The morning sun spilled through the stained glass windows of the grand throne room, scattering rays of gold and violet across polished marble floors. The air shimmered faintly, touched with the residual essence of magic that still lingered in the castle walls. King John XII walked proudly across the hall, his royal boots echoing against the stone, each step heavy with triumph and relief. Today, his kingdom could finally breathe again. He wore a robe of deep purple silk, the fabric glinting in the sunlight, and around its edges, red gemstones sparkled like captured embers. On his wrists gleamed bangles of pure crystal, forged from the mines of Eldervale, treasures said to carry protective charms. His crown sat lightly on his graying hair, and yet, he looked younger than he had in years. His lips curved into a rare, unguarded smile.
Queen Ann, sitting gracefully upon her silver seat, tilted her head at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You seem lighter today, my love," she said gently, her voice carrying the warmth of the morning. "What brings such joy to your face?" King John turned to her, the corners of his eyes creasing with delight. "They are returning, Ann!" he said, voice full of life. "Our soldiers, our brave warriors, they have returned victorious! The Blood Monster is no more." The Queen's breath caught, and her eyes widened. "Truly? That dreadful creature... gone?" "Gone," he affirmed, stepping closer, his tone trembling slightly with relief. "The demon that haunted our lands, devoured our livestock, and took so many of our people, slain at last."
At that, Gregory, the King's chief advisor, stepped forward from the shadows near the hall's pillars. He was a thin man with silver hair and sharp eyes, dressed in black robes embroidered with the golden emblem of the royal house, a blazing sun over an open hand. His expression was calm, but his words carried the weight of memory. "We must never forget what it cost us, Your Majesty," Gregory said solemnly. "The Blood Monster destroyed nearly a quarter of the valley's farmlands and left the soil scorched. Even the rivers near the western ridge turned red for weeks. May the gods keep its darkness sealed forever."
King John nodded, his joy softening with reverence. "Indeed, Gregory. May its ashes never rise again." He turned toward Queen Ann and, in a moment rare for a ruler, wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She gasped softly, not from surprise, but from the warmth of his embrace. "For the first time in months," he whispered, "I can hold you without fear for our people." She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing the edge of his jeweled robe. "You've carried the burden well, my king." A soft laughter echoed from above. Two young figures peered down from the grand staircase that led to the upper quarters — Prince Stanley, tall and curious at fifteen, and Princess Elizabeth, a bright girl of thirteen with hair the color of dawn. They leaned over the carved railings, whispering. "Father seems... happy," Stanley murmured. Elizabeth nodded, eyes sparkling. "He hasn't smiled like that in moons. Maybe the soldiers brought him treasure!" Stanley smirked. "Or maybe he finally beat Gregory at chess." That made her giggle, a pure, silver sound that danced through the air. The King looked up, hearing it, and his expression melted into pride. "Ah! My children!" he called. "Come down. There is news to share."
The two siblings glanced at each other, then hurried down the steps, their footsteps light and eager. When they reached the throne, they bowed deeply before their parents, though Elizabeth's bow quickly turned into an excited bounce. "What happened, Father?" she asked, almost breathless. "Why are you smiling so much?" John chuckled and gestured for them to rise. "Our soldiers, my dear ones, have done what many thought impossible. The Blood Monster that plagued our lands is dead. The kingdom is safe once more." Elizabeth's eyes widened, her lips parting in awe. "The Blood Monster... the one from the Red Hills?" "The very same," Gregory confirmed. "A beast of darkness and flame. Its body was said to be as large as a cathedral, and its roar could shake the skies. But today, it roars no more." For a heartbeat, silence filled the hall. The weight of the news settled over them like a sunrise after stormy nights.
Then Elizabeth clasped her hands together and beamed. "We must celebrate! Father, let's hold a banquet, a grand one! For the soldiers who risked their lives for us!" King John's laughter rumbled warmly. "A banquet, you say?"
"Of course!" she said proudly. "They deserve it, don't they? Music, food, lights, and... and dancing!" Queen Ann smiled at her daughter's enthusiasm. "Our sweet Elizabeth is right. The kingdom needs joy again." John nodded, then raised his voice, his words echoing through the vast room. "A banquet it shall be!"
He turned and walked to his throne, a towering seat of gold and crystal, etched with ancient runes that glowed faintly whenever he sat upon it. The magic within the throne, woven by the kingdom's founders, pulsed softly in response to his heartbeat. Around him, the royal family took their places on thrones of silver and ivory, their seats aligned beneath the great royal banner depicting the twin suns, symbol of light and rebirth.
The King clapped twice. The sound echoed, and almost instantly, a tall woman in a white apron hurried forward. Mariah, the royal chef, bowed deeply, her red hair tied back in a bun. "You summoned me, Your Majesty?" she said. "Yes, Chef Mariah," the King replied, his tone formal but kind. "Summon your team, all five hundred and two chefs. Prepare the grandest meal this kingdom has ever seen. Our army returns victorious, and they will be fed like heroes." Mariah's eyes widened slightly. "Two hundred and thirty-four thousand soldiers, sire?" John smiled. "Every one of them. Not a soul shall go hungry under my reign." The chef bowed again, awe flickering in her eyes. "It shall be done, Your Majesty."
When she left, the King clapped thrice, and another woman approached, tall, elegant, and wearing a blue gown with a silver brooch. Deborah, the chief maid, bowed gracefully. "Sire?" "Deborah," the King said, "summon all two hundred and thirty-three maids. Decorate the banquet hall, every wall, every table. Let it gleam with glory by dawn tomorrow. The soldiers return at sunrise." Deborah placed her hand on her chest and bowed deeply. "It will be perfect, my King."
As she left, the King turned to the steward of wine, a plump man named Roland who was already waiting at the edge of the hall. "Roland," said the King, "gather your finest men. Go to the vineyard at Silvergrove and bring back the freshest wine barrels you can find. Let the drink flow freely when the soldiers arrive." Roland bowed so quickly his round face almost disappeared behind his chin. "At once, Your Majesty!" The King smiled again, a rare and radiant expression. But as he did, Gregory's eyes flickered, his expression tightening slightly. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Your Majesty... forgive me, but the Blood Monster's death, are we certain it is permanent?"
John looked at him, brows furrowed. "You doubt the word of our chief and soldiers?" Gregory hesitated. "Not their word, sire. But such creatures... they are not of mortal nature. Even when slain, their remnants, their essence, sometimes linger." The King's gaze darkened slightly, but then he sighed, resting his hand on Gregory's shoulder. "You are cautious, as always, my friend. But let us not bring shadows into this day. For once, let us rejoice." Gregory bowed slightly. "As you wish, my King." The King rose from his throne, turning to his family. "Come. The day grows long. There are preparations to make, and I would see the banners raised myself."
Queen Ann smiled, rising to join him. Prince Stanley followed close behind, his young face set in admiration. Elizabeth twirled in her dress, giggling as sunlight danced around her. The royal family stepped out of the throne room, the golden doors closing behind them and as they left, the torches flickered, once, twice, as though a
breath of cold air had swept through. Deep in the shadows of the hall, where no
eyes lingered, a faint red mist curled near the floor… then vanished.