A few deep breaths later, Ryu was able to call on his magic to heal himself, and soon enough the room had stopped spinning around him.
Making sure no one was looking at him, Ryu passed a hand over his forehead. His skin didn’t feel warm, but he still felt out of sorts.
Whatever thos was, it was happening more and more often.
Sudden nausea, aches and pains when he had always enjoyed the supernatural health and healing of his Elven blood, and sudden mood swings.
Ryu had no idea what was wrong. He’d hidden it from his friends and his parents, desperate to find a cure. Or at least, an explanation.
If he ever wanted to ascend to the Throne, he needed to figure out what was happening to him.
And then, he needed to fix it.
He couldn’t continue to be held hostage by his own body.
A powerful ruler couldn’t afford to be weak.
Ryu knew that his father was looking forward to handing over the Court to him. His father’s once vibrant spirit had dulled over the years, and he longed to leave his responsibilities to Ryu, so he could spend his remaining days with his mate and consort, Ryu’s mother.
Ryu wouldn’t let his father down.
He steadied himself, clenching his fists to conceal his discomfort. The sickness that plagued him had become more frequent, a constant reminder of his human fragility in the midst of the elven realm.
Ryu’s eyes fluttered; his forehead beaded with perspiration. The pressure of his responsibilities bore down upon him, both from the court and his own inner demons. He longed for a moment of respite, a chance to shed the facade of strength and allow himself to be vulnerable.
But he couldn’t afford to reveal his weakness. Not in front of the Sanadas, who sought any opportunity to undermine him.
And most importantly, not in front of his father, whose faith in his son’s abilities meant the world to him.
Taking a deep breath, Ryu forced his body to stillness, banishing the telltale signs of illness from his features. He straightened his posture, a mask of calm determination settling over him.
As the night progressed, Ryu continued to play his part, engaging in conversations, offering polite smiles, and concealing his inner turmoil.
Deep within, Ryu resolved to find a way to overcome his affliction. He would discover a remedy to the sickness that threatened to derail his ambitions.
As the court proceedings drew to a close, Ryu found himself alone in the vast chamber.
The Twilight Throne, ancient and mysterious, loomed before him.
It called to him.
It was a symbol of power and authority in the Ellem Isles, an ethereal seat that only accepted those it deemed worthy.
Taking a deep breath, Ryu stepped forward, his heart pounding with anticipation. He reached out to touch the throne, his fingertips tingling with a mix of hope and trepidation.
In his daydreams, he’d imagined a flash of light as the Throne’s magic enveloped him in a warm blanket, like coming home to a roaring fire after a long night out in winter’s chill—but his fingers cramped painfully with the force of the magic that struck him.
Instead of acceptance, the magic within the throne recoiled, rejecting him with an invisible force.
“Incomplete,” a disembodied voice echoed in his mind. “Unworthy.”
Ryu staggered back, his heart sinking. The rejection stung, tearing at the very core of his being. Doubt gnawed at his resolve, but he refused to succumb to its grasp.
He would prove his worth, not just to the court but to himself, as well.
The Throne thought that he wasincomplete?
Well, that meant only one thing. In his mind’s eye, Ryu recalled bright blue eyes, dark brown hair with a shock of silver running through one lock, and quick, sunny smile.
