested, annoyance woven into the edges of his tone.

I let my gaze sweep across the room. Laughter rolled like a tide, unchecked and raucous. Dancing spun wildly, conversation boomed, glasses clinked, and the music thrummed through the air like heartbeat. Clearly, “too drunk to notice” had been reached long ago. A room full of youth, left largely to themselves, would never disappoint in chaos. The Kings and Queens had their own gathering elsewhere, insulated from this riot of energy.

I exhaled slowly, letting the night’s warmth brush over me. I could play the part for now, smile, nod, exchange pleasantries, but inside, I remained untethered, calculating, already thinking several steps ahead in my own private game.

“I’ll get drunk first,” I said, a sly grin tugging at my lips, purely to rattle Dayron.

“Why are you like this?” he asked, rhetorical, shaking his head with all the disappointment of someone who’d just discovered a stain on an heirloom tapestry.

“You have some explaining to do!” a voice called out across the room, loud enough to send Dayron’s frown deepening.

“Do you have no shame?” Dayron barked, now facing a very tipsy Saurora, whose raven hair seemed to swallow the candlelight.

“Oh, calm down. Everyone here is drunk, so stop being full of yourself,” she slurred, pouting like a child denied candy.

I let out a heavy sigh. “Can I leave?”

Dayron shot us one last look of disapproval, his patience thinner than old parchment. Then, apparently deeming the battle lost, he stalked off.

“So… where have you been?” My eldest sister asked, turning toward me, curiosity etched across her face.

“Why is my whereabouts so important to everyone?” I asked, rhetorical, sidestepping toward the nearest table and grabbing a goblet of wine.

“Who were you talking to, by the way?” I added, pouring the deep red liquid, curiosity laced with mischief.

“Princess Isalyn of Freyah,” Saurora replied bluntly, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Cold way to say her name, considering all that heavy flirting earlier,” I teased, taking a slow sip.

“What? No!” She jolted, flustered, trying to laugh it off, clearly failing. It wasn’t hard to read them. The shy glances, the faint blush, the way their hands lingered near each other, all screamed a story anyone with half a brain could decipher.

“Saurora, you don’t have to deny it,” I said, voice softer now, leaning back against the table. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen you flirt with a girl. And if it makes any difference… I couldn’t care less.”

She exhaled with relief, a quiet laugh escaping her lips.

“You’re not going to tell mother, are you?” she asked, concern flickering in her eyes. I snickered, shaking my head. She should know by now that I was the last person she needed to worry about.

God forbid Mother or Father, or the Council, ever found out. Saurora would be strung up by her hair before anyone could blink, and the Council would have felt entirely justified, regardless of the King and Queen’s protests.

Centuries-old traditions had been imposed on humanity for generations, arranged marriages between royals, love sanctioned only between opposite sexes, and a litany of other rules dictated by the Gods themselves. According to ancient scriptures and gilded scrolls, these were not mere customs, they were divine commands. No one dared question them, let alone attempt to bend time toward new ways; such rebellion was taboo, punishable by scorn or worse.

It was why the younger generations of my era spoke in code, weaving secret meanings into casual conversation, careful to avoid the scrutiny of those who wielded absolute authority over what was permitted... and what was forbidden.

Yet those ideals had crumbled long ago. Walk through any town, and you would witness love in all its forms and colors, unbound by the decrees of the past. The ancient rules persisted now only within royalty, and even then, merely to secure heirs, mechanical, duty-bound, and stripped of true affection.

The Gods held ultimate authority, their will carried through the Council members themselves. Yet, even among them, the true power rested with Edria, the Goddess over all of Atlas. The very reason some of the old ways were tossed except for royalty. It was said she appeared to the Council in person from time to time, especially during the Game of the Gods, the most significant event in all of Pandora. On those days, she ensured that every decree, every decision, ran with flawless precision.

It was a stark reminder of who truly ruled Pandora. No King or Queen could challenge the old ways, no matter their ambition or wealth. We were all bound to obey, caught in the gravity of traditions older than memory itself.

“No, I have no need to. Just… don’t make it so obvious,” I replied, offering a quiet reassurance. She visibly relaxed, nodding before snatching the wine jug from the table and tipping it back in a single, reckless motion. I watched the last drop hit her lips before speaking.

“Are you competing with someone, or what?” I asked lightly, bemused rather than shocked.

“No, but did we not agree to get drunk tonight?” she replied with a wink, laughing, barely steady on her feet. One hand clutched the table for support as she swayed, a picture of gleeful chaos. Fortunately, she was far from the only intoxicated soul in the hall, if she had been alone, the tales of her exploits would have ricocheted off every palace wall by sunrise. With so many equally inebriated witnesses, her secrets remained safe.

“I have some catching up to do, then,” I murmured, scanning the room for signs of her fellow revelers. My eyes flicked around and froze for a moment, none of the red-haired Wrens were visible, not even their siblings. Only Prince Mykhailo had made an appearance, but now he was nowhere to be seen.

“The eldest Prince of Palisade stormed off earlier, just as you left chasing after Prince Zander,” Saurora said suddenly, as if plucking the thought straight from my mind.

“He looked… vexed,” she added before I could even respond.

“Good,” I replied curtly, though a chill ran down my spine. Why would he be so furious? And then it hit me... his earlier words about being close to the Prince of Yarrow. The memory sent a cold shiver crawling along my spine, and I immediately tried to shove it aside, unwilling to dwell on what he might have meant.

I clenched my jaw in frustration, irritated not just by him, but by the way my own thoughts were betraying me. Overthinking it was pointless; it didn’t matter how close they were. That was their business, their connection... not mine.

Still, try as I might, the unease lingered, a quiet itch at the edge of my mind that refused to fade.