Back then, the sky over the Seaward Camelot was crystalline blue. No clouds, no windswept omens. Only sun and spray and the glinting shimmer of the parade banners as they danced above the streets of glass.
Prince Damian Fayemont stood atop a silver-draped dais with his arms held high, crowned not with gold but with a band of woven tideblossoms, a smile too wide to be anything but genuine. The ocean behind him lapped softly against the floating city's edge, and the crowd, noble and commoner alike, cheered his name even though the day belonged to his father.
"Long live the Sea King!"
"Long live King Fayemont!"
The boy whooped with laughter, waving frantically at a passing float that resembled a swan carved of pearl. His blue-and-white regalia, stitched from layered silks and adorned with glass shells, shimmered as he bounced on his heels. He wasn't supposed to jump. Protocol, his tutor would say but his father had winked at him earlier and whispered, "Let them see your joy, my son. Let them know our kingdom still dances."
So Damian danced.
Beneath the parade floats, the great tidesong orchestra played its symphony. Cellos filled with seawater that sang like whales, percussionists tapping driftwood drums, and singers in sapphire masks weaving melody with rune-etched flutes. Ships floating beside the main promenade joined the chorus with bursts of foam and bell chimes. Everything in the Seaward Camelot glittered with beauty and magic. A gift of those Blessed by The Savior.
And his father stood at the center of it all, King Fayemont, broad-shouldered, warm-eyed, robes like tidewater itself. He smiled as he raised his hand to silence the crowd. Damian turned to him with admiration burning through every bone.
The king's voice rose, "Today we do not simply celebrate a king. We celebrate all that tides can bring. Mercy, prosperity, and motion. May we never forget that even the gentlest wave shapes the world."
The cheers came like thunder.
But so did the scream.
It cut through the music like a blade through silk. High, sharp, human.
Then came the blood.
The King of the Seaward Camelot did not fall with grace. He staggered back, choking, his chest impaled by a single thin spike of obsidian that hadn't been there a moment before. No gunshot. No arrow. No thrown weapon. Just… there.
An impossible assassination.
Damian's heart didn't understand at first. He laughed. "Father?"
The guards were shouting. Rushing. People were pushing. Screams multiplied. Someone tried to shield him, but he pushed past them, slipping in his father's blood. The obsidian spike vanished before it hit the ground, as if it were a mirage. The killer, if there had been one, was already gone.
And so, in the sunlit spray of applause turned chaos, Prince Damian Fayemont learned that even the most radiant city on the sea could drown.