Third Arc (Fallen Heart) – 271. Royal Show IV
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Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 271. Royal Show IV
The gates creaked open, and Angel held his ground. His eyes traced the solemn march, a detached observer in the sea of ritual. Ophelia, caught between duty and curiosity, couldn't resist stealing a glance at the king.
This time, she made it obvious. Her head turned, eyes seeking the unreadable expression on Angel's face. It was a fleeting moment, a silent exchange that spoke volumes. King Gervis, on the other hand, maintained his stoic facade. After the unyielding display of strength a few days prior, showing any vulnerability seemed out of the question.
Angel, draped in his stony demeanor, couldn't escape the flicker of empathy that stirred within. The realization dawned that he had entangled Ophelia in the intricate web of his political games. It was a collateral consequence, a reality he couldn't sidestep.
The cemetery swallowed the procession, the gates closing behind them like a final punctuation mark. Angel contemplated the gravity of the moment. His face, a mask of inscrutability, hid the subtle undercurrents of sentiment. The game he played had consequences, etching lines of complexity on the canvas of royal duties.
The convoy eased into the vast hill, a sprawling cemetery adorned with the solemn resting places of kings. The grandeur of the tombs against the backdrop of nature painted a picturesque scene, but the air hung heavy with the weight of regal legacies. Statues, frozen in time, stood tall and proud, an eerie reminder of the once-vibrant lives they represented.
The silence intensified, creating a sense of intimidation. Ophelia, riding amidst the hallowed ground, felt the gravity of the impending responsibilities settle on her shoulders like a leaden cloak. The beauty of the landscape clashed with the turmoil within. The statues, immortalized forms of past rulers, seemed to cast a watchful gaze on the living. Their stony visages, frozen in regal poise, served as a haunting backdrop to the internal tumult brewing within Ophelia.
Her mind, already burdened with the weight of princely duties, couldn't escape the looming dilemma. The tangled emotions she harbored for Angel, once a mere flutter in her heart, now threatened to evolve into a storm. The impossibility of becoming his wife was crystal clear, a boundary she had accepted. Yet, as the contours of her new role unfolded, a stark reality loomed.
The interests of Asteria and Euphorion, entwined in politics, posed a precarious threat to the delicate balance of their feelings. Ophelia grappled with the anticipation of clashes between kingdoms, a storm on the horizon that threatened to erode the foundations of their connection.
The weight of the impending political tempest gnawed at her. She was torn between the satisfaction of expressing her feelings to Angel and the inevitability that their paths might diverge. The collision of political interests, an imminent consequence, seemed to cast a shadow over the budding emotions.
In the face of this dilemma, Ophelia found herself resigned to an uncertain fate. If politics were to unravel the fragile threads of their connection, she would weather the storm with a heavy heart.
‘I can only hope that one day... we won't have to throat to throat like what happened between you and Brother,’ she mused silently. The phrase hung in the air, a whisper of yearning for a future where conflict wouldn't define their relationship.
The procession reached the excavation site where Ilex was to find his final rest. A somber hush settled over the surroundings. Ophelia and King Gervis descended from their horses, moving to stand at the side, mere spectators to the heart-wrenching ritual about to unfold.
The air hung heavy with grief as the coffin was gently lowered into the open grave. The stark reality of the moment gripped Ophelia, a cruel reminder of the irrevocable loss. She fought to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to engulf her, memories of Ilex flashing through her mind like a cascade of bittersweet echoes. Tears welled in her eyes, a proof of the pain that lay beneath her composed exterior.
Beside her, King Gervis, usually stoic and reserved, crumbled under the weight of his emotions. Instead of the silent tears that betrayed Ophelia's struggle, his sobs echoed through the solemn air, a raw and heart-wrenching expression of grief. The king, known for his strength and composure, allowed his vulnerability to surface.
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