The Trial Arc

Chapter One: The Journey Home

"Your Imperial Highness..."

A scornful laugh successfully broke the silence in a rocky journey towards Mirizgrad. Twin midnight blue eyes rolled to glare intensely at silver haired man who was riding next to him. As expected, the silver haired man kept his tender smile and soft gaze at him.

"Are you cold? I have some thick clothes with me if you-"

Ivan forced an ingratiating smile. He looked downwards at his limbs. All cuffed with anti-magic metal. Or... were they made from a metal that is fatal to a Fae? Often he heard of these cuffs before, but he had never tried any of them, and to his surprise, he who had never thought that one day he too will become their victim. Ironically, for who had worked so hard to put Justice where it should be, now is slowly falling into a dark abyss called 'Crime'.

"Please stop, Lord Nocturnov. Save up your concern for your own matters."

Ivan broke the eye contact he made with Lucien to face the horror being encaged in an iron cage. It was more to an order than a request. Exhibited from his pride born as a prince, that clouded his mind about the situation he was currently being. Sadly, every nerve in his body kept on reminding him about the wicked, heartless cold night journey being in like a captured bird in an iron cage on the wheels. Leaning against the unsympathetic iron bars further tormented his biscuit thin like body, Ivan could feel spine-chilling breeze pricked on him wholly that made he hugged himself, trying his best to hide his shaking body.

Ever since the sun had faded from its dutifully task, it is also to mean the heat it brought along too dissolved and gone, replaced by spring wind swirled that licked every warmth in its course. The heavenly mat darkened in timely with the time progressed, silence to wrap the earth into their resting, offering a comfort desire to release the fatigue of the day and relaxation for the night.

Despite of the night being a resting time for most living creatures, it is also the time for active activities for the nocturnal beings. And a perfect moment to send the messages of love and hidden schemes. One of them is a cover up escort of a VIP to the capital, yet nothing in presence his majestic grandeur of his regalia nor banners of his Insignia nor a ceremonial procession.

Only, Lucien on his favourite virgin pearl white stallion, and his right-hand man, Dmitry Fradkov, as the coachee, to manoeuvre the iron cage on the wheels on an unpassable, deafening route, passing through the chilly still night.

From time to time, Lucien glanced at Ivan, worrying greatly as he held tightly in his palm a pendant crafted in the shape of a golden firebird with eyes and tails bejewelled with ruby studs. The pendant nonetheless is a regalia of the Tsesarevich, given to Ivan during his ceremony of installing him as the First Tsesarevich of Mechtatsvete.

"My beloved son..." Lucien murmured softly, where the words were too quick to disperse into icy breath of wind.

Uhuk Uhuk...

Ivan gasped. Sudden bouts of a terrible, strained coughing, lasting in minutes, disrupting his attempt to get some sleep. Clutching hard his chest, the seconds Ivan felt band-like sensation gripping tightly his lungs, defeating them to surrender their normally functions. As the time passed, he could hear them crying for more oxygen, his breathing pace became shallower, producing wheezing sound.

"Your Imperial Highness, you are fragile to the cold weather."

The prince lingered his midnight blue eyes behind the iron bars towards Lord Nocturnov. They narrowed in sync with his crooked mauve lips. The stare was cold, blank, dark and empty, like a dead star. Lucien bit his lips tight, in disappointment, seeing his beloved nephew had lost his light, warmth and gentleness. Once who shone brilliantly like a silver full moon in the grace of berry heavenly ceiling mat.