Epilogue III ‒ The Crown’s Judgement
Epilogue III ‒ The Crown’s Judgement
The great marble hall of the Imperial Court stood tall in solemn quiet, the soft flicker of torchlight reflecting off polished floors and golden columns. At the dais, the twin thrones of the King and Queen rose like mountains of authority, their occupants seated in silence—King Orlan, steel-backed and stately, Queen Mireille calm but pale, her eyes shadowed with wear.
The grand chamber was lined with nobles and courtiers, all standing in breath-held stillness. The scent of incense wafted in slow coils through the air.
At the base of the dais, Sir Caldus, Nyelisse, and Prince Theodore knelt in reverent silence.
A herald stepped forward, his voice echoing clearly:
“Captain of the Imperial Guard, Sir Baldwin, and Minister Lord Sylas have confessed to high treason. They are guilty of orchestrating the corrupted tree wraith attacks across the kingdom, and of poisoning and attempting to assassinate Prince Lucien. By royal decree, they are to be stripped of all titles and imprisoned for life.”
Gasps rippled through the gathered nobles. Whispers surged like wind in tall grass. Some of the older ministers exchanged uneasy glances; a few clutched their sceptres tighter.
King Orlan rose from his seat. His presence quieted the court instantly.
“I thank you,” he said, voice resonant with authority, “Knight Nyelisse of the Wolfglade line, for your unyielding protection of both my sons. And I thank you, Sir Caldus, for your loyalty, your service, and your continued resolve in these difficult days.”
He took a breath, and stepped forward slightly.
“The position of Imperial Guard Captain now stands vacant. Sir Caldus, would you—?”
“If I may speak, Your Majesty,” Caldus interjected, bowing deeply, his voice carrying the tired warmth of age. “I am honoured… but my time as a sword has passed. I am old now. My place is not at the front lines. However—”
He turned slightly toward his daughter. His expression was not stern, but proud.
“I have an able candidate in mind.”
Murmurs began again. All eyes turned to Nyelisse, whose breath caught as if struck by a sudden wind.
The King smiled knowingly.
“Very well. Knight Nyelisse… I, Orlan of House Viridane, King of Virelia, hereby promote you to the position of Imperial Guard Captain.”
Nyelisse raised her head in a jolt, eyes wide. “But… I’m just an escort knight.”
King Orlan narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting in faint amusement. “Are two members of the same family now planning to defy my command?”
Nyelisse flushed and lowered her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. “No, Your Majesty…”
He nodded, his expression turning solemn again. “You have served my son in silence and strength for years. Now I charge you with a greater duty—protect this kingdom, as fiercely as you have protected him.”
She looked toward her father, who gave a nod.
Then she turned to Theodore.
His mouth curled in a proud smile, exaggerated and goofy, mouthing: ‘Captain Nyelisse.’
She stiffened, nearly huffed—but finally bowed.
“Yes, Your Majesty. It would be an honour.”
King Orlan’s gaze now drifted to his son.
“And as for you… Prince Theodore, who once abandoned his post and fled the burdens of crown and court…” His voice deepened. “You believe yourself free of responsibility?”
Theodore’s head dipped, but he didn’t cower. “No, Father. I just—needed time to understand who I was, before I could serve.”
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King Orlan’s eyes gleamed, not unkindly. “Then you shall receive a punishment worthy of a prince who seeks understanding.”
The court waited, breath held.
“You will undergo knight training under the supervision of the new Imperial Guard Captain—until she deems your performance satisfactory.”
Several ministers chuckled. Even Queen Mireille covered a small smile behind her hand.
Theodore’s shoulders slumped. “Not that training again…”
Nyelisse leaned toward him, barely containing her smirk.
“Didn’t you say,” she whispered, “you wanted to become strong enough for me to rely on you?”
He gave a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head.
“Well… as long as I get to spend more time with you,” he muttered.
A few scattered laughs echoed lightly across the hall, even from the stony nobles. The moment was light, but not mocking. Hope had returned to the royal family, and the court felt it in their bones.
King Orlan raised his voice once more.
“Let it be known—this day shall be marked in Virelia’s history. The return of our First Prince, and the salvation of our Second. Let it be remembered not only with words… but with celebration.”
He lifted his hand.
“Let the bells ring. Let the people rejoice. Virelia stands united once more!”
---
Fireworks lit the night sky above Virelia in bursts of gold and violet. Down below, the cobbled streets pulsed with music, laughter, and the clink of raised goblets. Lanterns floated gently into the air like stars rising from the earth itself. Joy threaded through every corner of the capital.
But away from the palace spires, tucked into a crooked alley where the festival lights barely reached, a small shop remained quietly open.
Lira’s Remedies.
Inside, the cluttered little room smelled faintly of chamomile and ink. Shelves lined with faded labels and crooked jars bore the weight of a hundred concoctions. Lira stood on a small stool, dusting the top shelf with a rag that had long since given up on being clean. She paused every few moments to glance out the window at the fireworks—then looked away again with a sigh.
Everyone was celebrating.
Well, it’s not like she wasn’t happy. She had been rewarded—handsomely, in fact. Gold. A royal letter of thanks. Even Queen Mireille had spoken to her by name.
Still…
Her rag stopped mid-motion.
There was a strange hollowness in her chest tonight, as if something essential were absent. As if laughter and praise couldn’t quite reach the part of her that waited—for something, or someone.
If only she were with—
The door creaked open.
Lira turned sharply, half-expecting a noble, or perhaps a courier. Instead, she found herself staring up at a tall figure, his cloak dusted with road grime and his hooves clicked faintly against the wooden floor. He had the bearing of a mercenary, but there was something about the way he stood. Upright, towering, yet oddly patient. His fur-lined cowl cast his face in shadow, but she could just make out horns curling behind his hood.
“Hello,” Lira said, straightening instinctively. “Welcome to Lira’s Remedies. What can I do for you?”
The figure stepped closer. “Sunshine.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
Her fingers tightened around the counter.
“Do you have Morning Sunshine?” the figure clarified.
Lira blinked. Her mind jolted to a halt.
The stranger tilted his head. “Hello? Why aren’t you responding?”
“S-Sorry. Yes. Of course. We do have Morning Sunshine.” She cleared her throat. “How much do you need?”
“Well,” the stranger said, voice calm but firm, “I heard it’s the best path-relieving potion in the region. Some of my guild members… well, they run into trouble a lot. So can you give me all of the Morning Sunshine you currently have?”
“That…” Lira hesitated. “That would be a bit difficult.”
“If it’s a matter of coin, I can pay.”
“It’s not the money. It’s the ingredients. They’re rare—especially the goldberries. I can’t make much stock at once.”
The stranger was silent for a moment. Then he said, “One of my comrades is seriously injured. Nothing helps with the pain. If it’s not too much, could you come with me to check on him? I’d be extremely grateful.”
Lira hesitated. This wasn’t exactly how she imagined spending the festival night. Still… something in his tone stirred her curiosity. It wasn’t pleading, but sincere.
“I suppose I can do that,” she said cautiously. “But how far is it from here?”
“Oh, distance isn’t a problem.” He turned toward the doorway. “Hey—you can come in now. She’s agreed.”
The door opened again with a creak.
A short, lively creature poked his head in—part crab, part confection, with a glossy pink frosting dome on his back and mischief gleaming in his beady eyes.
“Heya!” he chirped. “Told you I wasn’t lying. Hehe.”
The taller figure stepped aside. “I’m Farnak. I run a mercenary guild in Dustville. And that is—”
“I am Cupcake Crab! And I’ll be your guide!”
---
Moments later, the three of them stood within a circle of white light.
In a burst of magic, they vanished.
When they reappeared, they stood directly in front of the guild—once Farnak’s bar, now marked by a simple sign above the door, which read: [Farnak’s Fearless Fighters].
Farnak stepped forward and pushed it open. Inside, the air was quiet, the hum of idle conversation giving way to muted greetings from a few scattered mercenaries.
They moved through the hall without pause, past old rooms and scuffed walls, until they reached the back chamber where a massive cot stood waiting.
The figure on the bed was enormous. Bandages wrapped around every inch of his body—even the horns that curled from either side of his skull. His breathing was slow, but steady. It was the kind of silence that felt more like hibernation than slumber.
Lira approached, hesitantly. And then—
Her heart thudded.
There was something in the shape of his shoulders. The rise and fall of his chest. Even wrapped in gauze and herbs, the presence was familiar. Deeply so. Her breath caught.
The air around him felt too close. Too known.
She stepped forward. Her hand trembled slightly.
And then—he opened his eyes.
Brown. Muddled. Unfocused.
But when they found hers, something sharpened.
“…Sunshine?” he whispered, voice hoarse.
Lira froze.
Her throat tightened.
“Big brother?”