Chapter 61

Third Person’s POV

In the heart of the Kingdom of Elysia, the city of Hoswington came alive in a way that felt almost too grand to contain.

Banners of royal blue and gold draped from every balcony and archway, their fabrics dancing with the morning breeze as though the city itself was breathing in celebration.

Music spilled from every corner—lutes, violins, and drums blending into a lively rhythm that echoed through the stone-paved avenues.

People filled the streets shoulder to shoulder.

Merchants called out with laughter in their voices, offering delicacies and trinkets from every corner of the kingdom.

Nobles walked in finely tailored garments, their presence marked by elegance and quiet authority, while common folk moved just as freely beside them, smiling, drinking, and sharing stories as though the invisible lines between status had softened—if only for these days.

Children weaved through the crowd, chasing each other beneath strings of light, their laughter rising above the hum of conversation.

Performers gathered at open squares, drawing circles of onlookers with fire dances and acrobatics, while the scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries lingered thick in the air.

At the center of it all stood the grand plaza, where the flags of every allied territory were raised side by side—a quiet but powerful display of unity.

Delegations from distant lands had already begun to arrive, their cars lining the outer roads, their presence turning the city into a living map of alliances and ambitions.

Today marked the beginning of the Sovereign Assembly.

A gathering where rulers, dukes, and envoys convened not only to negotiate power and policy, but to maintain the fragile balance that held the kingdom together. Behind closed doors, decisions would be made—alliances strengthened, rivalries measured, futures quietly decided.

But beyond the politics, beyond the strategy—

This day held a deeper weight.

Ten years ago, on these very streets, the final declaration had been made.

The fall of King Arthur’s rule.

The end of tyranny.

The beginning of something uncertain… but free.

And so, Hoswington did not merely host the Assembly.

It was a celebration.

For fourteen days and fourteen nights, the city would not sleep.

The length was not without meaning. The festival had been shaped to mirror the final two weeks of the rebellion—the most decisive stretch of the war, when hope had nearly faltered, and yet refused to die.

It was said that those fourteen days were when the people of Elysia chose, again and again, to stand their ground despite loss, fear, and uncertainty.

To commemorate it, the kingdom chose to remember not just the victory—

but the endurance it demanded.

Each day of the festival honored a different turning point: the battles fought, the alliances forged, the sacrifices made, and the lives that had been lost to secure the freedom they now celebrated.

It was remembrance and revelry intertwined.

A declaration that the kingdom had not forgotten what it took to rise.

As the day stretched, the festive at Hoswington only grew brighter, reflecting in the eyes of its people—alive with pride, relief, and something even stronger.

Hope.

For now, the city belonged not to politics, nor to power—

but to its people.

“Your Majesty.”

Duke Christian’s voice broke gently through the quiet hum of the car.

Across from him, Lena sat with her eyes closed, her head resting lightly against the seat as she tried—unsuccessfully—to reclaim the sleep she had sacrificed at dawn. The steady motion of the vehicle and the distant murmur of the road did little to ease the tension that lingered in her body.

“The High Conclave is now in sight,” he continued.

Lena’s eyes slowly opened.

For a brief moment, she didn’t move—just breathed, steadying herself—before her gaze shifted toward the window.

And there it was.

Rising in the distance like a monument untouched by time, the High Conclave stood tall against the morning sky. Its towering spires cut cleanly through the horizon, stone walls gleaming under the early light, proud and unyielding. It was not merely a residence—it was history carved into architecture. Power preserved in silence.

The home of the Vantheir lineage.

Miu’s lineage.

Her mother’s.

Lena’s expression stilled as her eyes traced the structure, something unreadable flickering beneath her calm.

The Vantheirs were not just nobles. They were royalty in their own right—an ancient bloodline that once held the throne of Elysia before history had quietly rewritten its course.

There had once been a Vantheir king.

A ruler remembered not for his reign, but for the absence he left behind.

No son.

No heir to satisfy the rigid traditions of succession that bound the kingdom at the time.

And so, the crown had passed—not by merit, nor by will—but by rule. To his sister. And through her, to the man she had married.

A Forger.

From that union, a new dynasty had risen.

And for generations, the Forgers ruled—unchallenged, absolute—until the rebellion carved its way through their legacy and tore the throne from their grasp.

Lena’s thoughts were cut short when she suddenly lifted her arms, stretching without warning, the motion deliberate and unrestrained.

The shift was so abrupt that Duke Christian glanced at her at the same time, momentarily caught off guard.

A quiet silence followed—then Christian exhaled through his nose.

“Sometimes,” he said dryly, eyes still forward, “you act like you’re still just a noble lady.”

“Quiet,” Lena shot back without even looking at him, her voice edged with a familiar sharpness as she stretched a little further, rolling the tension from her shoulders.

Paolo and Piolo let out a soft chuckle, the sound low but unmistakably amused.

For a brief moment, the air inside the car felt lighter—almost normal.

Lena finally relaxed into her seat, leaning back just enough to steal one last moment of ease before the weight of her title settled fully back onto her shoulders. Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling, her expression unreadable, but the faint exhale she let out betrayed her intent.

One last breath.

Before the performance began.

“Are you both ready?” she asked, her tone quieter now, though no less steady.

“Of course.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Christian and the twin knights answered in unison.

Outside, the towering gates of the High Conclave drew nearer, their imposing structure growing larger with every passing second.

“I can hardly wait,” Christian muttered, his voice laced with something between anticipation and weariness. “After all, this is supposed to be a celebration of the kingdom’s freedom.”

The car began to slow.

Then, without warning, his tone shifted.

“And you should fix yourself.”

Lena’s eyes flicked toward him.

“You are a Queen now,” he continued, his voice firm, his gaze finally turning to her. “We’re practically at the gates. How long do you plan on lying like that?”

Lena held his stare for a second—then clicked her tongue softly.

“I heard you,” she muttered, pushing herself upright. “Such an old grump.”

There was a faint pout on her lips as she adjusted her posture, smoothing out the creases of her coat, her expression settling into something far more composed.

By the time the car came to a complete stop—

Queen Lena was no longer stretching in her seat.

She was ready.

—

“Unload everything. Once that’s done, you may all proceed to your assigned chambers and prepare for the day.”

Lena’s voice carried cleanly across the service court. The moment she laid her instruction, movement followed—guards stepping into formation, attendants already reaching for cargo, the quiet hum of ordered urgency filling the space.

She turned her attention to the group gathered just a few paces away—the merchants of Tungsten, still lined neatly despite the long journey, their expressions a mixture of awe and anticipation as they took in the grandeur of the High Conclave.

“You may conduct your trade here as you see fit,” Lena continued, her gaze sweeping across them. “Sell your goods, observe the market—but more importantly, spread word. Tungsten is in need of skilled laborers for its rehabilitation.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” they answered, voices bright, almost eager.

Lena gave a small nod, satisfied. She turned, ready to leave them to their tasks—

Then paused.

“And oh.”

The single word snapped through the air.

The merchants, who had just begun to relax, stiffened again as if pulled by invisible strings, eyes darting back to her.

Lena lifted a finger slightly, as though recalling something of great importance.

“While you are here,” she added, her tone shifting—lighter, but no less deliberate, “I want you to purchase the finest jewelry you can find. The most beautiful pieces available in the plaza.”

A ripple of confusion passed through the group.

“There will be royal guards stationed throughout the area,” she went on. “If you require assistance, call for them. They will handle the payment.”

Silence fell.

Not the disciplined kind from before—but something more uncertain, more stunned. The merchants exchanged glances, unsure if they had heard her correctly.

Lena studied them, one brow lifting ever so slightly.

“This is a crucial task,” she said, her voice calm but expectant. “I am counting on you.”

The weight of her words lingered—but still, no one spoke.

And then—

As if struck by the same thought at once, something shifted.

A memory surfaced.

A voice—gentle.

“Please bring me back a present. I’d like to receive a gift from you.”

Recognition lit their faces one by one, confusion melting into quiet understanding… then into something warmer.

Smiles.

Real ones.

“Yes, Your Majesty!” they answered again, this time with a different kind of enthusiasm—softer, but far more certain.

Lena held their gaze for a moment longer, and for the briefest second, the corner of her lips curved.

She gave a small, approving nod before turning away, her steps already carrying her deeper into the castle.