The grand hall of Ironhelm Castle gleamed with radiance as sunlight streamed through its towering stained-glass windows. Chandeliers of polished crystal hung suspended in perfect symmetry, their countless facets scattering a kaleidoscope of light across the polished obsidian floors. Massive tapestries adorned the walls, each depicting the triumphs and lineage of House Orlean, the kingdom's proud heritage woven into every thread.
The air inside was heavy with the scent of beeswax candles, freshly cut flowers, and the faint tang of polished steel from the ceremonial guards stationed at every corner. Servants moved with hurried precision, their footsteps muffled against the stone floors as they carried trays of food, goblets of wine, and freshly pressed garments to their intended places. The soft murmur of their whispers mingled with their rhythmic preparation, filling the space with a sense of quiet urgency.
It was no ordinary day. The occasion was twofold: the thirteenth birthday of Prince Liam and the Rite of Recognition, a tradition steeped in history. On this day, in the 24th year of King Elijah Orlean's reign, during the 8th month of Alden, the youngest son of the Ironhelm dynasty would take his first official step into the royal race for the throne.
The hall brimmed with nobles in resplendent attire, their hushed whispers and speculation weaving in the hall like invisible threads. Outside the towering stained-glass windows, the faint toll of the bell tower echoed across the castle grounds, announcing the ceremony's imminent start.
It was a day meant for celebration, yet an undercurrent of tension threaded its way through the gathered crowd. For Liam, the thirteenth prince, was an enigma. No feats of mana had been witnessed in him, no promising talent to speak of. Among the court, he was not viewed as a challenger but as a mere formality—a shadow among brighter stars.
And yet, the one at the heart of this ceremony—the boy who should command their focus—was nowhere to be seen.
Liam woke with a start, the muffled bustle of activity outside his chambers pulling him from restless dreams. The golden light of the afternoon sun streamed through the tall arched windows of his room, casting warm patterns across the stone walls and the tangle of sheets he had kicked to the floor during the night. Blinking away the haze of sleep, he waved a hand lazily, and the heavy curtains drew back. The windows creaked open with the faint hum of telekinesis, inviting in a gentle breeze that stirred the stagnant air. With a sigh, Liam moved toward the grooming chamber.
Holding his hand just above the water basin, he flicked his wrist. A faint luminescence bloomed at his fingertips, a soft, silvery-blue glow that shimmered like starlight reflecting on a lake. The magic sank into the still water, chilling it instantly, sending tendrils of cool mist rising into the warm air. Liam splashed the enchanted water over his face, the crisp coldness jolting him fully awake.
Straightening his rumpled blue tunic, he then turned toward the door, his gaze lingering on the thick plank he had deliberately placed to bar anyone from forcing their way in. The locks on the door had already been disabled by magic earlier in the morning—an intrusion that hadn't gone unnoticed. But Liam had anticipated this and had secured the door with the heavy plank as a final measure to ensure no one could disturb him while he rested.
He gripped the plank firmly, lifting it with a grunt and setting it aside. As the heavy door creaked open, he was greeted by the sight of his butler flanked by two maids. Mara, a petite young woman with neatly tied auburn hair and sharp, observant eyes, stood beside Trisha.
The butler's sharp, disapproving gaze met Liam's, his lips pressed into a thin line. The maids, standing nervously behind him, glanced between Liam and the freshly removed plank, clearly unsure whether to speak or wait for the butler to address the situation.
The butler, an older man with a neatly trimmed beard and a posture as rigid as the palace gates, folded his hands behind his back, stepping just inside the doorway. His deep voice carried the weight of practiced authority as he regarded Liam with a mixture of sternness and patience.
"Master Liam," he began, his tone calm but with a trace of warmth, "while I normally don't concern myself with the hours you choose to wake, today is different. This is your day—your Rite of Recognition. The court awaits, and I would hate for you to face unnecessary displeasure from His Majesty."
Liam met the butler's gaze evenly, his expression unreadable. "I'm aware, Edwin," he replied coolly, leaning the plank carefully against the wall.
Liam crossed his arms, his youthful features betraying a flicker of irritation. "I didn't ask to be woken before the sun was fully up. It's my day, after all. Surely, they can wait a few more minutes for the least important prince to make his grand entrance."
Edwin's lips tightened, though his eyes held a glimmer of understanding. "You may feel overlooked, Master Liam, but that doesn't mean you should play into their expectations. The Rite is more than just a formality—it's a moment to show who you are, even if the court hasn't seen it yet."
Liam shrugged, the hint of a smirk lingering. "I'm sure they'll see exactly what they expect."
The maids behind Edwin shifted nervously but stepped forward at his subtle nod. "Come," Edwin said, his voice softer now, "let's get you dressed properly. You're a prince, Master Liam, whether they believe it or not. Let us ensure you look the part."
Without protest, Liam allowed the maids to guide him to a chair near the window. They worked quickly but carefully, straightening his tunic, securing a thin belt with the royal crest, and fitting his ceremonial boots. One adjusted his hair, smoothing the stubborn strand that always curled rebelliously against the rest.
Edwin observed silently, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. When the maids stepped back with murmured approval, he gave a satisfied nod.
Liam stood, tugging slightly at the stiff fabric. Brushing past Edwin into the corridor, he spoke, "Let's get this over with."
The grand doors of the hall creaked open, drawing the attention of every noble, knight, and courtier present. Conversations were hushed. All eyes turned toward the boy who entered, his small frame momentarily dwarfed by the towering doors behind him.
Liam stepped forward. Dressed in ceremonial robes of deep sapphire, trimmed with silver embroidery, he exuded an understated elegance that contrasted sharply with his youth. His black hair, smoothed neatly by the maids, caught the light of the crystal chandeliers, and his pale, sharp features bore an expression of calm detachment, as though he were entirely unaffected by the hundreds of gazes fixed on him.
He walked alone, unaccompanied by Edwin, who was now alongside other servants of the House of Orlean. His emerald-green eyes, swept over the assembled crowd briefly before landing on the gilded dais at the center of the hall.
The line of his twelve brothers stood before him, their poised and practiced stances a stark contrast to Liam's measured ease. Whispers rippled among the courtiers—some curious, others dismissive—wondering if the thirteenth prince, the boy with no known talent for mana, could truly be worthy of this moment.
Liam came to a stop at the foot of the dais, his hands resting lightly at his sides. His expression betrayed no nerves, no insecurity, only a quiet resolve. With a final glance toward his father's throne, he awaited the his arrival.
Before the king could make his entrance, a tall figure broke away from the line of princes. Adrian, the eldest, strode forward with confidence. His golden hair gleamed under the light, and his warm, easy smile softened the otherwise imposing figure of the firstborn son.
"Liam," Adrian said, his voice carrying across the hall as he extended his arms. "Congratulations, little brother. Today marks your first step into the legacy of our house."
The crowd watched as Adrian pulled Liam into a firm embrace, a gesture of brotherly affection that seemed genuine, yet undoubtedly carried the weight of his polished image. Liam returned the hug with a faint smile, his arms briefly wrapping around his brother before stepping back.
"It's good to see you, Adrian," Liam said, his tone polite yet guarded. "I appreciate the encouragement."
Before Adrian could respond, another figure emerged from the line. Malcolm, the fifth prince, followed with a grin that was far less formal but equally warm. His dark brown hair was slightly disheveled, and his casual demeanor stood in contrast to Adrian's regal bearing.
"About time you joined the fold, Liam," Malcolm said, clapping a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "For the record, I'd bet good coin you'll surprise a few of these stiff-necked nobles before long."
Liam chuckled, a genuine sound this time. "I wouldn't take that bet, brother. It's not exactly a safe wager."
Malcolm laughed in return. The bond between the three brothers was evident—born of the same mother, they shared a connection that the others lacked, even amidst the rivalries and politics of the royal court.
As if prompted by this show of unity, the remaining brothers began to approach one by one. Each offered their own version of congratulations, though their intentions varied. Some, like the third prince, the eldest of his brothers, wore a thinly veiled mask of condescension, as if fulfilling a chore. Others, such as the ninth, offered only a stiff nod, his eyes betraying a calculating glint.
Liam accepted each gesture with the same polite indifference, maintaining the composed demeanor he had practiced so carefully. While some of his brothers sought to intimidate or assert their superiority, others appeared genuine in their encouragement, though Liam knew better than to trust any display of goodwill at face value.
Before the line of princes could fully settle, a group of sisters began to approach from the hall's side entrances. Liam turned his gaze toward them, noting the variety of expressions they wore, ranging from pride to playful amusement. Though none of them stood in line for succession, their presence in court still carried subtle weight, each tied to alliances and their mother's political influence.
The eldest sibling, Cassandra, and his sole blood-related sister, draped in a flowing gown of royal blue, arrived first.
Her movements were poised and deliberate, her sharp features softened by a rare smile. "Happy birthday, brother," she said, her voice warm but tinged with the authority she carried as one of the kingdom's most influential figures. "You've grown so much since the last time we spoke. Today, you step into a role that will define you. I hope you're prepared."
"Thank you, sister," Liam replied, bowing his head slightly. "I'll try to meet everyone's expectations—though I imagine they aren't particularly high."
Cassandra gave a soft laugh, brushing a strand of dark hair over her shoulder. "Low expectations can work in your favor, little brother. Just remember that."
Behind her, the twins, Elaine and Evaline, second and third among his sisters, followed. Their identical features were marked by the same mischievous glint in their amber eyes. "Liam, look at you!" Elaine exclaimed, clasping his hands. "The baby of the family is finally growing up."
"He cleans up well, doesn't he?" Evaline added with a teasing grin. "Though I suppose the maids deserve the credit for that."
Liam rolled his eyes but allowed himself a small smile. "You're both as insufferable as ever. I'll take that as a compliment."
The twins laughed in unison, their lively energy drawing smiles even from some of the watching courtiers.
The youngest of his sisters, Cecily, delicate and shy, approached hesitantly. At only fifteen, she clutched a small bouquet of wildflowers in her hands, clearly plucked from the gardens rather than arranged by any palace servant. "Happy birthday, brother," she murmured, offering the bouquet.
Liam knelt slightly to take the flowers, his expression softening. "Thank you, sister. These are beautiful."
The interactions with his sisters were far less complicated than those with his brothers, though Liam still remained cautious. In the royal family, even affection could be layered with subtle intentions. As the sisters returned to their places among the nobles, the hall fell silent once more, the anticipation for King Elijah's arrival reaching its peak.