Lost Heir (Blood Weaver Trilogy #2)

Chapter 4

4

T he trek into the capital was filled with shouts and cheers as we passed through the streets of Celeste where the people of Valoria eagerly awaited our return—or rather my return.

I peeked at the town I once called home through a slit in the curtain. The people appeared joyous, throwing grains of rice as if they were witnessing a wedding processional. The excitement for my return was evident in their faces.

Celeste, the heart and capital of Valoria, unfolded before me like a tapestry woven with threads of joy and anticipation. Its streets, lined with cobblestone paths that shone brightly under the mid-day sun, thrummed with life. Buildings, their architecture a harmonious blend of elegance and strength, rose on either side. Here, in the capital, the reverence for the moon goddess was palpable, her influence interwoven into the very essence of the city. Crescent moons were etched into doorways and hung from balconies where they danced in the breeze, a constant homage to the divine protector of Valoria.

The people of Celeste, their foreheads marked with the sacred crescent moon birthmark, gathered in droves along the caravan's path. Their cheers and jubilant cries filled the air, a cacophony of welcome and celebration. The warmth in their eyes combined with genuine smiles spoke volumes of their elation at my return. I, who had wandered far from the land that birthed me, was home again, embraced by a community I thought had long forgotten me.

Once we entered the palace grounds, my surroundings changed drastically.

The palace came into view, a majestic structure that stood as a testament to Valorian artistry and devotion, marking the culmination of our journey. Rising from the heart of the capital, its spires reached towards the heavens, a silent prayer to the moon goddess. As we made our way to the palace, the atmosphere shifted from the communal warmth of the town to the solemn grandeur befitting the heart of a kingdom. The palace grounds, a sprawling expanse of meticulously tended gardens and imposing structures, stood as a beacon of Valoria's might and majesty.

Slowly, the caravan came to a halt. Once we were safely behind the palace gates, Viktor opened my carriage door.

I turned to Selene, who was seated beside me and whispered, “Stay here. I’ll send someone for you. If Marcellus comes to get you, don’t go with him. It’s best if you’re not seen together just yet.”

“Leila …” she started, her face creased with worry.

I took her hand and gripped it tightly. “I promise to keep you safe, Selene. But for me to do that, I need you to listen to me. Do you understand?”

She nodded stiffly.

“I won’t be long.” I released her hand and slowly exited the carriage, gratefully accepting Viktor’s hand as he helped me out of the carriage. Before he could pull away, I whispered, “Get someone you trust to escort Selene out of here and into my quarters. Don’t let any of the ladies from my mother’s court see her.”

“Understood, Your Highness,” he replied, his voice equally low, a shared understanding of the task at hand.

Together, we approached the Grand Hall, the palace's heart, where history and the present converged. The courtyard, a vast expanse of cobblestone interlaced with verdant patches of grass, was alive with blooming flowers and the gentle murmur of fountains, their waters catching the sunlight and scattering it like jewels. Statues of past rulers and heroes of Valoria stood sentinel, their stone gazes fixed eternally forward as if guiding us along our path.

The walk to the Grand Hall was a journey through time, the air perfumed with the scent of lavender and rosemary from the surrounding gardens. The towering doors of the hall loomed before us, their wood carved with scenes of lunar worship and Valorian victories, evidence of the country's enduring reverence for the moon goddess and its storied past.

“Are you sure you don’t want to change first?” Caelan called out as he stood a few paces ahead, waiting for us.

I looked down at my trousers and blouse and knew he wanted me to change into attire more appropriate for a princess. But the truth was that I was no longer the pampered girl covered in silks and gowns. This was who I was now, and I wanted my parents to see who I had become.

“No. I’m fine the way I am.” I lifted my chin and attempted to walk past him, but he gripped my arm, stopping me.

“Lyanna,” he whispered into my ear. “You—”

I narrowed my gaze on his grip. “Release me,” I gritted between my teeth. “Unless you want me to cause a scene. ”

As if I’d thrown acid at him, he jerked back and released me at once. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know. But I would prefer if you kept your hands to yourself,” I retorted.

He exhaled loudly before nodding. “Very well.”

After motioning us to walk forward, I followed Caelan towards the Grand Hall. We crossed the threshold in silence, the weight of the occasion settling around us like a leaden cloak. The Grand Hall, with its high vaulted ceilings and walls adorned with tapestries depicting the phases of the moon, welcomed us into its hushed embrace. Light filtered through stained glass windows, casting the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. Each measured step echoed on the marble floor, announcing our arrival.

It was in this moment, balancing between the beauty of the courtyard and the majesty of the Grand Hall, that I felt the full weight of my return to Valoria—a blend of duty, anticipation, and the silent promise of challenges to come.

The doors were opened by mages who stood guard as our arrival was announced. Their robes fluttered gently in the breeze, a silent witness to their vigilance.

“Her Highness, Princess Lyanna with Prince Caelan of Eldwain,” announced a guard, his voice echoing off the stone walls as we stepped into the grandeur that awaited.

At the far end, seated upon thrones that seemed to capture the very essence of the night sky, were my parents.

My father, once the embodiment of Valorian strength, bore the marks of a decade's passage. His hair, formerly a dark cascade, now whispered tales of wisdom and trials in strands of silver and gray. The lines at the corners of his eyes spoke volumes, each a story of laughter, worry, and the burden of rule. Yet his eyes, those clear pools of blue, ignited with a light I hadn't seen in years as he rose to greet us .

My mother, the epitome of regal poise, had managed to cloak the years in an aura of timeless beauty. Her hair, styled in a perfect chignon, betrayed no hint of silver, though I wondered at the magic that might have kept the years at bay. Her face, taut with the efforts to preserve her youth, softened into a smile that, despite its warmth, couldn't quite reach the cool detachment of her gaze.

Together, they presented the dual faces of Valoria—strength tempered with grace, power cloaked in beauty. As we advanced, the distance closing with each step, the weight of the moment settled upon me, a mantle of expectation and reunion that was ten years in the making.

My father's voice, rich with emotion, broke the ceremonial silence that had cloaked our procession. Meeting us halfway he exclaimed, “Lyanna!” His steps quickened until he enveloped me in an embrace that bridged the chasm of years. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my darling girl.”

The warmth of his hug thawed the lingering chill of uncertainty within me and tears, unbidden, traced paths of relief down my cheeks. “I missed you, too.” My voice barely rose above a whisper, laden with a decade's worth of unsaid words.

As he stepped back, his gaze swept over me, a mixture of awe and something unreadable. “You’ve … changed,” he observed, his tone tinged with a hint of surprise and perhaps uncertainty.

A light laugh escaped me, an attempt to bridge the gap his words had inadvertently forged. “I'm no longer eleven,” I reminded him, trying to infuse lightness into the moment. “I’m bound to change.”

The sound of my mother's heels announced her approach; the unmistakable cadence of authority in her step heralded her arrival into our reunion. “I can only imagine the years of poverty you’ve endured,” she said as she came into view around my father. “But do not dwell on the past. You’re home now.”

Stepping forward to acknowledge her, I dipped into a curtsy, a gesture of respect and distance. “Mother,” I greeted, my voice soft, courteous.

Her response was immediate, her touch light on my elbow as she guided me upright. “Welcome home, Lyanna. No formalities needed,” she reassured me, her voice carrying a warmth that belied the coolness of her gaze.

My father, ever the host, interjected with a question that seemed to herald a return to normalcy. “Are you hungry?” he asked, his enthusiasm bubbling over. “You must be hungry. We’ll hold a feast! And in ten days’ time, we will hold a banquet in your honor.”

The proposal was overwhelming, a grand gesture that felt disproportionate to my desires. “That’s really not necessary—” I began, only to be cut off by his fervent insistence.

“Of course it is!” he declared, his determination clear. “All of Asteria needs to know you’re home.”

I knew what he meant. He wanted to invite everyone from Asteria so he could parade me around and celebrate the fact that the only female blood mage had returned. And to prove that I was not, nor had I ever been in the clutches of the Crimson Clan. This homecoming was not just a reunion but a reentry into a world of political machinations where my very existence was a statement of power and a tool to be wielded.

I couldn’t argue. I was in no position to do so. I might be a princess, but even I was limited in power, especially after being gone so long.

I smiled tightly and bowed. “Of course,” I agreed, my tone betraying none of my reservations .

My father’s joy was palpable, his hand finding Caelan’s shoulder in a gesture of gratitude. “Wonderful!” he beamed, his eyes alight with relief and celebration. “Thank you for bringing my daughter home safe and sound.”

Caelan’s response was tinged with discomfort, his laughter not quite reaching his eyes as he glanced away. “It was my honor, Your Majesty,” he murmured, the formality of his words a stark contrast to his unease.

“Nonsense. Please be Lyanna’s escort to the banquet. It’ll be a wonderful day for us all to celebrate!”

The announcement that I would accompany Caelan to the banquet ensnared me in a web of emotions I had yet to untangle. I stilled as I peered over at Caelan. He wore a tense smile, but remained quiet about all the things he had done. For some reason, even though I told him the past was in the past, his reaction upset me. Which had to mean that I hadn’t truly forgiven him, and if I did, I hadn’t forgotten. He was the last person I wanted as my escort.

“Father—” My attempt to voice my concerns was abruptly cut short by my mother.

“Where is Marcellus?” she asked. “Did he not arrive with you as well?”

“He did.”

Caelan’s brief acknowledgment was overshadowed by the Grand Hall’s doors swinging open as the guard’s voice boomed, “His Highness, Prince Marcellus!”

Marcellus walked in … with Selene behind him.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Selene stepped into the light, her beauty stark against the grandeur of the hall, her apprehension clear in the wide set of her emerald eyes. My eyes widened at the sight of her, and I attempted to regain my composure. I dared to look behind me, back at my mother. Her gaze was sharp and calculating as it shifted to Selene, her interest piqued by the unfamiliar face.

“Marcel…” My mother’s voice was smooth, her curiosity veiled behind a veneer of courtesy. “Who is this you’ve brought with you?”

“This is—”

“My best friend,” I interjected, a desperate bid to shield Selene from her scrutiny. “She was my assistant back in the Central Plains. I did not want to leave her behind.”

“Is that so? She’s beautiful. Quite a rare oddity. Do I dare say, one of the Merfolk?” my mother asked.

I cleared my throat. “Yes. Yes, she is.”

Admitting to Selene's Merfolk lineage was a gamble, one I hoped would satiate my mother's curiosity without inviting further examination.

Marcellus and Selene approached us, and he took ahold of my mother’s hand, offering a peck on the back of her hand with a slight bow. Selene stood by awkwardly, unsure what to do.

“Tell me, Marcel, is this the concubine you said you’d be taking in your letter?” my mother asked as she looked Selene up and down with mild interest.

“No!” I yelled quickly, then cleared my throat. “No, she’s not. That was another girl, but Marcel changed his mind about her. Selene is here just as my friend.” I sent a glare in Marcellus’s direction, daring him to disagree. He looked away.

“Come, dear,” my mother beckoned Selene. “Let me look at you.”

Selene tentatively stepped forward and my mother inspected her more closely. Wearing a modest dress that she hadn’t changed since we left the Central Plains, we all looked a bit rough for wear .

“It—It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty,” Selene stuttered.

My mother’s focus shifted back to me, her disdain thinly veiled. “At least you had someone attending to your needs while you were away.”

The assumption that Selene served merely as a maid irked me, but I held my tongue and chose my words carefully. “Mother, she wasn’t attending to my needs. I was a healer in the Central Plains. Selene assisted me in my work,” I clarified.

My mother gasped, looking aghast at what I’d just said. “You dealt with the ill?” she echoed, her voice a blend of disbelief and dismay.

“I did,” I affirmed, meeting her incredulous gaze with a steady one of my own.

My father cleared his throat as he cut between me and my mother. “That is very admirable, Lyanna. We’re proud of you.”

“She’s a very well-known healer in the Central Plains,” Caelan added. “Many travelled far and wide to receive her care.”

“Did you … did you use your blood?” my father asked with furrowed brows.

I gave a small nod. “Sometimes, but not often. Only when the situation was too dire for more traditional methods,” I admitted.

“She saved me,” Caelan hurried to say. “When I was poisoned by fae fruit.”

“Well, I guess you owe our Lyanna a life debt,” my father chuckled.

“I owe her more than that,” Caelan murmured, but didn’t speak further.

Seeking to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters, I introduced a new topic. “Father, there is someone else we brought with us.”

“Lyanna—” Caelan warned, but I ignored him.

“Oh?” My father raised a questioning brow.

“Ronan, the Crimson Clan Chief’s son is with us … as a hostage,” I said.

As the truth spilled from my lips, a ripple of tension swept through the Grand Hall like a cold gust. My father’s reaction was a silent storm brewing. His stance was rigid as he processed the information, running a hand through his hair before spinning around to walk back to his throne.

“Caelan!” My father’s voice sliced through the thick atmosphere with a gravity that demanded everyone’s full attention. “Explain.”

Caelan cleared his throat and stepped forward, the weight of the moment pressing upon him. “Your Majesty, during our encounter with the Crimson Clan in the Central Plains, Ronan was taken prisoner. It was a strategic move, one that—”

Marcellus, ever the provocateur, couldn’t resist stirring the pot further. “He was in a relationship with Lyanna,” he interjected, his voice laced with mischief as he cast a glance my way that was both accusatory and gleeful. “Quite the scandal, indeed.”

I glared at my brother as he openly took delight in our mother’s shocked expression. Her body swayed as if the ground beneath her had shifted. Only Marcellus’s quick reflexes prevented her from faltering completely, his arms steadying her as she regained her balance.

“Lyanna!” she gasped, her eyes searching mine for the truth. “Is there any truth to what your brother claims?”

“Lies, I’m sure of it.” Caelan’s growl resonated with protectiveness, his stance beside me both a shield and a proclamation. “Ronan deceived Lyanna. She has no fault in this matter,” he countered, his gaze fierce.

Marcellus's snort was dismissive, a silent challenge to Caelan's defense. “If you say so,” he murmured under his breath, skepticism coloring his tone.

“I know so!” Caelan's voice rose, his declaration ringing through the hall. “Regardless of the circumstances, Lyanna would never betray her people, much less lay with a beast like him!”

The heat of embarrassment and the sting of guilt flushed my cheeks, Marcellus's words and Caelan's vehement defense wove a complex tapestry of warring emotions. Caught between the scandal Marcellus delighted in unveiling and the fervent protection Caelan offered, I found myself unable to meet the eyes of those who were gathered, my heart torn asunder by the revelations and the rapid pace at which they were unfolding.

“Enough!” my father yelled, banging his fist on the throne’s armrest. “You’ll not speak ill of your sister. Caelan is right. She would never betray her people. But …”

“But what, dear?” my mother pleaded as she fanned herself. “We cannot let these rumors stand. They will spread like wildfire and her reputation—”

“We cannot keep him prisoner,” my father interrupted. “It would ignite a war with the Crimson Clan. While they would be easy enough to defeat, I will not expose Valoria’s people to danger.”

“But—” my mother attempted.

“But nothing. Marcellus!” he called out. “Release him at once. Send him to the Northern palace to rest and dispatch a messenger with a letter to Chief Aryan, informing him that his son is safe with us. We will also invite him to the banquet to be held in ten days’ time. ”

“Of course, Father,” Marcellus gritted between his teeth and quickly stormed out of the Grand Hall, sending one last lingering look at Selene before leaving. Thank the gods my mother didn’t see him. She was still in disbelief at my father’s command.

“There’s always some truth to rumors,” my mother said as she turned her icy glare to me. “Explain yourself, Lyanna.”

With my hands clasped behind my back, I hesitated, unsure whether to be truthful or lie through my teeth. “I—” I croaked, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Enough.” My father sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “Lyanna, you don’t know everything, much less the truth—”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Father. I know everything ,” I growled, staring at my parents with a look that could kill a hundred men.

My father jerked back as if I’d slapped him, his eyes widening and his breath hitching. My mother clutched her chest with her handkerchief in hand and I knew she was just as shocked. Her bottom lip trembled.

With one last, searing look, I grabbed Selene’s wrist, spun on my heels, and left the Grand Hall. This was one topic I didn’t want to discuss with them.

At least not yet.