Chapter 14
“Prince?”
Arkin and Magnus were silently ascending the hill. As Arkin pondered the events in Solinar, Magnus’s call pulled him back from his thoughts.
“Your Highness? Are you all right?”
“Ah, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Arkin shook his head. There was no time for other thoughts. The opening ceremony would begin soon.
“It’s nothing, really. Your face has turned terribly pale.”
Magnus trotted along beside him, grumbling in that familiar way.
“I shall carry your cloak. Please loosen it a little before you wear it later.”
“It’s fine. Don’t trouble yourself.”
The prince ran a hand over the leaf-shaped brooch pinned to his shoulder and checked his attire once more.
By his estimation, he was dressed quite handsomely. The blue-dyed tunic was woven with fine silver thread forming the familiar aspen patterns of Solinar. The deep brown breeches were sturdy wool. Even the boots bore the royal seal of the highest quality.
Honestly, in this humid weather of Credo Island, the outfit was far too thick, yet as he brushed away the sweat droplets on his forehead, Arkin carefully draped the red cloak over his shoulders. At least for the opening ceremony, he had to preserve the dignity of a prince of Solinar.
From what Arkin had heard, Solinar’s position here on Credo Island was special. When the ten kingdoms of the World Alliance had shed rivers of blood in endless war, it was Arkin’s great-grandfather who had ended the conflict.
“You see, Your Highness? Solinar’s name will be respected here as well.”
Magnus smiled brightly and straightened his shoulders.
“Of course.”
Arkin offered a faint smile as well. Though his retinue was modest, it carried the history and honor of Solinar. No other kingdom could match it.
A little farther along the hill, a grand white building stood in the distance. From other approaches, the processions of each kingdom were gathering, the air already buzzing with noise.
Arkin took note of the boisterous figures brushing past him. Gem-studded silk robes, gold-embroidered capes, and peacock-feather headdresses swept by in a blur of splendor. Even the servants escorting them were dressed in their finest. None bothered to bow to Arkin or Magnus, seeing them merely as retainers among many. The same was true for the next group, and the one after.
With each passing procession, Arkin’s face grew hotter with embarrassment. Mortified, he kept lowering his head. He had never imagined Solinar’s reputation would be like this…
Yet they were… incomparably shabby and insignificant compared to the other kingdoms.
“Oh dear, oh dear. All of these violate the regulations.”
Magnus clicked his tongue in disapproval. He scowled at the grand decorations and lavish banners, jabbing a finger at each one.
“When the messengers arrived from the competition organizers, they were instructed to prepare a modest procession.”
Still, Arkin’s face grew even paler. Even the Rock Kingdom of Stonegard, said to have less power than Solinar, and the Fog Kingdom of Baylon had marched in imposing lines, each accompanied by dozens of servants.
Arkin turned his rigid expression toward the retainers following behind. Aside from Magnus, the page, and the ten pack-horses, the only servants carrying the prince’s burdens were three. Magnus puffed out his chest with pride as he gestured at this meager group.
“As expected, our Solinar Kingdom is the best, Your Highness! Such pomp and circumstance only diminish one’s dignity. You know as well as I do that appearances are not what matter, right?”
No. It didn’t seem that way at all.
…Damn that ‘virtue of modesty.’ Modesty only went so far; if one’s own status was hidden behind such a shabby procession, wasn’t this simply pitiful?
His stomach twisted. Despite knowing how wretched it looked, he couldn’t stop the surge of jealousy. Among all those gathered here, no other kingdom seemed to be eating from the elders’ table as Solinar did. The thought made his mouth taste like grit.
Arkin had been forced into this modest, almost pathetic retinue because of the unique standards Solinar held for its nobility. Nobles were judged by even stricter moral codes as compensation for being chosen by the gods.
They were told they must maintain a humble demeanor at the same level as the common people, limiting even what they wore and ate. In Arkin’s view, it was nothing more than shackles binding the king’s hands and feet…
Arkin thought bitterly. The effort he had poured into showing an example or becoming the best had been in vain; it seemed he had gained nothing from it.
He was skilled enough to hold his head high. His talent was innate and strong. He wanted to hear that he was worthy of being heir. No matter how hard he fought, he only received new tasks.
Arkin bit his lip, trying to soothe the bitter ache in his chest. The more he felt this way, the stronger his longing for the throne grew. He would prove himself at the training competition and become a strong king. A monarch who could easily crush any interference from the elders. If the Seilir bloodline had possessed absolute power from the beginning, Arkin would never have suffered such humiliation and disgrace.
“Here it is, Your Highness!”
As the entrance to the sacred hall drew near, the crowd pressed tightly into the narrow path. Progressing forward became increasingly difficult. Magnus looked around in confusion, searching for the entrance.
“There are so many people waiting ahead. It’s extremely packed…”
Somehow, they pushed their way through to the very threshold of the pristine white sacred hall. Just as they reached the entrance and prepared to step inside, the guards crossed their spears to block them.
“Who dares block the way now? This is…”
Magnus glared dangerously, raising his voice, but the guards shook their heads.
“Hey, we—”
Magnus’s protest was swallowed by the booming music that grew louder from behind. Drums and flutes sounded as the most dazzling procession of any kingdom surged forward, shoving the crowd aside.
“Make way! It is the procession of Princess Nefetia of Kepet!”
Uh, uh…
Before Arkin or Magnus could speak, they were pushed along by the crowd. Spectators jostled to catch a glimpse of Kepet’s parade, shoving them toward the wall. Shoulders and backs collided with others; they could barely see anything ahead unless they stood on tiptoe.
“Hah, damn it.”
Magnus’s grumbling was lost in the sea of people. Arkin stood trapped in the gap, looking up at the magnificent procession passing overhead.
Leading the band, dozens of flags emblazoned with Kepet’s golden sun emblem fluttered in the wind. As the riders lifted their muscular arms higher, the golden tassels sparkled in the sunlight. Behind them came the blindingly splendid golden palanquins. Stout men advanced in perfect unison, supporting the platforms. The glistening golden-bronze muscles stood out sharply.
Four ivory-carved pillars supported the structure, layered with layers of thin, translucent white silk. Each time the wind fluttered the fabric, the silhouette of Princess Nefetia, reclining gracefully, appeared and vanished in a mysterious dance.
Arkin lifted his gaze to her. When the massive palanquin passed directly in front of him, the silk billowed and her form became even clearer. The lively, curious girl he had met in the forest had vanished. If he had to compare her, she was like a majestic lioness. He had once thought her childish and strange, but now he understood—she was a born ruler who exuded natural authority.
She had been re-dressed after emerging from the forest with her elderly attendant. The princess wore a towering sun-shaped golden crown above her head, with gem-weave nets cascading over her black hair. As the palanquin swayed, the gems clashed and sent forth a dazzling light. From the jewelry dangling at her arms, ankles, and neck came a tinkling, clear metallic sound. Overlaid on the band’s melody, it created a strange sense of overwhelming presence.