Henry III began his ascent up the stone steps of the Orlando fortress, his steps heavy with the weight of his thoughts. His mind was a whirlwind of worry. Amid the chaos of the war with the Pamir Empire, he now had to clean up the mess his own child had created. The burden was almost unbearable.
The queen had pleaded with him, weeping, to save their daughter, Princess Elise. But the reality Henry faced was harsh and unyielding. When he heard of Elise succumbing to the temptations of an otherworldly force and spiraling toward ruin, he felt as though the air had been knocked from his lungs.
Already worn down by the war, this revelation struck him like another fatal blow.
The corridors of the fortress were dim and somber. Flickering torches cast shadows that danced across the stone walls, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. The sound of Henry III's heavy footsteps echoed through the long hallway.
The air was cold, the old stone walls exuding a chill that seeped into his skin. Through a narrow window, he could see the devastated plains beyond—a desolate landscape that only deepened his sorrow. How joyful had he been to hear the news of victory from this very fortress?
Standing outside the chamber, Henry III paused to steady his breath. The time had come to face the truth.
When he finally entered the room, his gaze fell on his daughter lying motionless on the bed. Her face was pale, devoid of the life and vibrance he once knew. The sight of the daughter he had cherished so dearly in such a state tore at his heart.
Despite all her misdeeds, Henry III's love for Elise remained unbroken. His eyes traced the outline of her face and fell on her frail hand, resting outside the blanket. He reached for it, wrapping his own fingers around hers.
Her wrist was slender, her skin cold, yet her pulse still faintly throbbed. But that was all—she showed no signs of awareness. The otherworldly force had drained the very essence of her life.
"Elise…" he murmured, her name escaping his lips like a sob. Kneeling by her bedside, Henry gripped her hand tightly. Memories of walking hand in hand through the royal gardens flashed through his mind. She had once been so radiant, her laughter as bright as the sun.
"What happened to you?" His voice was thick with a mixture of anger and sorrow. Whatever Elise had done, she was still his daughter. But the situation left him no room for sentimentality. A decision had to be made.
Faced with the responsibilities of a king and the love of a father, Henry III, as always, chose the former.
Rising from his knees, Henry turned to face Charles V, who was seated in a shadowed corner of the room. Charles sat with his head bowed, hands resting on his knees, utterly still. His vacant expression betrayed the immense pain he was enduring.
Henry felt the surge of emotions threatening to choke him. But he knew the moment had come for resolution.
"We… have much to discuss," Henry said, his voice trembling.
Charles V, still clutching his hands tightly, responded without looking up. "…Indeed. Let us move somewhere more appropriate."
Charles V and Henry III sat across from each other in a quiet reception room within the fortress. The two kings, once commanding and resolute, now looked pale and worn. Their faces were gaunt, and shadows under their eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
The proud authority of their thrones had long since faded. They sat hunched, like old lions robbed of their strength.
A cold draft blew through the stone chamber. The walls, aged and cracked, radiated the chill of winter. The fireplace held only the barest remnants of a fire, its faint warmth insufficient to banish the room's cold.
The table between them was strewn with papers and untouched wine glasses. Neither king had the will to drink; they avoided each other's gaze, silently reflecting on the failures of their children.
They had weathered countless battles and political struggles, but now they found themselves powerless against the fallout of their offspring's reckless decisions.
"Where did it all go wrong?" Charles V finally broke the silence, his voice low and dry.
Henry III sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead with a hand that trembled from exhaustion. After a long pause, he replied, "I don't know. They were children with so much potential for happiness."
He had sent his daughter to Lania for political reasons, but when he heard of her falling in love, he had rejoiced. Yet their story had ended in tragedy.
Charles V's gaze shifted to the window. Outside, the night sky was clear, its stars shining brightly—a cruel contrast to the darkness they faced. Henry III took a trembling sip from his wine glass, trying to steady himself.
The dual weight of war with the Pamir Empire and the aftermath of their children's actions cast a heavy shadow over both their faces.
Summoning his resolve, Henry III looked directly at Charles V. Seeing the other king sitting there, clutching his hands with a vacant expression, Henry was struck by the cruelty of time. Memories of their shared past, even attending each other's weddings, only deepened the ache.
Suppressing the tears threatening to rise, Henry III finally spoke.
"Let's discuss how we're going to handle this."
His voice, breaking the silence, made Charles V lift his head abruptly. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity as he stared at Henry III. For a fleeting moment, Charles wanted to lash out, to speak the raw truth boiling within him.
"Handle this? How do you propose we handle this mess your daughter has caused? Can you undo the damage and restore my son to his former self?"
But he swallowed his words. Before being a grieving father, Charles was the leader of the Three Kingdoms Alliance. He couldn't let his emotions dictate his actions. And deep down, he knew his son bore his share of responsibility.
Exhaling a long sigh, Charles V spoke, his voice heavy with resignation. "Yes… we must handle this. We must."