A Ballad of the Crown

First Impressions

Eris had never been one to appreciate pomp and rigid formality, and the castle of Herithyia was full of both. As she entered the grand hall of the castle, her eyes immediately swept over its lavish interior. The walls were draped in rich tapestries, woven with threads of gold that glimmered in the soft candlelight. Every inch of stone seemed to be covered in something meant to impress—a façade of prosperity and grandeur. Golden sconces lined the corridors, their ornate designs reflecting wealth that few kingdoms could boast of. 

It was all beautiful, yes, but there was something off about it. The beauty was almost too deliberate, too carefully crafted, as if the opulence was meant to mask something deeper. Everything looked pristine, but the atmosphere was tense, as though the grandeur was trying to distract from a kingdom standing on the edge. 

Eris could feel it in the way the servants moved through the halls—quietly, efficiently, with no wasted motion. They avoided meeting her eyes for too long, and every interaction was steeped in the kind of careful restraint that came when people feared slipping out of line. The vast wealth that adorned the halls seemed designed to proclaim that the monarchy was strong, stable, invulnerable. Yet the very perfection of it all betrayed something else—a kingdom that had seen more peaceful times and was now struggling to maintain that image. 

This place was meant to inspire awe and confidence, but to Eris, it felt like a palace wearing a mask, hiding the cracks that no amount of gold could cover. 

After days of travel, she had been hoping for something a little more welcoming, but there was nothing warm about the grand halls that greeted her. Cold, orderly, precise—it was a place that reflected its queen, or so she'd heard. 

The moment she set foot inside, she was swarmed by council members, all eager to brief her on the "proper" ways of addressing the queen, the protocols for public appearances, and endless reminders of decorum. Lord Everhart, one of the senior advisors, seemed particularly obsessed with details. Eris was half-listening to his droning voice, her thoughts drifting as her gaze wandered over the ornate surroundings. 

"Your Ladyship," Everhart was saying, "it is important to maintain a clear line of respect with Her Majesty at all times. You are now her fiancée, so the public sees you as a representative of—"

Eris blinked slowly, holding back a yawn. "Of course, Lord Everhart. Unity and respect. Naturally."

This entire kingdom seemed built on rules and restraint. Everything measured, everything confined. How anyone survived under so much control was beyond her. She let Everhart's words fade into the background as she looked around, her sharp eyes taking in the servants hurrying about, the guards standing stiff as statues. Every person here was a cog in a machine, locked in place.

She thought back to Elowen. It, too, was a place of beauty and wealth, but the opulence there served an entirely different purpose. The Crowe estate was darkly magnificent. The sprawling grounds were dominated by ancient oaks and curling mist, giving the estate a feeling of isolation—separate from the rest of the world. Unlike the castle, there was no preoccupation with appearances at Elowen. 

There, the servants spoke freely, the halls buzzed with conversation, and no one bothered with hiding behind masks of duty or decorum. The Crowes didn't care for the approval of others, nor did they need to project an image of control. They had control. It came not from tradition or wealth but from the forbidden knowledge that ran through their veins.  It was power that wasn't flaunted, but rather existed quietly, like a blade sheathed at the hip—always there, always sharp, needing no justification. 

It was then that the doors swung open, and a messenger entered, breathless.

"Your Ladyship, Her Majesty has returned."