Chapter 28 Azahara
Azahara
They were in fact not excited about this.
While Kaed had been in the presence of the king before, it was only during his swearing-in ceremony for the Order, and he had never directly spoken to him.
The members of the Order generally remained outside the walls of the kingdom, fulfilling their duty to patrol and maintain the lands and borders beyond.
They ascended the imposing steps of the grand Palace of Naverra, a magnificent structure that loomed nearly entirely out of white marble.
Its towering spires and turrets reached towards the sky, adorned with intricate carvings and delicate stonework that depicted epic tales of the kingdom’s history.
Stained glass windows, each a work of art in itself, lined the palace, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of light onto the courtyard below.
The sun’s rays reflected off the polished marble surfaces, creating a blinding, radiant glow that seemed to bathe the palace in an ethereal light.
Guards dressed in regal armor and bearing ornate weapons stood sentinel at the entrance, their imposing figures contributing to the imposing aura of the palace.
The palace grounds buzzed with activity as courtiers, servants, and visitors hurried about their business. Dressed in regal attire, Azahara and Kaed stood out amidst the vibrant colors adorning the halls. They were immediately challenged to maneuver through the throngs of people.
The guards stationed at the entrance stood tall and imposing in their resplendent all-white uniforms adorned with gold trimmings. As they approached, Azahara leaned against Kaed.
“Do you think they received the message?” Azahara peeked over her shoulder, spotting Illyan and Zhal following closely.
“I hope so,” Kaed replied, his fingers intertwining with hers and pulling her closer.
“Good afternoon. May we inquire about the purpose of your visit?” One of the guards asked with a courteous tone, his eyes taking her in.
Azahara wore a deep blue silk gown that gracefully draped around her figure, symbolizing the fusion of her elegance and growing strength.
The neckline plunged between her breasts, adorned with delicate silver embroidery resembling waves.
There were no sleeves, exposing her arms. From its shoulders, the gown cascaded into gentle folds, forming a sweeping skirt that trailed behind her.
It was floor length to cover the sandals Illyan insisted on wearing, despite her objections; she had rather gone barefoot.
What made the gown unique was the strategically incorporated armor in its design. Polished steel pieces adorned the shoulders and waist, accentuating the dress and her figure.
“We are here to see the king.” Though Kaed responded, their eyes remained fixed on Azahara.
Illyan had dressed Kaed in a manner that closely matched Azahara’s attire, down to the color and the armor plating on his shoulders. The only distinction lay in the fabric; Kaed’s outfit featured a blend of cotton and brocade, yet the colors and designs were nearly identical.
Zhal had adamantly refused to wear anything matching. Illyan chose to wear a red dress that left everyone in the tavern puzzled as they departed. They looked amazing, and Azahara secretly wished they had dressed her in red as well.
After a few more formalities to confirm their identification, the stern and disciplined guards allowed them to pass.
The group then stepped through the towering doors and immersed themselves in a world of history.
The palace’s interior reflected meticulous attention to detail, a fusion of architectural splendor and artistic beauty.
The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of heroic deeds and mythical creatures, each thread painstakingly woven by skilled artisans.
Dragons that once owned the skies, and the Giants that called the realms their pathways to life, all depicted across the walls as the monsters that were saved by the mortal humans.
Elaborate chandeliers, crafted from delicate crystals, hung from the high ceilings, casting a gentle, ethereal glow across the vast halls. The polished marble floors stretched out before them, cool beneath their feet, inviting them deeper into the heart of the palace.
Passing through a series of archways, Azahara marveled at the opulence surrounding them.
Majestic columns rose toward Paradise, supporting the weight of the upper galleries, while frescoes adorned the domed ceilings, depicting the Conquering of Parádeisos that seemed to come alive under the soft light.
Showing the push of mortals to separate themselves from the gods in a tapestry of colors and dramatic scenes.
While Azahara agreed with the separation, it did little good for her.
The air within the palace carried the scent of perfumes and exotic flowers, mingled with the distant melody of musicians playing in unseen chambers.
Along their path, nobles and courtiers bustled by, their richly embroidered garments rustling as they hurried to attend to their duties or seek an audience with the king.
As they followed the guards, the enchanting beauty of the palace captivated Azahara’s senses. Each step carried them deeper into a world where elegance and power intertwined, where the whisper of history echoed through the hallowed halls.
She couldn’t have anticipated the weight of the gazes upon her as they stepped into the grand hall. Passing through another pair of imposing doors, hundreds of people lined the walkway. On either side stood civilians gathered to catch a glimpse of their beloved king.
Swallowing hard, Azahara walked through the opening, her hand sweating as Kaed squeezed it.
Someone was speaking, and Azahara assumed it was the king and his family. While most of the people in the back stared at them, no one else commented or reacted. They were too focused on what was happening near the throne.
“Think they are jealous.” Kaed leaned in and whispered.
She pinched his side, making him jerk away. The smile on his face betrayed his poor attempt at looking hurt. “Be serious,” she said with a glare.
“I am—gods, I would be.” His hand slipped from hers to wrap around her waist. “I’d give anything to have you by my side if I weren’t already so lucky.
” Kaed had nearly ripped the dress from her when she’d shown it to him earlier.
He would have if it weren’t for Zhal standing there, urging them to hurry.
As they navigated the swarm of civilians, their attention was drawn to a disheveled man reaching out his hands toward the king, pleading for something. They had arrived just a little too late at the front to catch the specifics of his request.
Looking closer, it appeared that he was a farmer. The shoes that held hay between the indents, the scratches on his ankles, and his dirty hands indicated at least a labor worker.
The contrast between this man and the clean white walls of the palace was tremendous. Was he begging for food? For shelter? For help in general from his king, who is supposed to protect him?
If the king did not help, he would go to the gods, who would once again ignore him and likely his family’s call for aid.
It took great restraint for Azahara to resist the urge to approach and assist the man.
Instead, she turned her gaze toward the onlookers who had witnessed the scene.
To her dismay, they remained indifferent, showing no signs of remorse or compassion.
It was either a lack of empathy or skillful concealment beneath their masks of scrutiny.
“You are dismissed.” The squire spoke.
“Please, Your Grace, raiders are destroying our lands. We just need more protection.” The man wrapped his fingers together in a prayer-like motion. “We cannot provide goods to the kingdom if there are no goods left.”
It wasn’t an unreasonable request. The king had turned a blind eye to the atrocities outside the walls, relying solely on the Order to maintain order. However, the Order’s numbers were dwindling, as Kaed had mentioned in passing. “We will take your words into consideration.”
“That was said last month. Please, Your Grace—”
A Cloak guard stepped forward, grabbed the man under his arm, and dragged him backward. “Please! We are not safe!” His screams continued, becoming fainter and fainter until they were no more.
Azahara bit her lip and closed her eyes. Just breathe. She couldn’t offer him assistance and had to accept that reality. There was no use in attempting to play the hero, especially since she knew she wasn’t one.
“I see my next guest, the redhead in the blue silk gown.” Kaed withdrew his hand from her waist and stepped forward.
She opened her eyes and met the gaze of the king. Numerous eyes were fixed upon them, and she felt an overwhelming sense of nervousness. However, her focus was on Theon the Sixth, the youngest among four generations to ascend the throne.
He appeared to be in his early thirties, surrounded by several women. With his brown hair, brown eyes, and alabaster skin, nothing about his appearance was particularly remarkable. The only noticeable feature was his slight, rounded belly and the way he slouched on the marble throne.
Azahara remained at Kaed’s side and joined him in bowing before the king. “Your Grace,” they both greeted respectfully.
The squire moved toward them. A little boy, no older than six, smiled up at her. “Your Grace, King Theon the Sixth welcomes your presence. Please, speak your truths. The king is quite busy.”
She smiled at him and glanced only once behind her to see Illyan and Zhal staying in the crowd. She wished to be back there, not at the center of attention.
“Your Grace, we come to you with urgent news.” Kaed spoke. This was his show, and she had no desire to be the main act.