CHAPTER 53: THE TIME HAS COME
A single, translucent thread of drool stretched from the corner of John's mouth to the pool of saliva that had accumulated on the desk.
Books were stacked in lopsided towers around him, spanning the massive oak table he had claimed days prior.
He was sound asleep. His dark hair, usually kept neatly combed in a manner befitting royalty, was a chaotic, bird-nest mess, sticking out at bizarre angles.
A soft, armor-clad step echoed against the marble floor, followed by a polite, low cough.
"My lord."
His eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry as he blinked against the warm light coming from the magic crystals above.
John pushed himself up groggily, rubbing a hand over his face as his spine creaked in protest.
He looked up to find Sir Marcus standing a respectful distance away with a small bow.
"Marcus...?" John's sleepy voice came out. "What is it?"
"Lady Aleswith sent me to call you, My Lord," Marcus replied, keeping his head slightly bowed.
"She requests that you return to your quarters immediately to prepare. The delegation from the Darkmire Kingdom—and Princess Raven herself—will arrive at the palace by noon today."
It took a while for the words to register in John's brain. And the moment they did, the fog in his brain suddenly lifted.
"Wait... today? How long have I been here?"
[You've been cooped up in this place for almost three full days, John.]
Echo's resigned voice resonated dryly within his mind.
[I was beginning to think you planned on taking up permanent residence here. Or maybe become the librarian.]
John let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand through his messy dark hair.
Three days... he thought, looking around at the dozen open texts scattered across the desk.
Three days, and I still have nothing to show for it. Not even close.
As he stood up from the chair, a sudden, brutal throb spiked behind his temples.
John winced, grabbing the edge of the heavy table as a wave of dizziness swept through him, his breath catching in his throat.
[Careful,] Echo warned with a serious tone.
[You need to watch out for your body.]
John gripped his temples, waiting for the throbbing pain to subside into a dull ache.
How much time do I actually have before this physique drives me insane?
[As long as you don't exert yourself or tamper with your energy, then you can take things a little slowly. ]
[But as I said, don't exert yourself… just play the pampered prince and you will have more time.]
"Understood..." John muttered under his breath, taking a slow, steadying breath before looking up at the waiting knight.
"Lead the way, Marcus."
***
Back in his private quarters, the fog of exhaustion began to clear as his mind became refreshed after a cold bath.
John dried off and stepped in front of the tall, gilded floor mirror standing near his wardrobe.
The reflection looking back at him was striking. It was definitely more "pretty boy" than battle-hardened warrior. Because his ticking time-bomb of a physique meant hitting the gym was a literal death wish.
He was completely unbuilt, rocking a lean, delicate, slender frame instead.
Still, he was tall and had a handsome face. That counted for something, right?... well, maybe if he had at least a little bit of muscle.
His messy dark hair fell effortlessly around a sharp, ridiculously sculpted jawline, framing a remarkably pretty face and a pair of deep crimson eyes that burned like glowing embers.
He pulled on a tailored tunic of deep navy and silver, adjusting the high collar with a quiet, contemplative gaze, the loose silk draping effortlessly over his slender frame.
"Well," John murmured to himself. Offering a faint, self-deprecating nod toward the glass. "At least I inherited a pretty face."
A snort echoed sharply in his mind.
[A pretty face?] Echo scoffed, his voice practically dripping with theatrical disdain.
[A common toad looking into a puddle and admiring its warts! How dare a fragile mortal like you utter such vain nonsense in the presence of my divine, transcendent essence? In my true form, the very stars would bow to—]
You don't even have a body right now, John interrupted dryly, cutting off the rant before it could truly begin.
Echo went dead silent for a fraction of a second before muttering a faint, indignantly dramatic huff in the back of John's mind.
John shook his head, a small, subtle smirk touching his lips.
Unbelievable. He's even more narcissistic than my brother.
Yet, as quickly as the lighthearted thought came, it withered away. John's gaze lingered on the crimson eyes in the mirror, and for a fleeting moment, the royal chamber seemed to dissolve around him.
His mind drifted backward, pulled into the cold, silent depths of a memory he tried desperately to bury.
The sterile air of the morgue, the pale, lifeless face of his brother lying on a steel slab. And the bitter, sharp sting of the betrayal that had followed after.
His girlfriend's eyes, the casual cruelty of her choices...
A sudden chill ran down his spine. John closed his eyes tight, taking a sharp breath, and violently shoved the memory back into the dark.
Focus on the present, he told himself harshly. The past is dead… Literally.
Shaking off the ghost of his old life, John smoothed down his tunic and stepped out into the sunlit grand corridor of the East Wing.
Waiting for him near the marble staircase was his mother, dressed in an immaculate gown of spun silver and velvet.
As John approached, Aleswith's eyes brightened, a soft, maternal warmth illuminating her features.
"Look at you," she said softly, reaching out to gently brush a stray hair strand from his forehead.
"So handsome. A true prince of the realm."
Before John could even offer a modest response, her expression flipped entirely, her eyebrows knitting together into a sharp, stern scold.
"Which is precisely why you should know better than to lock yourself away in one place for three days straight!"
She chastised, her voice dropping into a stern reprimand as she began walking alongside him down the hall.
"No proper meals, no sleep. You know that sunlight is essential for your body, right?"
"... Do you have any idea how worried I was, John? I tell you now, if you do something like that again you won't like the consequences."
John kept his gaze forward, taking the lecture with a twitching smile.
"I apologize, Mother. I lost track of time."
Aleswith sighed, her stern edge softening into resigned affectionate worry as they reached the grand entry hall.
"Just... promise me you will take care of yourself. I cannot bear to see you look so pale."
"I will," John replied quietly.
They turned the final corner, stepping out into the expansive, sun-drenched central courtyard where the royal entourage had already assembled.
Arrayed along the marble steps were ranks of knights in polished gold-plated armor, banners fluttering in the warm mountain breeze.
Standing at the center of it all, broad and imposing, was the Emperor himself, his aura commanding the court's absolute silence.
John took his place beside his mother, trying to look composed, not knowing what to expect.
A trumpet sounded from atop the outer gates, its high-pitched blast echoing across the valley.
"Announcing the arrival of the Darkmire Delegation!" the herald shouted.
The heavy, iron-reinforced gates swung open with a deep groan.
A procession of sleek, obsidian carriages drawn by dark-armored steeds rolled through, carrying the diplomats, high officials, and royal guard.
They pulled to the sides of the broad courtyard, clearing the main path.
Before the carriages even came to a complete stop, the temperature in the courtyard plummeted.
A massive, unnatural shadow blotted out the sun as a chilling gust of wind swept across the marble steps, causing the imperial banners to snap wildly.
High above, a massive undead wyrm plunged from the clouds. Stripped down to pale, ancient bone and draped in tattered shadow-scale. Its ribcage glowed with a faint, necrotic purple flame.
The beast swept its skeletal wings, sending a harsh gust of wind through the courtyard as its heavy talons slammed onto the marble pavement with a ground-shaking thud.
The beast let out a low, vibrating growl that rattled the stone beneath everyone's feet, its massive head lowering until it rested against the ground in submission.
Nestled securely between its spiked, shadow-draped shoulder blades was a small, ornate palanquin made of dark crystal.
A sleek, silver-embroidered cloak appeared first as a slender but curvy figure stepped out directly onto the creature's lowered snout, followed closely by a taller, far more imposing cloaked companion.
The woman glided down the wyrm's bone ridge with flawless, practiced elegance before stepping onto the courtyard pavement.
Raising her head toward the imperial family, the deep hood of her dark cloak completely obscured her face in shadow, showing nothing of her face to the gathered people.
John's couldn't help but stare in awe at the beast.
Talk about a dramatic entrance.