Ruins And Royalty

Truth Be Told - Chp 3 Part 3

It was a spectacle to rival any tale of old. With hardly a moment’s pause, our guests began to settle into the feast, their laughter and chatter filling the air in hesitant ripples. At first, it was polite. All measured tones, the occasional chuckle. But when the sun slipped beneath the horizon and night unfurled its cloak, the revelry truly began. Fire dancers spilled into the courtyard, their bodies bending like reeds while flame coiled around them in serpentine arcs. Musicians followed, plucking strings and beating drums until the air itself seemed to thrum with rhythm. The mood swelled, voices rising in boisterous song and laughter as the gathered kingdoms grew bold in their mingling.

I leaned against a marble pillar at the edge of the balcony garden, half-swallowed by the night, content to watch. Mingling held no appeal for me, and I found myself quietly measuring the moments until I could take my leave without notice.

Dayron, of course, had no such reluctance. He stood close to his intended, speaking in low tones that made her smile with a softness rare in halls such as these. They were not yet formally betrothed, arrangements still dangled in the air, but fortune had been merciful to them. To be promised to another and find in them not duty, but affection, was no small gift. They looked at one another as though the years apart had been but a blink, though it had been nearly a year since their last meeting.

My gaze shifted, wandering past them until it caught on Kalmin. He was, unsurprisingly, at the center of attention, surrounded by a cluster of foreign princes and princesses whose names I had promptly forgotten after introductions. His hands flailed dramatically as he spun some tale, his body swaying as though the story itself demanded choreography. Even from a distance, I could see the grin plastered across his face, and the delighted laughter of his audience told me they found him endlessly entertaining.

I scoffed under my breath, rolling my eyes. Leave it to Kalmin would find a way to become the hearth fire of the evening. Loud, overdramatic, and impossible to ignore. Typical.

My gaze drifted next to Saurora, who was locked in conversation with a princess draped in layered silks of ocean blue. Her light hazel hair spilled in soft waves over her shoulders, and every time she laughed at something Saurora said, she coyly raised a hand to cover blushing cheeks. Well, come think of it, both their cheeks were flushed, whether from wine or something warmer, I couldn’t quite tell.

“You must be the infamous Prince Aaron Nightingale... slayer of the chimera.”

The voice cut clean through my thoughts. I turned, finding myself eye to eye with a devilish smile framed by fiery hair and a pair of sharp hazel eyes that missed nothing. The eldest Wren. Prince Mykhailo.

“What’s it to you?” I replied flatly, taking a step back from his encroaching presence.

His smile lingered, mocking. “Arrogant. Not nearly as terrifying as the tales make you out to be.”

I exhaled through my nose and turned away, unwilling to waste my night on him. But he slid neatly into my path, blocking the way with practiced ease.

“Now, that’s hardly polite, walking off mid-conversation.” His tone dripped with false geniality, every word meant to needle.

My patience thinned. I squared my shoulders, fixing him with a frown. “Can I help you?”

“Merely testing whether you’re any sort of competition.” His eyes swept over me from head to toe with lazy disdain. “Clearly, you’re not.”

“Try saying that with a sword at your throat,” I said evenly, my voice low, controlled.

He laughed, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby revelers. Their curious glances only fed his amusement. “Amusing,” he said at last, smirk never faltering. “You’re funny.”

“No,” I shot back, stepping closer, my voice like steel. “You’re the joke.”

The air between us thickened, sharp as drawn steel. Mykhailo’s smile wavered into something harder, his eyes narrowing as he inched forward, face to face with me. If he meant to intimidate me, he failed miserably.

“Sharp tongue,” Mykhailo murmured at last, his voice low, his eyes fixed on me like a hawk sizing up prey.

“Sharper blades,” I shot back, stepping in until the space between us was nothing more than a dare. Normally I’d have walked away, not out of fear of a fight, but because I had no taste for wasting time on petty provocations. Still, I never let anyone think they could plant their heel on my neck.

Before the standoff could tip further, a steady voice slipped between us.

“Let’s not make a scene.”

The words slipped in quietly, almost like a hand brushing dust from silk. We both turned, and there he was. The prince, calm as still water. He had set a hand against Mykhailo’s chest, a gesture so slight it could have been mistaken for camaraderie rather than restraint.

His eyes drifted across the hall, taking in the revelry to ensure that no one had yet caught on to the simmering hostility. Satisfied, he lowered his hand with the same composure he’d arrived with, leaving only the faintest ripple in the air where the tension had been.

“I was just having a friendly chat with the Prince of Emperos,” Mykhailo said, brushing it off with that infuriatingly teasing smile of his.

“Don’t you have better things to do, Mykah?” Zander replied, unamused. I jerked my head back, eyebrows lifting in surprise, he’d actually called the man by a nickname.

“You two know each other?” I asked, trying to sound blunt, though Mykhailo could clearly read the surprise and curiosity on my face.

“Jealous, are you?” His voice dripped with cocky amusement as he tilted his head, smirk widening, daring me to respond.

“No- no.” I stammered, taking a step back, caught entirely off guard.

Zander, equally flustered by the question, stepped in before Mykhailo could press his teasing further. “We’ve known each other since we were thirteen,” he said, voice careful, avoiding my gaze.

“We’ve been close ever since… very close,” Mykhailo added, his tone dripping with patronage, eyes locked sharply on mine. Every word grated against me, making my teeth ache with irritation.

“What’s your point? I’ve known him since we were nine,” I blurted, only realizing the weight of my words as soon as they left my mouth. Mykhailo arched a brow in mock surprise. Zander froze, emerald eyes wide, staring straight at me in shock. His silence was heavy, and I could practically hear the unasked questions hanging in the air.

“What’s going on here?” A childish voice broke through, quickly followed by another.

“What’s all the fuss about?”

Kalmin and Saurora stood to my left, oblivious to the tension that had just erupted.

“Nothing,” I muttered, turning my head and pressing a hand to the back of my neck, heat rising to my face.

Zander finally spoke, voice low and measured, and then walked off briskly, leaving a trail of unsettled energy in his wake. My siblings exchanged glances, shrugging, silently asking for an explanation I wasn’t ready to give. Meanwhile, Mykhailo lingered, eyes following Zander as he strode away, clearly unsettled by the reaction he had provoked. A frown etched on his face, but he did not dare trail after Zander.

The weight of awkwardness pressed down on me, paired with guilt that burned hotter than any fire in the hall. Now was the moment- I had to apologize, or lose the chance forever.

Without a word, I pushed through the gathering, leaving both my siblings to awkwardly face Mykhailo alone. I weaved past guests until I spotted Prince Zander a short distance away. He was descending a wide marble staircase to the right, open to the night air, the city and ocean stretching out beneath him. Stone fire bowls dotted the steps, their low orange glow licking the marble and painting the scene in a warm, flickering light.

I hurried down, reaching for his upper arm to catch his attention. He pivoted to face me, eyes wide with surprise, edged with anger I could almost taste. I slid my hand down to his wrist, easing my grip. I didn’t want to force his attention. I just needed him to hear me.

“Prince Zander… I can explain,” I murmured, voice tight, almost swallowed by the night.

He turned his head, avoiding my gaze, and my stomach twisted. The distance between us felt like a canyon, and I wanted to close it with words, with movement, with everything I had bottled inside.

“Why did you lie?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the quiet, threading tension between us like a taut bowstring. “That day I confronted you by the baluster, you said you didn’t remember me.”

I swallowed. “I… I don’t know.”

“Not good enough,” he said with the weight of a judgment I didn’t deserve but felt in my bones anyway. He lifted his gaze, meeting mine, and the world seemed to condense around those sharp, conflicted eyes. Every detail, his jawline, the set of his lips, the faint curve of his cheek, was carved into my mind. I wanted to reach out, to touch, to bridge the space without words, but my pride held me in check.

“Seeing you again… after all these years…” I began, struggling to string the truth together. “It brought back memories I wasn’t ready to face. I’m not the boy you knew, I’ve changed. I was… afraid you’d be disappointed in the man I’ve become.”

My words lingered between us like a fragile glass thread, trembling but unbroken. I searched him, trying to read the flicker of his expression. The faintest curve of his mouth betrayed a small smile, and he let out a quiet, almost amused laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I was startled,” I added, softer this time, taking an almost imperceptible step closer. “I never knew you were... healed. That you were… yourself again.”

He studied me, head tilted slightly, a question poised in the space between us. “That’s why you lied?”

“Yes,” I admitted, breath catching in my chest, heart hammering as if it might shatter ribs. “And… I was nervous.”

The words hung in the air like a fragile bridge. I could feel the gravity of his presence pulling at me, an invisible tide that threatened to pull me under. My chest tightened, and I caught myself thinking of the countless times I’d buried my feelings behind arrogance, behind jokes, behind walls I thought impenetrable. None of it mattered now. None of it could shield me from the weight of him.

He shifted slightly, just enough for me to notice the subtle lean forward, a question still unspoken but written all over his body. My hands twitched at my sides, itching to reach for him again, to erase the distance between us.

And in that pause, that fragile heartbeat of silence, the world narrowed to just him and me, the stairs beneath our feet, the cool night air brushing past, and the tremor of something unnamable vibrating through the space between our chests.

“People talk. I know who you are now… cold, callous, heartless, arrogant…” His voice was light, teasing, but his soft eyes held something sharper as he stepped closer, the space between us shrinking.

I arched an eyebrow, heart skittering. “Then why approach me, knowing all that?” I asked, trying to sound calm, though my fingers itched to grip something, anything, to steady myself.

He leaned in, close enough that I could feel the faint warmth radiating off him. “I couldn’t help myself. I hoped… that the person I once knew was still here. You might wear that armor for the world, but I know your heart.”

I straightened, trying to maintain my usual facade. “Sorry to disappoint, but the rumors are true.” My words were sharp, a blade I hoped would keep him at a distance.

Instead, he smiled. Warm and genuine, like a sunless light that somehow cut through everything. “Then why are you getting so flustered?” His voice was soft, teasing, and it made my pulse jump in a way I refused to acknowledge.

The world around me dimmed, the festival fading into a blur, leaving only him. Every detail was sharpened in my vision, the way his white hair caught the faintest breeze, the curve of his lips, the way his gaze anchored me in place. For a moment, I imagined sliding my fingers through that hair, reckless and impossible as it was.

“I’m not,” I muttered, too aware of the shallow pace of my own breathing. But my words rang hollow even to me.

He smiled again, and I caught something new, dimples, subtle yet impossible to ignore. My face betrayed me before my mind could catch up, softening into awe.

“What?” His nervous chuckle broke the spell, and he glanced at me with a flicker of confusion, though his smile never faltered.

“You… your smile. It’s beautiful.” I said it before I could think better of it, and his eyes widened, stunned. He hadn’t expected praise from me, not like this. And yet… there was delight there, subtle but unmistakable.

The fragile bubble around us shattered with distant laughter, the festival reclaiming its hold on the night. Our moment ended abruptly when a servant boy appeared, oblivious to the tension between us.

“Prince Zander, you are requested by the council, if you would be so kind as to follow me?”

I stepped back, the spell broken, the weight of reality settling over me, though my gaze lingered on him longer than necessary. I glared at the messenger, throwing daggers his way. I wondered how far he would fall if I tossed him over the stair railing for interrupting this precious moment. He noticed my silent threat and scuffled lightly closer to Zander.

“What for?” Zander asked, his voice polite, cautious.

“They didn’t say,” the servant replied bluntly.

Zander glanced back at me, stepping aside, his cheeks tinged with red. He quickly averted his gaze, as if suddenly shy under my eyes.

“Sorry… I have to go,” he said finally, falling into step behind the servant.

“I should get back to the gathering anyway,” I murmured, forcing my own gaze elsewhere.

They began to walk away, and I lingered a moment longer, watching him disappear down the stairs. Just as I turned to retreat back up, he paused, then looked over his shoulder.

“We’re friends again, yes?” His smile was tentative but hopeful, a quiet bridge offered across the distance between us.

“Yes,” I replied, feeling warmth spread through me as I returned his grin, genuine and unguarded.

As he turned to walk away, my gaze followed him for a few lingering steps, and a quiet thought settled in my mind. Friends again… The words felt strange, almost foreign, like a thread I hadn’t realized had frayed so long ago was now slowly being rewoven. After all these years, after all the distance and silence, it was almost unbelievable that we could start over like this.

A small part of me felt lighter, as if a weight I hadn’t noticed was pressing on my chest had finally been lifted. Yet another part remained cautious, friendship, I reminded myself, could be fragile, easily shattered by misunderstanding or pride. But for now… for this moment, I let myself savor it.

Even if fleeting, even if uncertain, the bridge was there. And for the first time in a long while, I felt… hope.