King Elian

The majestic castle on the hill, bathed in the glow of a thousand candles, seemed to have become part of the starry sky. The white stone walls, entwined with ivy, reflected the light of the lanterns, and the gilded spires caught the first evening mist. Today, here, in the throne room with its stucco columns and cherry-wine-colored velvet curtains, a ball was held in honor of the coronation of the young King Elian.

He stood at the foot of the marble steps, clad in a brocade caftan embroidered with the kingdom's crests, smiling at the guests—dukes in fur robes, knights with noble scars, ladies in gowns shimmering like dew on a web. Beside him stood his mother, Queen Mother Lauren, in silver garb, and his young sister, Princess Mira, whose eyes sparkled with delight. And in the front row stood old King Taran, his father, in simple gray wool. He had voluntarily given up the crown, saying, "It is time to pass the light to young hands."

Servants in livery the colors of the royal coat of arms—dark blue and gold—scurried silently between tables laden with delicacies: roast pheasants with honeyed apples, wild venison pies, and platters of oysters brought from the southern islands. Almond cakes, currant rolls, and chocolate truffles scented with vanilla and cinnamon lay on silver platters. Music emanated from the corners of the room—violins, harp, and cello—playing the ancient melody of "The Bright Throne."

The guests whispered, admired, and raised glasses of ruby ​​wine. But somewhere in the depths of the castle, behind the old oak door, a step creaked. And silence fell for a moment, as if the air itself froze.

King Elian was a twenty-three-year-old ruler with wise gray eyes and the erect posture of a warrior. He was tall, slender, and graceful, a reflection of the ballet he had attended since his youth. He spoke little but powerfully, and he was a good listener—a rarity among monarchs. His kindness was not a weakness: he pardoned the repentant but judged the deceivers harshly. The people loved him for his fairness and for the fact that he walked the city unguarded, conversing with the common people.

Elian played the harp, wrote anonymous poetry, and believed that the king was the country's servant, not its ruler. He would abolish unfair taxes, open schools and hospitals in the future, and grant women the right to study at university. He wore a crown only on ceremonial occasions; in everyday life, he wore a simple caftan and his father's old ring.

But anxiety lived within him: he was afraid of betrayal, seeing how power corrupts.