(KBTCM) Ch 23: The Reason For His Coming

Kerren followed behind Lyra, his boots clicking nervously against the polished marble floors. He kept his eyes low at first, but that didn't

Kerren followed behind Lyra, his boots clicking nervously against the polished marble floors. He kept his eyes low at first, but that didn't last long. Every step down the palace hallways made it harder and harder to not look around like some wide-eyed farm boy.

The ceilings stretched so high they nearly disappeared into shadow, held aloft by columns thicker than any tree he'd ever seen. Banners of deep green and silver hung from above, embroidered with the royal crest of Tirakel—three eyes arranged in a triangle, surrounded by thorned vines. Statues lined the corridors, larger than life, carved in likenesses of past rulers and guardians. Some looked almost human. Most didn't.

And then there were the guards—titan women in plated armor standing like living statues themselves, their spears taller than entire buildings back in Grelling Row. None of them spoke. None of them blinked. Kerren did his best not to look directly at them.

He had never been in a palace before.

He had never even seen the noble district before today.

It felt like walking through a dream... or a trap.

Eventually, Lyra came to a stop at a towering door, easily twenty times Kerren's height, made of polished stone with gold-framed panels. Decorative ivy clung to the edges, and the scent of jasmine floated faintly from somewhere behind it.

Lyra tilted her head up and knocked—well, slammed her fist, really—against the door. The sound echoed through the hallway like someone striking a bell.

"Rowena!" she called. "Open up! You've got a visitor!"

Kerren's heart sank.

"I—I don't think I should be here," he muttered, backing up a step. "This was a bad idea. Maybe just tell her I said hello or something—"

A strong hand gripped the back of his tunic. Arienne.

"Oh no you don't," she said, dragging him forward with casual ease. "You came all this way. Be a man. Or at least try to look like one."

He swallowed hard, his legs nearly locking up.

Then it happened.

The ground shuddered. Not violently—but enough for the three of them to feel it through their feet. Another footstep followed, heavier. Then another. Each one a soft, deliberate thoom, like the steady beat of a war drum. The sound grew louder as it approached.

The door creaked. Then groaned. Then slowly opened inward with a faint rush of perfumed air.

And there she was.

Princess Rowena.

She stood tall in the doorway, her crimson-black hair unbound, cascading in dark waves over her bare shoulders. She wore a loose silken robe the color of deep forest leaves, cinched lazily at the waist, her skin warm and golden in the hallway light. Her amber eyes scanned downward... and then softened.

"Well, Lyra," she said with a wry smile. "Back so soon? What is it now, another report on who's calling me a witch?"

Lyra smirked, stepping aside and gesturing behind her. "Actually, I brought you a friend."

"A... friend?" Rowena repeated, raising an eyebrow. She leaned slightly to the side to peer around Lyra's legs.

Her eyes fell on the boy standing frozen near the wall.

"Kerren?"

Kerren's stomach nearly collapsed in on itself. He cleared his throat, raised a shaky hand, and said, "Uh... hi. It's been a while."

Rowena blinked once, then broke into a warm, almost disbelieving smile.

Behind him, Lyra tilted her head, smirking. "So he wasn't lying. You two do know each other."

Rowena nodded, stepping back slightly from the doorway. "Of course I do."

Then, softly, with more emotion than any of them expected, she added: "Come in, Kerren."

Rowena reached down slowly, one hand offered like a platform, palm open. Kerren hesitated—just for a second—before stepping onto it. Her skin was warm beneath his boots, and he could feel the soft pulse of her heartbeat underfoot. He tried not to stare at the fine lines of her palm or the way her fingers curled protectively around him as she lifted him up.

She carried him with surprising care.

Inside, the room was a massive chamber draped in green velvet and silk. Sunlight streamed through high stained-glass windows, casting patterns of gold and amber across the marble floor. A fire flickered in the hearth on the far wall. Her bed—gods above—was large enough to house an entire inn, its frame carved from dark, spiraling wood and its mattress blanketed with pillows the size of hay bales.

She walked over to her dresser—a long, lacquered surface that might as well have been a polished runway to Kerren—and gently set him down atop it. Her touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

Then she stepped back and sat at the edge of her bed, resting her hands on her knees as she looked at him.

Even sitting, she was several stories tall from his perspective. Her long legs crossed beneath her robe, and her amber eyes settled on him with something soft—curiosity, maybe. Or warmth.

"You look good," she said, voice low and smooth. "Nervous. But good."

Kerren scratched the back of his neck, doing a terrible job of hiding how stiff he felt.

"I'm not nervous," he said, lying terribly.

Rowena just smiled.

"It's been a while," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "I haven't visited the forest since the start of the wet season. I've been... occupied."

Kerren nodded. "Yeah, I figured. You've got a whole kingdom to deal with."

"I still think about it," she said softly. "The glade. Your father's forge. The smell of pine bark."

Kerren smiled at that. "Yeah, well, we've been busy too. Especially with all the new trade coming through."

"Oh?" She tilted her head. "Busy doing what?"

"Well..." Kerren gave a small laugh. "I'm a blacksmith. Well, apprentice blacksmith, technically. Our family's been at it for three generations. My dad—he's probably the best around. He doesn't say it, but he is. He could forge armor out of river rock if you gave him enough time."

Rowena's eyes lit up. "That's amazing. Truly. Our castle was built by master blacksmiths from the Southern Ridge. You know... maybe I could speak to the steward. Get you and your father positions here. In the royal forge."

Kerren looked down at his feet, suddenly sheepish. "That's really kind of you... but my father—he's not the type to take orders. He's set in his ways. Likes the heat of his own forge. Says the mountain speaks better when it's quiet."

Rowena chuckled, her golden eyes crinkling at the corners. "I understand. Artists and their stubborn pride."

She leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees. "But what about you, Kerren? Would you want to work here?"

Kerren hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe. I'd have to think about it."

Rowena nodded, but something in her expression shifted. A silence settled between them, one not awkward, but a little heavier.

Then, finally, she asked—quietly, sincerely:

"Why did you really come to see me?"

Kerren exhaled through his nose, taking a few steps along the dresser to stand closer to her. He looked up at the towering woman before him—the same girl who used to sneak away from the hunting parties just to listen to the fire crackle in his father's forge.

"I heard about what happened," he said. "With the prince... what's-his-name. I didn't catch all the details, but... it sounded bad. I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Rowena's expression froze.

For a moment, she didn't say a word. Then, with a quiet intake of breath, she stood up—suddenly, a little too fast.

"I should get you some juice," she said, already turning toward the far side of the room.

Kerren blinked. "Juice?"

"Yes." Her voice was oddly composed, but her back was to him now. "You're a guest, and it's warm in here, and I'm sure you're thirsty."

He didn't respond right away. From where he stood, he couldn't see her face. But he could see the way her hand moved to brush her hair behind her ear. And he could see the faint flush coloring the back of her neck.

She was blushing.

Rowena.

Princess of Tirakel.

Blushing.