The Gathering Begins
1296 Words
Aurelia's Pov
By the time I reached the eastern balcony, the palace courtyard had already transformed into something unrecognizable.
Ashthorne had always been beautiful, but beauty looked different when seven kingdoms were expected beneath the same roof. Crimson banners bearing my family's silver wolf crest swayed from the highest towers, while rows of polished spears caught the morning light like a wall of glass.
Servants crossed the courtyard in hurried silence, carrying baskets of fresh flowers, embroidered table linens, and silver platters destined for the Great Hall.
Stable hands rushed between the royal stables, calming restless horses unsettled by the constant movement, and somewhere below, the palace musicians rehearsed the same triumphant melody for what must have been the tenth time.
I rested my hands on the cool stone railing and watched the castle breathe.
From here, everything looked orderly and perfect. As though every person below had practiced this day a hundred times before.
Perhaps they had.
"The view never changes."
I didn't need to turn around.
"It changes every season," I replied.
Lady Miriam joined me on the balcony, following my gaze toward the open gates. "The stones don't."
"They're stones."
"They've watched generations of rulers walk through those gates."
"And?"
"And they remember more than people do."
I smiled faintly. "You're speaking in riddles again."
"No." She folded her hands neatly before her. "I'm reminding you that castles have longer memories than kings."
Before I could ask what she meant, the deep sound of a horn echoed across the valley.
Every conversation in the courtyard below stopped. The guards at the main gate straightened as one.
"They're here," Lady Miriam said quietly.
The first procession appeared through the morning mist, banners rising above the heads of mounted warriors. Even from this distance, I could tell they had travelled for weeks.
Their cloaks carried the dust of long roads, and their armour bore scratches that no servant had yet polished away.
One kingdom had arrived.
Six remained.
More horns followed throughout the morning. One procession after another crossed the bridge into Ashthorne until the palace grounds seemed to overflow with colours I had never seen gathered in one place before.
Emerald standards embroidered with silver antlers fluttered beside deep blue banners marked with a soaring hawk.
Noblewomen stepped gracefully from polished carriages, their gowns shimmering beneath the sun, while princes and princesses greeted one another with smiles polished by years of court etiquette.
Some of those smiles were genuine, most were not.
"My lady."
A young maid approached with a respectful bow.
"Her Majesty requests your presence in the Rose Gallery."
Mother rarely sent for me twice.
"I'll come."
As I descended the grand staircase leading toward the western wing, the palace seemed louder than it had only an hour earlier.
Voices echoed beneath painted ceilings, servants hurried through intersecting corridors carrying trays of crystal goblets, and guards stood at every entrance, their attention fixed on the growing number of distinguished guests.
The Rose Gallery overlooked the central gardens, where white marble fountains glittered beneath the afternoon sun. Mother stood beside the open windows speaking with the royal tailor, while several ladies in waiting made last minute adjustments to ceremonial garments laid across velvet chairs.
She looked up as I entered.
"There you are."
"I came as soon as I could."
"I know."
She dismissed the attendants with a gentle nod, waiting until the doors had closed before walking toward me.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Instead, she reached up and smoothed an invisible crease from my sleeve, just as she had done since I was a little girl.
"There will be many eyes on our family during this Gathering."
"I gathered as much."
"They will watch how we speak."
She adjusted the silver clasp fastening my cloak.
"They will watch how we stand."
Her hands lingered for only a moment before falling back to her sides.
"And they will watch you most of all."
Neither of us mentioned why.
Some truths had been whispered often enough that silence carried them just as clearly.
Outside, another horn sounded.
Mother turned toward the window.
"The King of Draven has crossed the eastern bridge."
The room grew still.
No one spoke.
Even the servants exchanged brief glances before lowering their eyes again.
I had heard his name before, everyone had.
But names, I had learned long ago, were rarely as interesting as the people who carried them.
. . .
The horns sounded again, lower this time, their echoes rolling across the palace grounds before fading into the hills beyond Ashthorne.
Every conversation in the Rose Gallery seemed to dissolve into the same expectant silence, as though the castle itself had paused to listen.
Mother stepped away from the window first.
"They'll enter through the eastern courtyard," she said, smoothing the sleeves of her gown. "Come."
The corridors leading to the grand staircase were already crowded. Ladies gathered in quiet clusters, their jeweled gowns catching the afternoon light, while noblemen spoke in voices too low to carry beyond their circles. Servants slipped between them with practiced ease, balancing trays of crystal goblets and silver pitchers without disturbing a single conversation.
I had attended enough royal gatherings to recognize the performance. Everyone appeared relaxed. No one truly was.
By the time we reached the gallery overlooking the courtyard, the first riders had already crossed beneath the castle gates.
Their banners were unlike any I had seen before.
Against a field of deep black, a silver wolf stood beneath a crescent moon, stitched so finely that it seemed almost alive whenever the fabric caught the wind.
"They don't travel lightly," Lady Miriam murmured.
I followed her gaze.
The warriors rode in perfect formation, their movements disciplined enough to suggest years of training together. Even their horses seemed quieter than the palace mounts, responding to the slightest shift of the reins.
There was something unsettling about that kind of order.
Not frightening.
Simply...absolute.
A carriage followed behind them, though it carried no elaborate decorations or unnecessary displays of wealth. It was elegant in its restraint, polished until the dark wood reflected the afternoon sun.
Someone stepped down.
The courtyard did not erupt into applause.Yet I became aware of something changing.
The conversations nearest the stairs faded first. Then another group fell silent. One by one, voices disappeared until only the fountain could be heard, its steady rhythm carrying across the stone.
I couldn't immediately see him. Too many guards stood between the gallery and the entrance.
Then the line shifted and for the first time, the King of Draven came into view.
He was taller than I had imagined, though it wasn't his height that held my attention. It was the way he moved, unhurried, composed, every step measured without appearing rehearsed.
He acknowledged the welcoming party with a respectful inclination of his head before exchanging greetings with my father, and though I couldn't hear a single word from where I stood, neither man seemed inclined to waste them.
For reasons I couldn't explain, my eyes remained where they were.
As if sensing it, he looked up.
The distance between us should have made the moment insignificant.
Instead, the courtyard seemed strangely quiet.
Not empty.
Just...quieter.
His gaze rested on the gallery for no more than a heartbeat before returning to the conversation below.
I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Lady Miriam glanced at me.
"What do you think?"
I looked back toward the courtyard, where the welcoming procession had begun to move toward the palace doors.
"I think," I said slowly, "the stories forgot to mention something."
"What was that?"
I watched the black banner disappear beneath the stone archway.
"They never said he looked like someone who listened more than he spoke."
- Writer
