The royal palace of Asphade was a monument to grandeur, its towering spires visible for miles around.

Tonight, the grand hall was the heart of its magnificence, bathed in golden light and alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of fine crystal.

Nobles in their most resplendent attire danced and mingled, their polished veneers masking the subtle undercurrents of political intrigue.

At the center of it all stood King Aythore of Asphade with his amethyst black hair and eyes and a playful smile that revealed his well defined jawline. His presence was as commanding as the gilded throne in the adjacent room.

Dressed in a deep blue doublet embroidered with silver threads, he exuded an aura of regal authority. His arm rested lightly around the waist of Queen Elira, her emerald gown shimmering with each step she took beside him.

In his other hand, the king held a glass of crimson wine, which he raised periodically in toast to the noblemen and women who approached him with well-rehearsed pleasantries.

The ball was a celebration of the kingdom’s prosperity, but for King Aythore, it was a night to maintain appearances and reaffirm alliances.

As the orchestra transitioned to a softer, waltzing melody, the speaker of the ball stepped forward. He was a man of diminutive stature but carried himself with the confidence of one accustomed to commanding a room. His voice rang out above the din of conversation.

“Your Majesties,” he said with a flourishing bow, “it is customary on such a joyous occasion for the king and queen to grace us with a dance.”

The hall fell silent, every eye turning expectantly toward the royal couple.

King Aythore chuckled, his demeanor warm yet poised. He handed his wine glass to a nearby servant and extended his hand to Queen Elira, a beauty with black hair, deep brown eyes, and peach perky lips. “Shall we, my love?”

The queen smiled demurely and took his hand. Together, they stepped onto the polished marble floor as the nobles moved aside, creating a wide circle around them.

The orchestra struck up a lively waltz, and the king and queen began to move, their steps fluid and synchronized.

The room was entranced. King Aythore’s movements were confident, yet he deferred just enough to allow Queen Elira to shine. Her gown fanned out with each turn, catching the light and casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the hall.

As the royal couple danced, the heavy wooden doors at the far end of the hall creaked open. A man clad in armor stepped inside, his face tense and his gait brisk.

General Rhaegor, the commander of Asphade’s armies, cut an imposing figure, his presence immediately noted by the nearby nobles, who whispered among themselves.

“What a warrior doing in here?”

“Are we safe?”

The general’s eyes locked onto the king, but he remained at the periphery, understanding the sanctity of the moment.

King Aythore noticed him and subtly raised a finger, signaling for patience. Rhaegor inclined his head and stepped back, his rigid posture betraying the urgency of his message.

Rather than just remain idle, General Rhaegor moved to wine server and took a few glasses in quick succession.

The dance continued, but the king’s smile faltered slightly, his mind now partially occupied by the general’s unexpected arrival.

When the final note of the waltz rang out, applause erupted, the nobles showering their monarchs with praise for their graceful performance.

“That was an outstanding performance!” The speaker praised with an applause to go with his praises.

“Thank you all,” King Aythore waved at the others with his almost everlasting smile that threatened to never leave his face.

“My love, I shall return in a moment.” King Aythore returned the queen to the sidelines and made his way toward Rhaegor. “Walk with me,” he said, his voice low but commanding.

The king led the general to a private chamber adjacent to the hall. The room was modest compared to the grandeur outside, with walls lined with bookshelves and a large oak table at its center. The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood and parchment.

Rhaegor closed the door behind them, activating the room’s enchantment. A faint blue glow surrounded the chamber, ensuring that no sound would escape.

“Now,” said the king, lowering himself into a high-backed chair, “what brings you to me during a ball, General? I trust it must be of great importance.”

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Rhaegor wasted no time. “Your Majesty, Eldham has fallen.”

The king’s composure faltered for the first time that evening. “Eldham?” he repeated, leaning forward. “How?”

The general’s voice was grave. “A demon horde attacked. Grade Seven, Six, and Four demons overwhelmed the town in under an hour. The guards were slaughtered. Captain Reinar, their Gold Ranked defender, fought valiantly but was no match for the enemy’s numbers. The town is gone, My King.”

The weight of the words settled heavily on the king’s shoulders. He leaned back, his expression a mixture of grief and disbelief.

Eldham was not a significant town in terms of resources or strategic importance, but it was part of Asphade. Its loss was a stain on the kingdom’s honor.

For several minutes, the room was silent save for the faint crackle of the enchanted fireplace. King Aythore stared into the flames, his mind racing. The fall of Eldham was not merely a tragedy; it was a warning.

“Were there any survivors?” he asked finally.

“A few,” Rhaegor replied. “They fled to Tarthale. The city is bolstering its defenses as we speak.”

The king nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the fire. “And the horde?”

“The demons have dispersed, but reports suggest they are regrouping,” the general said. “This was not a random attack. They are testing us, probing our weaknesses.”

King Aythore’s hands clenched into fists. “They will find none,” he said firmly, though the determination in his voice could not mask the underlying worry.

The king stood abruptly, his regal bearing returning. “This cannot go unanswered,” he declared. “The other kingdoms and Fated Families must be informed. If the demons are organizing, it will not stop at Eldham. They have to know as well.”

Rhaegor nodded. “I will send riders immediately.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep