Crowned in Crimson Cinders

Chapter 7: After-party (Darian POV)

The cordiality of Atalar's citizens upon my arrival was disorienting. I'd braced for hostility, for the clash of steel, yet instead, they approached with gratitude. Their effusive thanks for my decision to end the war through marriage struck me as deeply unsettling. How desperate were they to thank the very hand that had dealt them so much death?

My inquiries about Princess Aleah, my betrothed, yielded surprisingly little. Vague pleasantries about her being the youngest or possessing kindness seemed like polite deflections. Surely, they knew more about the woman I was to wed. Their reticence fueled my suspicion.

My own attempt to converse with her was brief and fraught. If her disdain had been palpable before, it now felt glacial. Seeking answers, I turned to her mother, the queen, who engaged me with an unsettling eagerness. We discussed the implications of Aleah becoming a Trithian princess. But when I pressed her on why Aleah had been chosen, a beat of silence hung in the air.

"She is the youngest," the queen finally stated, her gaze unwavering, "with the least prospect of inheriting the Atalarian throne. My husband and I deemed it a fair chance for her."

Her words resonated with a chilling clarity. Aleah had been dismissed long before my arrival.

The entire atmosphere was peculiar. I had come to Atalar consumed by hatred for its people. Yet, interacting with them, I felt a disconcerting shift. At times, a prickle of guilt surfaced – a belated acknowledgment of the devastation I had wrought.

"What are her powers?" I inquired, seeking a concrete detail amidst the ambiguity. "Prince Clifton commands fire, much like your Majesty," I added, nodding towards the king, who returned the gesture. "Tristan wields water, and Brock, earth. I've witnessed their formidable abilities on the battlefield. But what of my future bride?"

The queen's eyes flickered with calculation. After a protracted silence, she offered a terse reply, lifting her goblet. "You can ask her yourself, if your curiosity gnaws at you so."

Her evasiveness felt like another layer of the enigma surrounding Aleah. I let the matter drop, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach.

The remainder of the evening stretched on, an exercise in forced pleasantries that left me drained. Celebrations were foreign to me; my world was the stark reality of the battlefield.

I was grateful when Aleah approached the throne and, with a few hushed words, convinced her mother to conclude the festivities. Her departing glare in my direction was a familiar sting.

Two silent guards escorted me to the royal wing. Their stoicism was unnerving, each step a potential prelude to betrayal. My chamber was vast, its windows offering a panoramic view of the kingdom. Under the cloak of night, however, the sprawling landscape was reduced to indistinct shadows.

As I prepared for sleep, hushed voices outside my door drew my attention, followed by a sharp thud. I flung open the door and found myself at the top of the staircase. A woman held a struggling figure against the wall. My shout startled her, and she vanished into the darkness – a craven retreat.

The figure slumped to the floor, gasping. "Are you alright?" I asked instinctively, extending a hand. She recoiled at the sound of my voice.

"Darian?" Her eyes, wide with shock, met mine. She backed away slightly.

I recognized that voice. "Aleah?"

Before I could speak again, she scrambled up the stairs, the sharp click of a locking door echoing in the sudden silence. What had just transpired? I had witnessed Aleah being attacked, nearly choked. Had I not intervened, the outcome could have been fatal. Suspicion coiled within me. I would need to watch Aleah, and indeed, everyone within these walls, with unwavering vigilance if I intended to survive.

Perhaps I wasn't the only one in danger here.