King of Blood

Chapter 7 - Lyanna

Lyanna took a deep breath as she stood before the gates that led back to Avalon, her home, a place that both comforted and confined her. The sight of the vibrant forests, with their towering trees and radiant greenery, stirred a whirlwind of emotions within her. The cool, crisp air was laced with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth, triggering memories that both warmed and unsettled her. It had been some time since she last set foot in this realm, and while part of her longed to embrace its familiarity, another part recoiled from the burden it represented—a gilded cage, beautiful yet oppressive.

As she gazed at the gates, her mind raced with anticipation and dread. She wasn't just returning home; she was stepping back into a world fraught with political tension, personal peril, and hidden agendas. The weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on her chest, but there was no turning back now. Avalon was calling her, and she had no choice but to answer.

With a determined step, Lyanna moved forward, crossing the threshold back into the realm that held so much of her past. She felt the magic of the gate pulse through her, a tingling sensation that swept over her skin as the boundary between the mortal world and Avalon disappeared behind her. As she stepped through, a familiar figure approached her from the shadows—Alistair.

His expression was warm, a genuine smile playing on his lips, but there was something else in his eyes—a glint of determination that set her on edge. Alistair had always been a loyal companion, but his ambitions had grown in her absence in response to Alek's behaviour, and she knew that his loyalty to her was iron clad.

"Welcome back, Ley," he greeted her, bowing slightly in respect. His voice was soft, but there was an underlying tension in his tone. "It's good to see you again."

Lyanna forced a smile in return, masking the unease that simmered beneath her calm exterior. "Thank you, Alistair," she replied, her voice steady though her mind raced. She fell into step beside him, walking through the dense trees towards the palace. The moment her foot crossed the forest floor, she felt a sense of inevitability wash over her, as if the fates had already spun their threads, and she was merely following their design.

As they made their way through the forest, the canopy above casting dappled sunlight on the moss-covered ground, Alistair broke the silence, his voice casual but with a hint of something deeper. "You know," he began, his tone laced with meaning, "the people have been talking in your absence."

Lyanna raised an eyebrow, her pulse quickening at his words. The insinuation was clear, and though it was not the first time she had heard such talk, the reminder unsettled her. "I'm not interested in regicide, Alistair," she said firmly, her voice low but resolute. "You know that."

Alistair chuckled softly, but there was no humour in it. "Why not?" he pressed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The realm would rally behind you. You have their support. Aleksander is a tyrant. You could overthrow him in a week."

Lyanna stopped in her tracks, turning to face him with a hard glare. "Enough," she warned, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You know how dangerous it is to speak like this. If Alek were to hear you, it would mean your death. You should tread carefully."

Alistair shrugged, seemingly unfazed by her warning. His eyes gleamed with a strange fire, and she couldn't tell whether it was ambition or desperation that fuelled him. "Sometimes I wonder if that wouldn't be a fate worth embracing," he mused quietly. "The king grows more tyrannical by the day. Have you heard what he did to that poor woman?"

Lyanna's breath caught in her throat at the memory of Aleksander's latest act of cruelty, a bitter taste rising in her mouth. "Don't speak of it," she whispered, her voice tight with anger and sorrow. "The gods will punish him for his misdeeds. He has enough blood on his hands as it is."