The King's Counsel

The scent of pine and damp earth clung to the air as King Theron’s royal carriage rumbled to a halt outside Kael’s humble dwelling. Even from a distance, the opulence of the King’s entourage was a stark contrast to the simple, sturdy homes of the village. Kael, clad in the ceremonial robes of the Chief Priest, felt a familiar knot of apprehension tighten in his stomach. He had grown accustomed to the villagers’ hushed reverence and their earnest pleas for guidance, but the presence of royalty, especially the King who had placed this mantle upon him, stirred a different kind of unease.

He stepped out from the cool shade of his small home, the sun glinting off the polished wood of the carriage. King Theron, a man whose presence commanded respect without a single uttered word, emerged from within. His face, etched with the wisdom of many years and the weight of a kingdom, held a gentle curiosity as he surveyed Kael. Beside him stood two guards, their armor gleaming, their faces impassive.

“Kael,” the King’s voice was deep, resonant, cutting through the quiet hum of the village. “It is good to see you well. And to see the Crown… in its rightful place.”