The Sin Eater Chronicles

Aiyara shut the tall glass doors behind her and let the airy hush of her bedchamber envelop her for a moment. Compared to the open balcony, her room felt like a lavish cocoon—warm lamplight danced across walls painted with coastal murals, depicting palm-lined shores, boats weaving through gentle waves, and swirling patterns of wind and water. The décor reminded her daily of Masan's identity, even within the protective walls of the palace. Tonight, though, the paintings on the walls and the embroidered tapestries seemed to blur, overshadowed by the swirling in her mind.

She sensed movement in the adjacent antechamber, and she braced herself for Kida's inevitable arrival. Sure enough, Kida entered, hair pulled back into a tight braid, her leather and metal half-armor shining with fresh polish. Even though she was only a year older than Aiyara, Kida held herself with the poise of a seasoned guard. She had inherited her father's discipline, while also possessing a frank sense of humor that kept Aiyara grounded.

"You're still in your simple robe," Kida scolded gently, crossing her arms. "The festival is well underway. People are arriving at the palace in droves—envoys from half the kingdoms in the known world, it seems. And you're still… barefoot." A wry grin pulled at the corner of her mouth.

Aiyara looked down. Indeed, she was barefoot on the plush carpet, still in her casual attire. "I just needed a moment," she admitted, shrugging helplessly. "I was watching the city and thinking about all the changes that are coming."

Kida's stern façade softened. She stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on Aiyara's shoulder. "I know this night is daunting. The Queen and King-Consort have entrusted you with a tremendous responsibility. But you've trained for this your whole life."

"And yet I don't feel ready," Aiyara murmured. Her eyes darted to a large gilded mirror leaning against the wall, next to a table where a half-dozen gowns were draped in readiness. Each gown was more resplendent than the last, shimmering in candlelight. Layers of embroidered fabrics, reflective metallic threads, and beaded patterns of waves or blossoms testified to Masan's skilled clothiers. Any of these outfits would transform her into the ideal image of a princess. She knew that was what her mother wished: for her to be a vision of regal authority when she finally descended the palace steps.

Kida's gaze followed hers to the array of gowns. "You're not wearing any of them yet, are you?" Her tone took on a subtle mix of exasperation and amusement.

Aiyara couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "No. I'm honestly not sure which one I'm supposed to pick. My mother said she had something special in mind, something about representing the wave crest in gold. But I… I just needed some fresh air before bundling myself up."

Kida nodded, then walked over to the mirror and gently lifted a gown of deep crimson silk that had golden wave patterns dancing near the hem. The upper bodice was embroidered with stylized seagulls, each meticulously woven in silver thread. "This is the one the Queen mentioned—though I see others that might be just as stunning. Either way, we'll make sure you look the part."

Aiyara ran her fingers over the fabric, struck by how delicate yet strong the silk felt. "I feel like I'm about to be paraded in front of every possible suitor. The moment I step outside, they'll all be watching, appraising me like some commodity."

Kida's eyes met hers in the mirror's reflection. "In a sense, that's true. But it's also a chance to show them who you really are. You're not just a princess born to rule because of some ancient custom. You have the spirit of Masan in your blood. They'll see that."

Smiling faintly, Aiyara answered, "I don't want to be locked away in formalities and half-truths, repeating polite phrases while they posture for my favor. If I could, I'd slip out and join the common folk in the lower terraces, dancing in the streets until dawn."

"Your mother would have the entire guard scouring the city for you if you did," Kida teased, placing the gown aside. "But let's be honest. You love the people, and they adore you. Perhaps that sincerity will shine through during the festival. After all, it's your best trait—that genuine care for Masan."

"I hope so," Aiyara whispered. She turned from the mirror, suddenly feeling the swirl of excitement and dread coil in her stomach again. "What if I fail? What if the suitors see me as naive, or my mother decides I haven't chosen wisely? This decision about the consort is more than just a personal matter—it's about forging alliances, ensuring Masan remains strong even when she and Father sail west."

Kida's expression tightened, her voice softening. "My father always said the Aurora's Edge thrived because every soul on board believed in each other. During a pirate ambush, my mother—the captain—was injured. He was young then, not trained to lead, but eager to help. He stepped in, and the crew rallied, not because he was perfect, but because they saw his heart and trusted him. It wasn't just courage—it was knowing when to lean on the people around you. You don't have to do this alone. The palace stands with you. I do, too."

Aiyara exhaled slowly, letting her shoulders relax. "Thank you, Kida. Your support means more to me than I can say." She motioned toward the gowns. "Let's start, shall we? I don't want to keep them waiting forever."

With Kida's assistance, Aiyara stepped behind a folding screen decorated with painted scenes of Masan's beaches. She removed her simple robe and carefully slid into an underlayer of soft linen, ensuring it was snug in all the right places. Then came the gown. The silk draped over her curves elegantly, and Kida fastened the delicate clasps along the back. Each clasp held a small, polished pearl, a treasure from Masan's coastline and a hallmark of its royalty.

As the bodice settled against Aiyara's chest, she felt the weight of it—a combination of physical heaviness from the embroidery and psychological heaviness from the role it symbolized. She lifted her chin and studied herself again in the mirror. The crimson fabric glowed in the lamplight, and the gold wave pattern near the hem seemed almost to move, as though alive with the promise of ocean tides.

"Beautiful," Kida breathed, stepping back. "Absolutely regal. But we still need to fix your hair and perhaps select some jewelry."

They worked together, pinning up portions of Aiyara's thick, dark hair in a graceful knot, allowing a few tendrils to frame her face. Kida chose a slender golden circlet to rest upon the princess's brow, with a single aquamarine gem at its center. The gem glittered with every tilt of her head, echoing the color of Masan's waters. Next, Aiyara slid her feet into elegantly wrought slippers that matched the gown's gold embroidery.

Throughout the entire process, Kida offered little suggestions, ensuring that Aiyara's hair was not too severe, that the circlet was positioned just right, and that the gown was neither too tight nor too loose. "You don't want to be uncomfortable tonight," she advised. "Especially if you're greeting half the realm."

Aiyara nodded, a tiny knot forming in her throat again as she thought of the many foreign dignitaries soon to be arrayed in the grand courtyard. Halgaresh, with its famed cavalry. The dwarven holdfasts sending stonemasons and merchants. Elven representatives from the Western Forests. And even the rumored Dragon Empress, a being said to appear humanoid but harbor the full might of her draconic lineage just beneath the surface. Each visitor carried their own agenda, their own hopes and demands. And each would be watching her with hawk-like focus, searching for any sign of weakness—or advantage.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor, accompanied by the distinct jingle of armor. Kida moved swiftly to check the door, opening it just a crack. On the other side stood a young guard, breathless, helmet tucked under one arm. He bowed as soon as he saw the princess. "Begging pardon," he said in a rush, "but we've received word that the palace gates are at capacity with guests. The queen requests Princess Aiyara's presence shortly for the official greeting. Also, your father, King-Consort Masaru, was asking for you."

Kida nodded curtly, then glanced at Aiyara. "We'll be there right away," she replied, dismissing the guard. She closed the door and turned, eyes brimming with a mixture of excitement and concern. "It's time."

Aiyara swallowed her anxiety. "Yes, it is. Let's not keep them waiting." She carefully placed her hands on the folds of her gown, smoothing any wrinkles, and inhaled. Within her chest, her heart pounded a steady rhythm, fueling equal parts resolve and nervousness.

As they made their way out into the corridor, Aiyara took note of the palace's special decorations for the festival: ribbons of red, gold, and teal lining the vaulted ceilings; sconces filled with aromatic candles that scented the halls with cinnamon and lavender; tapestries newly mounted, showcasing Serella, the mother-goddess of Masan. Known as the "Keeper of Tides," she was depicted with flowing hair of seafoam and eyes like the sun's reflection on water, bestowing enchanted shells and pearls upon sea captains of old. Servants bustled everywhere carrying trays laden with sweet pastries, while others hurried in the opposite direction with pitchers of spiced wine for the waiting nobility. It felt like a carnival within a labyrinth, each hallway leading to more spectacle.

The sense of anticipation weighed heavily on the air. Some of the servants paused, bowing low as Aiyara passed in her regal attire. She acknowledged them with a polite nod but kept moving. She could not stop the swirl of thoughts in her head about the massive changes about to unfold. The parallels to the salmon's journey struck her: it was as though she, too, faced a moment of transformation and struggle, forced upstream against social currents.

Their footsteps echoed through the corridors until they reached a pair of tall, intricately carved double doors, guarded by two watchful sentries. Kida gave them a slight nod, and the guards stepped aside, pushing open the doors to reveal a broad staircase. The noise from below rushed in immediately—a chorus of voices, laughter, the strumming of lutes and the rhythmic thump of drums, and the general hum of expectant conversation.

From the top of the staircase, Aiyara peered down at a crowd milling about the main atrium of TideWatch Palace. A mosaic floor depicted the crest of Masan—a stylized wave flanked by olive branches. Lanterns on tall stands provided warm light, illuminating faces turned up toward the staircase. At the center of the crowd, Aiyara recognized her parents, Queen Meilara and King-Consort Masaru, each speaking quietly with some local noble. Off to one side, dwarves clustered in a rowdy knot, gesturing with animated excitement at the palace's architecture. On the opposite side, a bishop from the Church—clad in austere robes—kept near a young woman holding a staff crowned with a curious metallic lotus bloom. That must be the newly anointed Saint Elysia.

Meanwhile, Kida's father, the guard captain, roved among them all, ensuring the guests stayed orderly. Yet the hum of conversation was thick with expectancy, occasionally rippling into hushed whispers that indicated they all knew why they were here: to celebrate the princess's coming of age, yes, but also to witness the queen and king-consort's big announcement about the new world.

Kida touched Aiyara's arm gently. "Ready?" she asked, though it was more rhetorical than anything else.

Aiyara stood taller, forced a calm breath, and tried to exude the composure her station demanded. "Yes," she replied, stepping onto the first stair. The hush that began to fall as she made her entrance sent a shiver down her spine. The music softened, voices grew quieter, and all eyes pivoted in her direction. Her heart pounded, but she lifted her chin and descended, determined not to falter.

In her mind, she repeated the same silent vow she had uttered on the balcony: I will not fail Masan. Even as nerves fluttered inside her, a small thread of pride began weaving through her. She found strength in the city's traditions, in the knowledge that her lineage stood upon centuries of respected queens. She would show them all—visitors and subjects alike—that Princess Aiyara was worthy of the legacy she was about to inherit.