The Sin Eater Chronicles

A short lull followed the departure of Grand Duke Belthar, during which the crowd seemed to shift restlessly, waiting to see who else would step forth. Sipping from a silver goblet offered by a passing servant, Aiyara tried to calm her roiling emotions. She noticed Kida scanning the perimeter, likely ensuring no hidden threats lurked among the guests.

Then, with tentative steps, a young man emerged from behind a cluster of foreign attendants. His demeanor was a stark contrast to the prior suitors: shoulders hunched, eyes tinged with fatigue. He wore no extravagant cloak or gilded armor. Instead, his attire was simple—modestly embroidered tunics and boots that had seen some wear. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights or long travel, perhaps both.

He approached the dais with something akin to trepidation. A hush settled as onlookers took note of his arrival, whispering among themselves. Aiyara spotted the emblem on his shoulder: a stylized desert sun, half eclipsed by a crescent shape. Thildron, she recalled. A kingdom in the southwestern arid regions, currently grappling with a severe drought. She had read about it in trade bulletins: failed harvests, thirsty rivers, and a populace on the brink of famine.

Bowing low, the young man spoke in a trembling voice. "Your Highness… I-I am Prince Jareth of Thildron, second son to King Talem. My father… sends his regrets that he could not come in person, but the kingdom's affairs—" He swallowed, as though his throat were parched. "I have come, seeking… an alliance that might save my people."

Aiyara sensed the tension in his words. Unlike Orin or Davren, whose proposals brimmed with confidence, Jareth exuded desperation. She offered him a reassuring nod. "Welcome, Prince Jareth. Please, tell me of Thildron's plight."

He glanced around the courtyard, meeting the curious, sometimes pitying, gazes of the crowd. Summoning courage, he pressed on. "Three years of drought. Our wells run dry, our fields turn to dust. Each day, more families go hungry. Our once-fertile lands now yield almost nothing. My father has… tried everything—irrigation methods, praying for rain, importing grain from other kingdoms—but we're not wealthy enough to sustain that forever."

A hush deeper than before fell upon the assembly. Even those who typically maneuvered for their own gain felt a pang of sympathy. Aiyara's chest constricted with empathy for the boy's plight. He's only trying to save his kingdom, she thought. No wonder he looks exhausted.

"What do you seek from Masan?" she asked, keeping her tone gentle.

Jareth bowed his head. "We… we heard your city is famed for advanced irrigation systems, for harnessing the tides and channeling water in ways we can only dream of. We hope, if I were to wed you… that is, if you accepted me as your consort," he paused, face coloring at the directness, "we could learn these methods, implement them in Thildron. We'd open new trade routes for the colony across the sea, providing timber and stone if we still have them, but we desperately need the knowledge of water management to save our people from starvation."

His voice wavered near the end. The courtyard seemed to hold its collective breath, absorbing the raw sincerity of his plea. Aiyara noticed that even some foreign lords who had been eyeing Jareth with mild disdain now looked subdued. The dwarves exchanged murmurs in their guttural tongue, possibly discussing the feasibility of subterranean wells or engineering solutions. Over by the fountain, Sister Elysia gripped her staff, eyes brimming with quiet compassion. Meanwhile, the older priests from the Church wore pensive expressions, likely calculating how to exploit or shape such a crisis.

Aiyara's heart ached for Jareth. "That is a grave hardship," she said, voice solemn. "I'm truly sorry for what your people endure. Masan does have advanced engineering knowledge regarding canals and tidal harnessing. We use them to grow crops in rocky soil and to store fresh water in vast cisterns. But such methods might not easily translate to Thildron's climate unless carefully adapted."

A glint of hope flickered in Jareth's eyes. "We have stonemasons, architects, people willing to learn if only we're shown how. But… if we cannot find a solution soon—" He let the words hang, the implication painfully clear: Thildron could collapse into ruin, famine, and possible exodus.

Aiyara felt the weight of his desperation. This was no power play, no attempt to subjugate or manipulate. It was a plea for survival. She pressed her lips together, choosing her words carefully. "I admire your determination to save your people. However, marriage is a significant bond in Masan—an alliance that must be rooted in more than just necessity. Still, we do not dismiss your situation. We can discuss alternative measures, perhaps sending Masani engineers to Thildron or forming a cooperative arrangement without rushing into wedlock."

His shoulders sagged, relief and disappointment mingling. "Thank you, Princess. That is more kindness than we've seen from many others. Some exploit our desperation, hoping to carve away chunks of our land in exchange for water shipments. I… I only ask you consider me. Our kingdom stands on the brink, and if forging a royal union would guarantee help from Masan's skilled minds, then I… would willingly stand at your side."

Her chest tightened with compassion. She studied him briefly. He was not physically imposing, nor particularly regal in demeanor, but sincerity shone through. The stark difference from Belthar's cruelty or Davren's cunning made Jareth's plight all the more heartrending. "I shall consider it carefully," she promised. "In the meantime, enjoy the festival as best you can. We can speak later in more depth about how best to aid Thildron."

Jareth nodded, stepping back, gratitude evident in his tear-laced eyes. "Thank you, Princess… truly."

As he turned to leave, the crowd parted for him. Aiyara caught the myriad reactions among onlookers—some whispered rumors about Thildron's dire straits, others expressed sympathy, and still others eyed him cynically, suspecting a ruse. But Aiyara felt the authenticity in Jareth's plea. If anything, the heaviness of the situation spurred her sense of responsibility. We might be able to save them if we share knowledge, she thought. But how will that play into the colony? How many resources can we spare, especially with half our fleet about to sail west?

Kida touched her elbow gently. "That was tough to watch," she said, her voice hushed so only Aiyara could hear.

The princess nodded, fighting back tears. She felt a swirl of emotions—pity for Jareth, frustration at the dire state of the world, pride in Masan's capability to help, and an undercurrent of anxious fury that so many believed Masan's assistance was their only hope. The spark within her belly flared again, fueled by the pride that her realm was so essential, but also stoked by indignation that so much burden fell upon her shoulders.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the crowd stirred once more, and the energy in the courtyard shifted dramatically. Whispers rippled outward like a tide. Aiyara turned in time to see a regal figure approaching the dais, flanked by four towering, broad-shouldered