There was a soft knocking on the other side of the door, and turning to it, Tristan saw Edmund's head poking through with a frown. "Tristan, why are you acting up so much after hearing that fortune teller. There's no need to think so deeply about it. It's a common trick done at these types of things." Tristan narrowed his eyes and shook his head. For the past few hours, he had been thinking about what the prophecy predicted as well as how the old man knew about the voice. By the end of it, there was only one conclusion.
The prophecy that the old man mentioned throughout was the moment he had been waiting for his entire life. What that burden was, Tristan couldn't be sure, as there were too many choices for it. The burden wasn't on his mind, but the rest of it. The entire thing screamed that his life would be hard. That anything he wanted that he got would be short-lived.
'No. Bar the burden, everything can likely be changed. That must be the case.' Edmund sighed, seeing Tristan once again being sucked into his own mind, 'Who is that old man? Is he really a normal person with knowledge of the Arcane or is there soemthing else, soemthing more that Annabell can't sense?'
"Tristan," Edmund finally spoke, annoyed. He had wanted to spend time with his friend for a while, yet the moment they arrived, one thing had caused him to lock himself away. Now that he had come to collect him, he still got lost in his own mind.
"Sorry. What is it?"
"The King is hosting the opening feast. Everyone has to be there." Looking out the window, Edmund sighed, "We probably have five minutes before our arrival is considered rude." Tristan shot up, realising his mistake and quickly prepared himself. Combing his hair to the side, he put on a small set of black robes that would be considered humble for Royalty, and quickly sprayed on some perfume. Even if he didn't care so much about his appearance, he knew better than to dress or present himself in a way that could embarrass Anton before the Great Lords.
Rushing through the fort halls, the two looked at one another and nodded before slowing down before the double doors and stepping in, their backs straight with calm looks on their faces. Edmund silently broke off from Tristan, moving towards his mother. Despite not having the rank to do so, he sat closer to Anton thanks to his mother. Looking around at the spaces free, Tristan quickly chose one.
It was a seat further than a Cosmaton should have been from Anton, but one that allowed him to watch nearly every space with a clear view. Leaning back, he let his family slowly walk in and held his hand out. White smoke came from it, and soon Annabell appeared.
Many of the minor lords who had arrived and were allowed to join the feast widened their eyes in shock, seeing the Cosmaton power for the first time, whereas his family shot questioning looks at Tristan, wondering why he was summoning the bird. Only Cillian, Brandon and Edmund didn't react, noticing it and choosing to ignore it. Tritsan watched those by the head of the table as Bradon spoke to his son, whilst his finger tapped the table in a rhythmic pattern, his eyes focused on something else in the distance.
Follow that gaze, he saw the chameleon blending in with the wall, its blinking eye visible. Mary scrutinised Edmund, messing around with his clothes and hair, trying to sculpt him into her perfect image, as Wells sat by her side, choosing to ignore it, his eyes closed as he breathed faintly.
By Antons' seat, three places were left for his children, followed by Brandon and the rest. On his right, the empty spaces for the Great Lords. Their sigils hung behind the chairs. Tristan leaned back, lifting his glass of wine and talking to Annabell, so no one would approach him, deciding to watch the room as it slowly filled.
Every place available for the minor lords quickly filled. Some who sat close to Tristan tried to speak to him, but stopped when they saw him ignore them, scowling and clicking their tongues, insulting him under their breath.
Finally, the first great Lord arrived. The doors flew open as Lord Clover walked in, already holding a glass of wine, wearing white and gold robes obviously made from the finest silks available, with a giant five-leaf clover on the back. Covering himself in gold and silver jewellery, he was making it clear that his family was the richest in the realm behind the Cosmatons. Basking in the fawning gazes of those who looked at him, he brushed his hand through his hair, and rather than going around directly, climbed over the table, spinning and dropping into his seat.
Brandon frowned and clicked his fingers, a group of servants running over to take the table away and replace it with another. The doors opened again, and a man with cool grace stepped through, his demeanour a stark difference to his orange eyes burning like an inferno barely contained.
His long brown hair was tied in a ponytail, neatly sitting atop his orange outfit. As the youngest of the great lords, Issac Sunflare took the position at the age of twenty-five from his father. Standing proudly, he walked forward and looked at Lord Clover for a moment, knowing he was the reason for a new table being fitted before taking a seat next to him.
There was not a moment of rest as Lord Makepiece walked in, an elegant old man walking with a cane he didn't need, his features the most normal of the Great Lords, with grey hair and brown eyes. Matching the culture of his lands, he wore a large fur coat, made from the pelt of a fox, draped over a freshly pressed shirt, atop his head a hat with three feathers of different colours. Rubbing his beard, he walked over to Brandon, gave an elegant bow, and said a few pleasantries before taking a seat.
"Tristan," Annabell said, watching the arrival of the Great Lords. "All of them are terrifying." Her voice was unnaturally quiet as she said that, afraid that they might overhear her.
"What's wrong?" Tristan could already guess it was the special powers through their families that had Annabell worked up. The Small dove sank her head into her body.
"There's a strong power in all of them. Something old. It's like the Cosmaton but different. A different source, it feels like." Tristan nodded and pet Annabell, soothing her worries. Tristan watched as Lord Sunflare and Clover spoke; the lord of Helios' smile was fake compared to his counterpart's wide, real one that came along with a booming laugh.
"NOW ENTERING HIS GRACE, KING ANTON! HIS HIGHNESS, CROWN PRINCE ELIAS, PRINCESS MABEL AND PRINCE MATHEW!" A cry echoed, and every lord rose. The minor lords gave deep bows to the three, while the Great Lords gave half bows. Anton paid no mind to them all, finding his seat and relaxing, watching the people with sharp eyes. His children took their places, Elias' distrustful gaze switching from the great lords and Brandon repeatedly. Mabel paid no attention, her head held high as she arrogantly sat down. Matthew was different, sunk into his shoulders, muttering to himself, his dark eyes lost in a trance.
"My lords." Anton rose, holding a glass of wine, quieting the room once he got a good read of it. "I thank you all for joining me in the celebrations of my crowning." His eyes swept over everyone, making sure to spot who respectfully looked at him and who didn't, "I don't wish to keep you all waiting with a boring speech, so I shall say this." His tone was flat, lacking any warmth, almost like he also didn't wish to be there. "The future is bright, for us all. A strong crown means a strong nobility. Let us serve one another and with it, prosper." Raising his glass, he took a drink, joined by the rest of the crowd. As he sat, the doors opened as hundreds of servants walked in, laying out a feast across the many tables.
It wasn't a speech to inspire the lords, Tristan could see that much; instead, he only said it becuase it was his duty to give a hint of what his rule would provide. Tristan ate, enjoying watching the people around, listening to their conversations, only speaking to Annabell when it seemed like someone was about to speak to him. Music played from a catwalk above, a slow song played at the start of any feast, 'The Lord's Toast', a song made in honour of a story in the holy texts about the feast of the Lord of Creation and the Gods beneath them.
Turning his head, he heard the door open again. Stepping in, a Lady wearing black and red proudly walked forward, uncaring that she was late. Her pale skin looked like wax, as if she had never stepped outside. Her face was gorgeous, with a pair of secretive red lips curled in a thin smile, underneath a pair of white irises that looked like they belonged to the blind. Atop her head, her black hair was braided into a crown, a red pin with the Blackwell sigil engraved in it holding it all together. Her black dress looked like one for a funeral, the only sign of colour the red of her gloves.
"Forgive me for my tardiness. Your Grace." Her tone was haughty yet mesmerising, adding the finishing touches to a woman who captivated all. The effect was clear, with only Brandon, Cillian, Anton, Elias, Mabel and the great Lords not sucked in.
"Tristan," Annabell softly said on his shoulder. Tristan looked over, hearing the confusion in her tone this time. "She doesn't feel alive." Tristan looked at Annabell and raised an eyebrow, "I don't know, I need to be closer, but that woman. She feels like a corpse. She doesn't have the power that the other ones, called Great Lords, have."