Vicious Eyes and Malicious White Lies

Chapter III

AYDEN

It was clear that I was not welcome in the Golden Palace. Sure, the trumpets exulted my arrival and I was honoured as a treasured guest. But the Revelians had no love for me. Even the guards whispered bitter words as I walked by, killing the conversation when I was in earshot. Even Commander Ava held a personal grudge. "If your son ever draws his sword on a Revelian again, I will see to it that your son is sacrificed to the Shrine." She had said to me. I could still feel the frostbite from her words.

To escape the vicious eyes of the castle, I had ventured into the woods to the east of Carleone. It was peaceful here. The trees didn't detest me, and if they did, they did not show it. I sat at the summit of the hill on which the forest had grown. I was kept company by the crumbling stones of an on Shrinery, long forgotten by the Druids. There was no doubt that this ancient Shrinery had seen the rise of Carleone over its years. In many ways, I preferred the Shrinery to the cold, unfeeling residence of the Revelians. The Shrineries had the blessings of a thousand Druids and could not be touched by the cold. Snow fell around them, but avoided the holy area altogether.

I was probably the only person alive who knew of this Shrinery. Many of the long rocks that drew the perimeters had toppled over. No signs of use or life could be seen. And with the beating heart of Soren resting at the foot of the hill, it was safe to say that not many people paid attention to these woods. But I found it a tranquil place to be; away from all the conniving lords and ladies. And the view never failed to take my breath away. I could see all of Carleone, the rooftops covered in snow. Looming above the city was the Golden Palace, in all its golden glory. Thanks to the lingering magics of generations of Revelians, its walls and roofs were unblemished by snow.

The Golden Palace was everything it was made out to be. It was twice the size of Carleone and the hundreds of its towers frowned down upon the city. It was made of rose-gold, rose-quartz, marble, and other lavish materials that many people couldn't even dream of. The orange, setting sun glistened on the gold and brought the castle to life. The mighty walls twisted and bent around countless courtyards, lakes and forests, trapping all of them in the castle's grip. Among these fancified scatters of encaptured nature were an endless number of keeps. And they all amalgamated to form the revered Golden Palace. It had been said that the gold used to make it was created by the Thaelariuses. A forest stood where the castle now stands, and they ordered it to be chopped down. Using magic, the wood was converted into the glistening gold. Such feats of magic were possible back then, but centuries of breeding has diluted the magic in the house's blood.

Wars had begun and ended within its walls. Multiple times, the Revelians had been driven from the Palace. But they had always returned to reclaim it. After many centuries of this, the castle became synonymous with the Revelian name. This was further cemented by the thousands of Revelian banners that flung from the peaks of the castle; the violet rose on a golden backdrop.

It had been constructed by the Thaelariuses after they stole Soren from the clutch of the Horrors. But no Thaelarius had seen the castle completed. The first person to set foot in the finished product was Richard Revelian II, two hundred years after the Thaelarius name died out and three hundred after the construction had began. The time it took to raise the giant from the ground was a perfect testament to how massive it was. In fact, it is not uncommon for inhabitants of the castle to live out their entire lives without ever venturing to certain reaches of the palace. One can only guess at what secrets have been forgotten in the golden walls.

I walked over to the Altar in the middle of the Shrinery, my footsteps rang on the stone floor. Birds flew overhead and sang down to me. I brushed my hands across the smooth rock. While most of the Shrinery had been worn down by time, the Altar was still perfectly chiselled. Whether it was the Druids' magic or the will of the Gods, the Shrine's Altars never faded into the years. For a moment, I could hear the cries of the souls who had been sacrificed on the Altar. How many people have been killed here for the Gods, I wondered.