Chapter 138

Winterwoven

Strange silence reigned over a spacious, round, and lavishly decorated room. Gold-woven drapes covered arched, stained glass windows, with the wall spilling into a blend of marble and rug-covered stone. Beautiful, hand-carved chairs with ornamental backs surrounded equally decorative tables, four of them, spaced evenly in a circle around the center of the room.

The center itself was dominated by a statue of a masked man looking up toward the sky while holding a book with both his arms, abreast. The walls themselves held frames of dozen or so portraits, all of men and women with golden locks of hair and striking hue of the eyes--be that in the shade of blue, green, purple, or even golden.

Even Sylas was taken aback by the sheer level of luxury they were presented, though he had to hold it all completely in and appear stoic and unbothered. He was seated on one of the chairs, appearing lazy, drinking from a cup that was brought to him--even wine was delicious. Though it wasn’t as good as the one he tasted beyond the northern border in the land of the dead, it was somehow even better than the wine that Asha got from the gods themselves.

As for her, she was seated next to him, looking every bit statuesque as the statue in the center of the room itself. She had a veil covering her face and an elaborate headdress that hid completely the color of her hair. Her dress was silky smooth and white, with occasional floral motifs sprinkled at the edges.

From her atmosphere, Sylas knew she also wanted to take a sip, but as it would be inappropriate for the ‘Princess’, she was forced to hold back. Ever so often, he would feel her deathly glare at him, especially when he purposefully moaned in pleasure at the taste of the wine.

Surrounding them were several people--nine to be precise. Of the nine, six were plate-armored guards, though it was perhaps more appropriate to call them Knights considering their garb. They were spaced evenly around the edges of the room, with the two stationed at the front near the entrance to the room. Of the remaining three, two were maids who were ordered to wait on Asha and him, and who did their best not to stare at the woman sitting ever so silently.

The last one, shockingly enough, was one of the Queen’s brothers--according to him, he was a Commander of Transcriptions, whatever that may mean. The man appeared to be in his late forties, though there was no trace of white on his hair--mostly because he dyed it. He wore heavy makeup in an attempt to mask the sight of aging, though he either didn’t realize or completely forgot to do his hands--which gave away the wrinkles of time.

He wore lavish, purple robes with several golden sashes hung over his shoulder, and sat opposite of Asha and Sylas, staring at the two with an ever-shifting gaze. One persistent part of it, however, was anger and frustration--mostly because the only thing Sylas said to the man was 'You are not worthy enough to talk with us', likely bruising the man's ego in the process.

The two have done well, Sylas mused, with posturing--at least so far. They spent roughly two weeks getting everything in order--some things they bought, and some they prayed for and got. Eventually, they sat into one of the most ridiculously decorated carriages Sylas had ever seen in his life--as its entire frame was made of literal gold--and drove through the city toward the Palace. They were welcomed by the man in the chair and several dozen guards and were escorted here, to wait.

It’s been nearly an hour since, but neither Asha nor he spoke another word, keeping up the appearances. The man continued to stare, occasionally taking a sip of wine as well, though similarly not speaking.

The seemingly eternal silence was broken shortly after by the stampede of steps echoing from outside the room, followed by the entire room being filled to the brim with even more guards and maids and people of some clear import. Leading the charge was a youth that looked slightly older than Valen, though caused Sylas to pause for a moment still as the resemblance was... beyond striking. Golden hair and sky-light eyes aside, the two shared the same, high cheekbones and sculpted jawline. Truly, the man looked the same as Sylas imagined Valen would in a few years.

He wore a relatively simple yet well-fitted garb made up for colorful pants and a vest above which a half-coat hung. As per her instructions, Asha remained silent and appeared unbothered, while Sylas glanced around for a moment before resting his eyes at the man. He knew that the reason the room quieted down was that everyone was expecting him to stand up and greet the newcomer. However, as though entirely unaware, he continued staring at the man while occasionally taking a sip of wine.

“INSOLENT FOOL!!!” nearly fifteen seconds into the whole ordeal, a voice exploded from the rear as the same man that had spent the last hour staring at him burst forth, veins on his forehead popping. “DO YOU KNOW NOT THE BASIC ETIQUETTE?! STAND UP AND BOW BEFORE HIS HIGHNESS!!”

“...” Sylas took another sip of the wine and let the heavy atmosphere marinate for a moment longer. “His highness to you, a lad to me.”

“YOU--”

“Enough, Tyvel,” the man interrupted in a calm and even tone; whether he was merely a good actor or of the sound mind, he appeared entirely unbothered by Sylas’ behavior. “Everyone except Lukas, leave this room.”

“Your Highness--”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” the calm tone heaved with a hint of annoyance, prompting everyone to turn silent and immediately evacuate, as though chased by the ghosts. Tyvel, as his name appeared to be, glared at Sylas one last time before disappearing, leaving four souls in total in the room--Asha, Sylas, the Prince, and the man called Lukas. He appeared to be in his early forties, roughly Sylas’ ‘official age’, and was wearing simple clothes with even a simpler scabbard hanging off his waist. Though he didn’t look like much, Sylas’ instincts were warning him. “How is the wine?”

“Drinkable,” Sylas replied as the Prince and his guard sat down on the same table. “Though some ways still behind the kadiak.”

“Oh?” the Prince arched his brows in surprise, and even his guard recoiled back in reaction, a wistful expression in his misty-gray eyes. “You have tasted the nectar?”

“What is your name, boy?” Sylas asked.

“... Vassen,” the Prince replied, maintaining his calm much to Sylas’ surprise. “May I ask for your esteemed name?”

“Hardly anything esteemed about me, ‘m afraid,” Sylas said, cracking a faint smile. “Son of farmers, with no name nor land to bind me.”

“If not your name, perhaps your purpose?”

“Ah, purpose, yes,” Sylas nodded. “This coy Princess of mine here said to her Father, ‘Father, I shan’t marry that ugly Duke; I shall take Lebur on a journey to find myself a proper Prince!’,” the Prince’s facade finally cracked slightly as his lips curled up into a smile while Lukas didn’t even bother toning it down, bursting out into laughter. Asha, though remaining silent, dipped her head down in shame. “And thus, led by her nose that can apparently sniff a handsome Prince, we arrived.”

“A... curious way, I must say,” Vassen said, taking a sip of wine to mask his smile.

“Needn’t be polite,” Sylas said. “This little Princess of mine has always had her brain marbles rattled. Alas, we are all very fond and indulgent of her.”

“If you do not mind me asking,” Vassen said. “Which Kingdom is Her Highness from? I do not recall any of our neighbors having someone of such... bold character,” this was the crutch, Slyas knew--but he also investigated enough to gamble.

"South you go, lad," Sylas said. "And cross the dwarfing seas," Vassen's expression hardened for a moment as Sylas reached over and slowly pulled up the veil. "And my home you'll find. Beheevium Empire. Land of Virtues and Tomes and Scribes and Swords." Sylas' words fell on deaf ears, as both Vassen, and even the older man seated next to him, had their jaws slack and eyes glued to the woman sitting calmly.

Sylas hadn’t changed much about Asha--only asking her to make her hair longer and even whiter and to age herself down to late teens. She was ethereally beautiful as it was--but the problem was that there was nobody like her anywhere around. So, instead of a beauty, she was an oddity--a strange, unknown thing people feared. However, ascribe to her an exotic birthplace... and suddenly, that strangeness is waved away and all that is left is a woman capable of toppling a leveled mind.

“Come on, lass--you are no mute,” Sylas said. “Introduce yourself properly.” Asha held back a groan and stood up, bowing toward Vassen.

“Gravest apologies for my Guardian’s mannerisms, Your Highness,” her voice was soft and melodic and her words carefully crafted. “He is a man of the land, I am afraid. Even my Father’s lashings were unable to make an honest Knight out of him.”

“N-n-no, no worries, uh, no worries,” Vassen stuttered as he hastily stood up and bowed as well.

“My name is Alana,” she added, looking up and smiling faintly, stunning the Prince yet again. “It is pleasure to make your acquaintance, Prince Vassen.”

“...” while the Prince still reeled, the man next to him recovered, looking at Sylas with a faint grin.

"Wake up," he elbowed the Prince, causing the latter to groan out in pain, though shooting a grateful look at the old man before speaking.

“P-pleasure is all mine, Princess Alana,” he said. “Please, sit down. Apologies for such brash welcoming. I will make sure to reprimand the servants.”

“No need,” Asha said. “We have boldly encumbered upon you. If anything, we should be apologizing. Lebur, make certain to prepare an assortment of gifts.”

“No, absolutely not,” Vassen quickly interrupted. “Though bold of me it may be to say, your beauty is a gift that I shall spend a lifetime appreciating.” Sylas glanced at the Prince and almost nodded; unlike Valen, this one seemed to have a decent means of interacting with women.

"Before the tale of the Prince and the Princess begins to unveil," Sylas interjected. "And because my dear Princess is of no want to show it--but we have traveled a long while."

“Of course, of course,” Vassen immediately picked up on the meaning. “I shall immediately prepare the most exquisite room for Her Highness. I shall also have two of my most trusted maids--who have served me since the cradle--serve you. While you rest, I shall prepare a proper, welcoming banquet.”

“Why don’t you escort our little Alana to her room?” Sylas suddenly said, surprising both Asha and the Prince who looked at him immediately. Sylas, however, ignored the two, his gaze focused on the man who was still seated. “Naturally, should anything happen to her, even if it costs me my life, I will have your head escort her into afterlife.”

“...” the atmosphere cooled further as Vassen felt chills run down his spine. Aside from never having been talked to quite so liberally, there was something in man’s voice that made him believe that promise wholeheartedly. “Should anything happen to her, you will not need to--I will follow her of my own will.”

“... good lad,” Sylas cracked a smile. “Go on, then. You are both young and spry and no doubt full of many tales to share and jokes to crack. Go,” Asha, though still confused, sighed and accepted, leaving the room with the Prince and leaving Sylas with Lukas, who continued to sip wine. “You would have lost that hand, you know?”

“Oh? That confident?” the man asked, cracking a smile.

“Now that the kids are out of the way,” Sylas said, putting down the cup. “Shall we chat?”