"Princess…" Zevros muttered, his face stiff as Nysera strode in, her eyes sweeping over the chaos with a cool authority.
Ralphie's jaw nearly hit the gleaming floor. His eyes widened, sparkling with ridiculous adoration.
"She's… radiant…" he whispered, clutching his fists as if they held all the courage in the world. "A desert rose blooming in the middle of this wasteland!"
Nathaniel, ever stoic, muttered, "Oh no. Not this again."
But Ralphie was already lost. He spun in place, arms wide, chest puffed out like he was presenting her to the heavens. "Princess?! Allow me to season your life with passion, flavor, and eternal devotion! One bite of my cooking—"
Shanya groaned loudly. "Ralphie, shut it before I gag harder than that guard over there."
A few soldiers glanced around, unsure whether to fight or laugh at the lovestruck cook. Ralphie didn't care. His cheeks flushed, his gaze locked on Nysera as if she were the only person alive.
Before anyone could react, Ralphie, in a whirlwind of adoration, leapt forward and took Nysera's hand into his own. His eyes sparkled like stars as he bowed dramatically.
Nysera blinked, utterly confused, her free hand lifting as if to ask, "What… is happening?"
"Princess, I vow to season your life with my finest creations!" Ralphie exclaimed, his face dangerously close to hers.
Shanya groaned from the side and yanked Ralphie backward by the collar of his suit. "Get a grip, you lunatic! Leave the princess alone before you embarrass yourself in front of the king!"
Ralphie struggled, flailing his arms slightly, but his gaze never left Nysera. "I… I cannot! Her beauty—it blinds me! Her presence—it flavors my soul!"
Nysera stepped back cautiously, tilting her head. "Uh… thank you? But I don't even know you."
Nathaniel, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "Ralphie… seriously?"
Shanya elbowed him. "Seriously, yes. And you're lucky I'm here, or he'd still be proposing a menu of… something I don't want to imagine."
Ralphie pouted dramatically. "You wound me, Shanya! You wound my chef's heart! But fear not, Princess, I shall return… with desserts and devotion!"
Nysera stared, completely bewildered, while the rest of the room exchanged amused and exasperated glances.
Shanya muttered under her breath, "This is why I drink coffee before court appearances."
Zevros was the first to move, his voice cutting through the chamber with the weight of command. His posture stiffened as though the princess's arrival gave him renewed strength.
"Princess, stay back! These intruders are nothing but pirates—lawless scum who forced their way into the palace and already cut down your soldiers!" His words rang across the hall, sharp as steel. Yet Nysera did not retreat. Her gaze was steady, her presence calm, though the chaos of the throne room unfolded around her.
"Sup', princess. Been a while, yeah?" Shanya's voice carried from across the chamber, dry and biting. She stood with her arms crossed beneath her chest, chin tilted upward, her expression caught somewhere between defiance and amusement.
Nysera's eyes shifted toward her, the crease in her brow deepening. "Shanya… what is going on here? Why has the alarm been sounded? And why are you standing in opposition to the throne? None of this makes sense."
Shanya gave a sharp snort, jerking her chin toward Zevros as though dismissing him outright.
"Here's the truth of it. These old pals of mine twisted the whole picture to make us look like villains. But that ain't the way it went down. What really happened? Their lot snatched this crew's captain—poor bastard's already flat on his back in a coma—and locked him up like some prize catch. We came here to drag him back."
Her gauntleted fingers curled tightly against her arm as her voice sharpened, laced with venom. "Thing is, your mighty king don't know the first damn thing about respectin' guests. So if the throne room looks like a battlefield, that blame sits squarely on his shoulders, not ours."
Zevros's eyes narrowed, jaw tight, his voice sharp as he pointed toward the boy sprawled on the marble floor.
"Do not believe a word that outcast says!" he barked. "That old man—that deceiver—is the one who struck this boy down. We found them at the southern docks during our investigation, skulking in the shadows. They were plotting against the kingdom, and now they dare bring pirates into the throne hall to finish the job!"
His glare swept over Nysera and the intruders. "These people are no allies! They are traitors and mercenaries, cloaking themselves in lies. The boy on the floor is nothing but a pawn broken by his own master. Princess, would you really believe otherwise?"
Ralphie stepped forward, hands on his hips, his tone sharp and accusatory. "What I don't get," he said, voice steady, "is why you'd even try to make it look like we'd hurt him. Us! We're standing right here—Venos, myself, the whole crew. Do you really think we'd attack our own people? That's ridiculous."
He took a step closer, narrowing his eyes. "You're twisting the story, trying to make us look like villains, when everyone here knows the truth. We don't harm our own. So stop pretending like we do."
Shanya shifted her stance toward Nysera, keeping her arm bent and gauntlet-clad fist ready, posture firm but relaxed.
"You see, Nysera… Temoshí, or Burnsy—it's what I like to call 'im—their captain—he's been through hell the last few months. Ended up in a coma right after his soul got recovered, once it'd been severed. We just want 'im safe, keep 'im healthy." She gestured vaguely toward the boy on the floor.
"Then Zevros and the Desert Fangs… yeah, my old team, they went and grabbed him and the old geezer. First reason we came here? Fix how the rules work in my homeland." She gave a half-shrug, smirking slightly. "And don't forget—I rode the dunes just like they do. Ain't no stranger to this life."
At last, the king rose to his feet, the weight of silence pressing down upon the chamber. His hand brushed slowly across his beard as his voice carried through the throne room, steady and commanding.
"This has gone on long enough," he declared. "You barge into my throne hall, claim innocence while reaching for your fallen captain, and yet—" his gaze swept over Temoshí's still body, then to the shattered entrance doors, "—you've left my palace in ruin and my guards battered."
His eyes found Shanya with stern disapproval. "And you… once a rider of these sands. Now standing alongside outlaws, disgracing your kin by siding with pirates who already sow chaos across our borders. That is a betrayal of our laws that cannot be ignored."
He clasped his hands behind his back, posture rigid, authority radiating in every word. "So, I will grant you one choice. Leave your crew in our cells, and you may walk away free. Or refuse, and face the consequences. Be grateful that I extend even this courtesy, for raiders such as you deserve punishments far harsher than prison walls."
The chamber held its breath as the king's decree settled into silence.
But Zevros broke it, stepping forward with calm restraint—though the tension in his jaw betrayed his discontent. His voice was measured, yet edged with frustration.
"Your Majesty, with all respect… letting them walk free would be a mistake." His eyes burned toward Shanya and her allies. "They have trespassed in the heart of our kingdom, shattered our defenses, humiliated our soldiers. To offer them escape is to mock our laws and our people."
Zevros shook his head, his voice sharpening as his composure strained. "They must not be allowed to leave without facing judgment. To do otherwise will show weakness—and weakness invites only more rebellion."
Ralphie stepped forward before anyone else could speak, brushing the dust from his jacket with a deliberate flick. His voice was calm, but every syllable carried iron resolve.
"Sorry, but those aren't choices. Not for us." He gestured toward Temoshí's still form, then to Venos standing beside him. "He's coming with us."
Venos let out a long, audible sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And here I was, thinkin' I'd blend into the background for once. But no… everyone conveniently forgets I'm standin' right here." He tilted his head toward the throne, muttering with dry humor, "Suppose I ought to be offended by that."
The room stirred uneasily, guards shifting their stances as Ralphie's defiance rippled through the air. But before the tension could spark again, Nysera took a step forward, her voice firm yet calm as she addressed the throne.
"Father," she said, her tone carrying authority though laced with appeal, "this doesn't have to end in more blood. They came for their captain, not for conquest. Whatever you believe of Shanya's choices or these men's reputations, it's clear they fight for loyalty, not anarchy. Let them take their captain and the elder, and we avoid more needless violence in these halls."
The king's eyes narrowed, his voice deep and unyielding. "Nysera, you would ask me to release prisoners who stormed our palace? To show mercy to pirates, raiders, and outlaws who spit upon our laws?" His hand tightened against the carved wood of his throne. "If I bend here, I endanger every citizen who looks to me for protection. Mercy in the face of rebellion is not mercy at all—it is weakness."
Nysera held his gaze, refusing to shrink back. "Strength is not measured only in punishment, Father. It is measured in judgment, in knowing when to end a cycle before it consumes everyone. If you chain them, more will come. If you let them go, at least the bloodshed ends here."
Zevros cut in sharply, standing tall beside the king. "Your Highness, the king speaks truth. These intruders have already dishonored the crown, shattered the palace doors, and defiled the heart of our city with chaos. If we let them leave with their so-called captain, every man and woman of Armagh will see it as surrender. That cannot be allowed."
The clash of voices echoed through the throne room—father and daughter locked in argument, Zevros pressing his case, while Shanya, Ralphie, Nathaniel, and Venos stood ready, the air thick with the threat of another spark of violence.
The king's jaw tightened, his voice dropping into a thunderous growl that filled every corner of the throne hall. His presence seemed to grow taller, heavier, like the weight of the desert itself pressing down on those who dared oppose him.
"You speak of loyalty," he said, his gaze cutting toward Ralphie, then Shanya, then Nathaniel, "yet you bring chaos to my gates. You defend outlaws, trespassers, and a captain who leads men against the order of this kingdom. Do not think I am blind to what you truly are. Your blades and fists may strike quick, but they do not frighten me."
He descended a step from the dais, each movement deliberate, echoing through the silent chamber. "This is my throne. This is my city. And every stone, every soul within its walls depends on me to keep them safe. You will not walk free from here with your so-called captain. You will not take one step beyond these walls without my leave."
His eyes flashed dangerously, voice booming with a finality that sent shivers even through the guards already present. "If you will not submit to our justice, then you will break against it. Those are the only terms I give you."
The weight of his words pressed into the room like a storm, and for a moment even the air seemed to hold still—an ultimatum carved from authority itself.
"But Father—" Nysera began, her voice rising with urgency.
"Silence!" The king's command cracked through the chamber like a whip. The word alone was enough to halt every movement, every breath. His gaze swept over the room, unyielding and absolute.
"I will hear no more arguments. I will hold no further debates," he declared, his voice thunderous, echoing against the marble pillars. "You have your choice, and it will not be spoken again. Surrender your captain and the old man to my cells, and walk out of this palace with your lives. Or resist… and be buried beneath the weight of your defiance."
The king's final words hung in the air like a drawn blade, daring anyone to test his resolve.
For a long, tense moment, no one moved. Then Ralphie slipped a cigarette between his lips, the scratch of a match sparking against the silence. He lit it, took a slow drag, and exhaled the smoke in a deliberate plume that curled toward the vaulted ceiling.
His voice was steady, but raw with conviction.
"What kinda crewmate just leaves their captain behind? You think we'd walk outta here and let him rot in some cell? Not a chance."
Nathaniel shifted beside him, his tone low but edged with grit, a rare crack in his usual calm.
"Temoshí's already done more than enough for us," he said, almost like he was reminding himself as much as the others. "He carried the weight for too long. It's about damn time we pay that back. We're not leaving him—simple as that."
Shanya stepped forward then, her gauntlet-clad fist resting against her hip. She gave a half-smirk, half-grimace, her eyes hard with conviction.
"Damn right." She admitted, "I'm standin' with 'em all the same. Why? 'Cause they went outta their way to help this land—our land—even when they didn't have to. That means somethin' to me."
Her gaze flicked toward Nysera, and for a moment her tone softened. "Sorry, princess. Sorry it's gotta be this way. But I ain't backin' down."
The throne room fell silent once more, the defiance of the intruders clashing with the immovable authority of the king's decree. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next strike—be it words or steel.
That silence stretched heavy until the king finally exhaled through his nose, his hand curling into a fist behind his back.
"Very well…" His voice was low, but it carried the weight of a hammer striking steel. "You've made your choice."
He stepped forward down the dais, each stride echoing through the chamber as though the marble itself bowed under his authority. His eyes burned with cold fire as he looked over Ralphie, Nathaniel, Shanya, and Venos in turn.
"By standing against me, you stand against the kingdom itself. You dare defy the throne, you dare spit on the laws that hold this land together. Do not think for a moment you will leave here unscathed. You wanted loyalty?" His gaze lingered on Nathaniel before turning sharp toward Ralphie. "Then be loyal… to the grave."
He raised his hand, the motion commanding without need for words. Instantly, the soldiers tightened formation, steel glinting in the chamber light as the air grew thick with the promise of violence.
The king's voice thundered once more, final and merciless:
"You have chosen rebellion. Now face the judgment of Armagh!"
To be continued...