The Court of the Fallen

Prologue: Judgement Day

"I, Calix Archer III, after carefully deliberating with the grand jury, have reached my verdict."

His back is straightish, shoulders very much out in front of him, voice firm but tortured. He moves with care—there's a brief tightening of his hand on the armrest of his gold-plated chair that hints at the battle he fights inside. Meeting his son's eyes, his looks is a mix of disappointment and resolve, "I hereby find the First Prince, Orion Priel Archer, guilty of the crimes for which he stands accused. For his punishment, he is exiled from the kingdom of Eldoria for all eternity."

The grand court explodes into whispers and murmurs. Courtiers huddle and whisper—as if sedition itself—barely able to keep their voices down against the inanity of it all.

The room is a tide of sharp inhales, interspersed with fidgety foot scuffles, creaks and whispers. The ministers sit in their gilt chairs, giving each other steel-eyed stares before leaning into quick conversations. Some cover their mouths with shaking palms to hide the words; others, inspired perhaps by shock, have a tendency to let their outrage spill low but hot.

One old advisor whispers warningly under his breath, "This will rock the kingdom on its heels!"

The whispers are taken to all the far corners of the palace and beyond as messengers stationed at the edges of the court quietly slip out. The sound of the news buzzes in the market squares like a devout prayer, outpacing gossip on the lips of merchants, guards, and commoners.

"The prince... banished by his father?"

The prince, in the center of the court, exuded a calmness that was almost unsettling. his chiseled features — sharp yet refined — not a whisper of betrayal, never mind heartbreak. Instead, his penetrating grey eyes were clouded over with contemplation; as though he was already playing chess.

The tautness in his jaw, the slight curling of his lip—neither amusement nor a sneer—made him seem mysterious. The relief that creased his features softly made him more interesting as if the pressure of belonging to royalty had broken free. The light from the chandeliers caught high cheekbones, and the calm intensity of his expression gave him an almost irresistible magnetism — both strength and mystery in equal measure.

A voice shattered the murmurs like glass.

"This is unacceptable!" Heads turned to him as the voice of Nathaniel Clemonte resonated through the hall, deep and filled with passion. His golden locks shone like spun sunlight under the chandelier light, cascading in soft waves around his perfect face. His eyes as burning golden brown as an opal and lit up with righteous indignation, emanated a flame that demanded the observance of every soul in his presence. His jawline was chiseled, his nose slopped just right and those full lips—lips that could bring an entire mass of humanity to its knees and kissed in anger looked as if the gods had carved them from marble.

But he was more than just a pretty face at the Hollywood and Highland Center. But Nathaniel was so much more—inherently charismatic, magnetic even, making the other people feel like shadows around him. Ministers and nobles who moments ago had been caught in their gossip now felt as if they were the ones on trial under his fiery gaze.

His voice grew firmer but tainted with intensity. "Everyone here are conspiring against my betrothed who never strayed from the interests of this kingdom. Charging him with supplying armament to the Gwendolyns? Outrageous!"

Nathaniel's intensity filled the courtroom, imposing silence everywhere. Even the prince, whose stubborn contemplative expression hadn't budged until then, nearly cracked a smile—something almost amused or impressed (or maybe both) tugging at his lips.

The courtroom fell quiet as they let Nathaniel's impassioned statement slowly sink in. Yet his words—strong, substantive—described a love that seemed almost legendary. An Alpha and Omega destined to be together since ancient werewolf history. They were more than a couple—they were the couple, a divine union, serendipity incarnate, their connection woven into the very fabric of Eldoria's fate.

Stories told of Alpha and Omega bonds, transcendent unions where the Alpha's strength merged seamlessly with the Omega's nurturing heart. No two individuals had embodied this age-old lore more than Prince Orion, heir to the throne, and Nathaniel, the kingdom's most coveted Omega.

But then, just as the court was falling under the spell of Nathaniel's sacrifice, Orion's voice cut through the reverent silence of the hall.

"No, Nathaniel I need to do this on my own. Stay here and take care of yourself. You deserve happiness and you should choose your own destiny. You're more than just my bethrothed. And so, I'm going to break this engagement!"

The words struck like thunder, freezing everyone in place. The proud, determined Nathaniel almost appeared to falter, his golden eyes widening with shock. Time seemed to still around him as the words echoed through the hall, and the gasps of the courtiers bounced off the stone walls.

Orion returned to his stance, composed and resolute. The faint smile that had lingered on his lips disappeared, replaced by a cold mask of determination. His sharp eyes, which had once reflected thoughtfulness, now shone with an unyielding resolve.

Nathaniel's heart raced, the first sign of imperfection breaking his otherwise flawless demeanor. His lips moved, but no words came. He blinked, as though trying to comprehend what he had just heard.

But then, a peculiar flash kindled in his eyes. It wasn't just pain. It was a quiet acknowledgment of the weight of Orion's choice. Even as the ache threatened to consume him, there was an undeniable shift in the air.

Another wave of whispers swept through the court, disbelief hanging thick like fog.

As murmurs swelled into a cacophony, Orion moved. With deliberate, unhurried steps, he turned from the court. The collective outrage and confusion of the courtiers roared behind him, but he did not waver. Each stride was purposeful, echoing across the vast hall like a challenge to all who dared oppose his choice.

Orion descended the grand staircase, each step reverberating like a tolling bell. Behind him, the chamber seethed with turmoil —it all fell away as he approached the library. The soft glow of torchlight illuminated the ancient doors, which loomed before him like sentinels guarding forgotten truths.

He opened the crackling door and walked in air heavy with scent of old parchment and ink. His keen eyesight swept the space around him until he settled on the far left corner of the Art and Culinary section. There, surrounded by a halo of dust, was a beautiful painting of a white rose; the petals emitting light even in the dark. Instantly, Orion took down the painting, exposing a hidden glass box on the wall behind it—with an illuminated red button in its center.

He punched the glass, and it splintered into a pattern of cracks. He clicked the button and heard an echo in the library, still hammering away in his chest. Immediately, a chunk of the bookshelf creaked and swung open to expose a narrow, dark corridor with cooler air infused with the smell of stone and secrecy.