The Sin Eater Chronicles

In the cramped confines of the auxiliary antechamber, the tension felt as thick as the settling dust. Captain Roland had returned after a few minutes, breath ragged from his attempts to coordinate palace security. He reported that the guards had shored up some of the passages to keep curious or vengeful delegates out of this part of the palace. For now, the monarchy and the princess lay out of immediate sight, but the entire fortress was still crawling with frightened survivors demanding explanation, injured people needing assistance, and the looming threat of further collapse.

The king consort supported the queen gently, guiding her to a chair while indicating that two knights should lay the princess on a low couch along the far side of the room. Meilara refused to sit anywhere other than at Aiyara's side, but Masaru at least wanted her to rest her legs. He stood behind her, his posture stiff with unspent adrenaline. It was the first moment they had to pause since the outburst.

Kida appeared in the doorway, accompanied by three more guards and a handful of exhausted palace servants. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though her expression seemed caught between anger and despair. When she glimpsed Aiyara lying motionless, her composure nearly broke. She stumbled forward, kneeling by the princess's couch. With trembling hands, she tried to adjust the tattered remnants of Aiyara's gown, as if smoothing wrinkles might restore some lost dignity.

"Princess… I'm sorry," Kida said, voice hushed. "I should have… I should have stopped—someone. I don't even know what happened. One minute, you were arguing with those lords, and the next…" She trailed off, tears threatening to slip down her cheeks. "Forgive me."

Queen Meilara reached out, touched Kida's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "Kida, you have no blame here. Nobody foresaw this." She looked to Captain Roland and nodded in silent acknowledgment that Kida was allowed—encouraged—to remain. The queen recognized how vital it was for Aiyara's friend to be close, especially now when the princess lay unresponsive.

Roland shifted his weight. "Your Majesties," he said, trying to keep his tone measured, "we've counted at least two dozen dead so far, and many more severely injured. We're moving them to the southwestern corridor where a partial infirmary has been set up. The dwarves are outraged, claiming a betrayal of hospitality. The eastern delegates are equally furious. The Church priests… they're calling for an immediate explanation. They suspect your daughter drew upon forbidden powers."

Masaru's jaw clenched. "The dwarves lost envoys? The eastern lords—some, too, must be among the casualties." He exchanged a grim look with Meilara. "We promised safety to all. Instead, half the palace is in ruins. They'll demand recompense, or worse, might threaten war if we can't appease them. Or if they suspect we possessed some secret weapon."

The queen pressed a shaking hand to her face. "Could you gather the rest of our children? I want them in a safe place. If more collapses occur, or if foreign delegates escalate matters, our heirs should be protected."

Roland nodded. "I was about to suggest the same. The palace's lower levels remain mostly intact. We could send the younger children there with a strong guard detail." His eyes flicked to Kida. "But first, I need your father, Captain Roland senior, to ensure no one seizes control of the city gates or tries to flee with news of this disaster. We can't allow rumor to spread unchecked."

Kida swallowed hard, her gaze lingering on Aiyara. "I'll help gather the children," she said, forcing herself to stand, though her reluctance to leave the princess was evident. She glanced at her father, who nodded. "We must be swift. If the king consort requires it, I'll see to the younger royals personally."

Masaru laid a hand on her arm as she passed. "Ensure they're all accounted for. Then bring them here if it's safe. If not, take them to the secure wing. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Kida replied, voice tight. Her reluctance was palpable, but she recognized the importance of her mission. She took one last sorrowful look at Aiyara, then slipped from the room with two guards in tow.

Silence fell, broken only by the faint crackle of torches and the distant ring of metal on stone as rescue teams continued searching the wreckage. Through the thick wooden door, muffled shouts drifted in: church acolytes demanding access, dwarven voices raised in angry confusion, the occasional clatter of what sounded like more debris giving way. Anxiety coiled in the pit of Meilara's stomach. She stroked her daughter's hair. The once-silky locks were tangled with ash and stray pebbles, a harsh reminder that no one had escaped this night unscathed.

Masaru exhaled, forcing himself to remain calm. "Captain Roland, see to it that more guards secure these corridors. We can't risk the dwarves or the church forcibly entering. If anyone demands entry, cite the queen's orders for isolation while we assess structural integrity. They are not to come near Aiyara."

Roland saluted, though the lines of worry never left his brow. "Yes, my King. I'll post men at each intersection. None get through without my express permission. What of the suitors? Some are wounded; others are stirring trouble. Prince Orin is missing, apparently pinned under rubble but maybe rescued. Lord Davren is alive, hurling accusations. The others are scattered. Should I place them under guard or let them roam?"

Meilara closed her eyes for a moment, recalling all those men who had proudly proclaimed themselves potential consorts. Now, they were either injured, outraged, or in some cases, unaccounted for. Her voice was low but firm. "Confine them, politely but clearly. Tell them it's for their own safety, given the risk of further collapses. Keep them away from the princess. Lock them in the banquet hall or a lesser hall that's intact enough. We can't have them blundering around or rallying foreign soldiers."

Roland glanced at the unconscious princess. "Understood. I'll see to it immediately." With another short bow, he moved toward the door, though he kept a careful eye on the king and queen as though dreading he might find them all crushed under a new collapse when he returned. He slipped out, leaving Meilara and Masaru alone with two knights, a handful of servants, and Aiyara's still form.

A hush fell. Meilara sank to her knees beside the couch, gathering the princess's hand in hers. The king consort paced the chamber, eyes scanning for cracks or weaknesses in the vaulted ceiling. The servants lit additional candles, pushing back some of the gloom. Yet the mood remained one of stifling sorrow. A distant crash reverberated through the walls—perhaps a further portion of the palace roof giving way. One of the knights winced, stepping closer to the door to listen.

Masaru's thoughts churned. In the space of a single night, their grand plan for a solstice celebration, where Aiyara would come of age and eventually choose a consort, had shattered into tragedy. Now, with the princess comatose and the palace in chaos, the monarchy had little control over the narrative forming among the delegates. The king knew full well that rumors spread faster than truth. Soon enough, foreign courts might paint Aiyara as a monstrous witch, a cursed child who wreaked havoc on her own people.

He glanced at the queen, who clutched their daughter's hand, whispering gentle words of comfort that went unheard by Aiyara's sleeping mind. "We may have to announce that Aiyara is gravely ill," he said quietly, "that the cause is uncertain. We cannot let them suspect the nature of this power. If the Church proclaims it heresy or demonic influence, they'll demand a tribunal. The dwarves might see it as a warlike act. We can't risk that."

Meilara nodded, though her eyes never left her daughter's face. "Yes, we must conceal the truth until we understand it ourselves. We must keep her safe." She stroked Aiyara's forehead in a futile attempt to coax her awake. The unnatural stillness of the princess unnerved her, as if some intangible barrier lay between Aiyara's spirit and the living world.

A faint knock sounded at the door. A servant peered in, face pale, asking if the queen or king needed anything. Meilara requested water, some linens to wipe the dust off Aiyara, and additional blankets. The servant disappeared at once, promising to return swiftly. The knights resumed their posts, wary of any surprise intrusion.

After a moment, Masaru moved closer, setting a hand on the queen's shoulder. His voice softened. "We'll find a way through this," he said. "I know it seems impossible now. But we can't give up hope."

Meilara's shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. She gazed at her daughter's lashes, where a few flecks of ash clung like strange snow. The princess's lips had begun to chap from dryness. The queen remembered how only hours ago, those lips had spoken bright welcomes to foreign guests, quipped excitedly about the festival, teased Kida. Now, not a sound emerged. "If we lose her…" Meilara couldn't finish the sentence. She pressed her eyes shut, refusing to let tears fall.

Masaru fell silent. He knew the gravity of her words. In truth, the monarchy could not bear such a blow—not only from a political standpoint, but more importantly, from a place of parental love. Aiyara was the beacon for Masan's future, cherished not just by them but by citizens who looked to her as a symbol of continuity. To see her in this broken, catatonic state threatened to unravel everything they had built.

Quietly, the door opened again, and Captain Roland stepped inside. With him was Kida, who had returned far sooner than expected. The guard captain's face was grave as he said, "We've found the younger royal children. They're safe in the deeper vaults, guarded by a dozen knights. No sign of intruders in that area. I wanted to check on Your Majesties and the princess."

The queen nodded in weary acknowledgment. "Thank you. And what of the city gates?"

Kida, standing close by, answered in a hushed voice. "We've dispatched extra squads to monitor them. Nobody enters or leaves without your consent, not until we have a handle on the situation. Father gave the orders. But… there's chaos in the city as well. People saw the palace spire crack. They're frightened. Rumors spread that a demon attacked. Others say the dragons conjured it."

Masaru sighed. "Let them believe what they will, for the moment. Our priority is ensuring no foreign dignitary escapes with misinformation or uses this as an excuse for aggression. Once we have the princess stable, we can craft an official statement. For now, keep them all contained."

Roland nodded, though the tension around his eyes deepened. "Yes, my King. I'll also detail a few men to gather any sign of the suitors who are missing. If they lie injured somewhere, we can't risk them being found by their own retinues first, spinning who-knows-what story."

Kida knelt beside Aiyara again, gently wiping the grime from the princess's cheek with a damp cloth handed by a servant. Her mind seemed to drift, as though replaying the calamity over and over. She whispered, "She seems unhurt, but why won't she open her eyes?"

No one in the room had an answer. Meilara cupped Kida's hand in her own. "We'll do everything we can," she said. "For now, she needs rest, or so we must hope. We have to figure out what overcame her. That is our next step."

The hush resumed, everyone aware that more pressing questions would soon collide with them. For the moment, they were a small circle of shared helplessness: a mother, father, loyal guard, devoted friend, and a handful of knights and servants in a battered antechamber, clinging to hopes that the princess would wake. Beyond those doors, an entire palace reeled from the blow, foreigners demanded retribution or explanations, and the city itself quaked under the specter of a monstrous secret. Little did they realize this was only the beginning of understanding Aiyara's new reality.