"On to our next Knight of Valor," King Ronald announced, his voice echoing across the grand hall as a parchment floated gently into his hands, delivered by Hawthorn .
He paused—deliberately—his expression stoic, letting the suspense boil. And then, the name rang out like a fanfare:
"Princess Emelda of Elyria!"
A wave of applause erupted through the hall. Guests turned to cheer as the princess rose gracefully from her seat.
"Good luck," Leo said with a smile, nodding toward her.
"Don't trip," Bethran added dryly, earning a playful scoff from Emelda.
The two assassins joined the crowd in thunderous applause as Emelda stepped forward. Her red-gold gown shimmered under the enchanted chandeliers, drawing every eye in the room.
"Let's get this done with," she murmured to herself, inhaling deeply.
As she ascended the stage, a soft whisper reached her ear. She turned slightly, sensing her mother's voice.
"Congratulations."
Emelda gave the faintest nod and knelt before the dais, her train cascading behind her like molten silk. Her heart pounded—not with nerves, but with purpose.
"I would like to say a few words," King Ronald declared, reaching for the Antium sword held reverently by an acolyte.
Queen Flowyria had personally passed it to the attendant, and the ancient relic now lay in still hands—head bowed, arms extended, as though offering a fragment of time itself.
The king turned to the crowd.
"Princess Emelda has shown us that courage is not bound by gender, age, or station. That night, she did not act as royalty—but as a protector of her people. She reminded us that even those born into crowns must bleed, fight, and, if necessary, die for those they serve."
The crowd stilled. Even the wind outside the crystal windows seemed to listen.
"And that is why, with great pride and joy, I—King Ronald II of Magnitia—"
He stooped, drawing the sword from the acolyte's hands.
"—proclaim you Lady Emelda of Valor."
The Antium sword flashed as it rose into the air.
A roar of applause surged like a wave. The very stone beneath the castle trembled as elves stomped, clapped, and even ululated in celebration. Flower petals rained gently from the enchanted ceiling.
The blade came down—once, twice, thrice—tapping Emelda's shoulder with ritual precision.
"Now, take the Valor Oath and prove to everyone gathered that your actions were born not from duty alone… but from the heart."
Emelda lifted her head. Her eyes locked with the king's, calm and sure.
"If I ever go against this oath," she declared, her voice unwavering, "may all accounts of my valor be washed from the annals of time."
A beat of silence followed—and then another eruption of cheers. For the first time in history, an elven princess had been knighted.
"People of the Phoenix!" the king called.
"I present to you all—Lady Emelda of Valor!"
"May she serve well!" came the resounding cry in return.
A second acolyte emerged from behind the golden curtains, bearing a large, ornate box gilded in phoenix motifs.
"As a token of our appreciation," King Ronald said, "the Phoenix bestows upon you a gift."
"What do you think it's going to be?" Bethran whispered.
Leo's right eye shimmered faintly with hidden magic. "Cloak," he answered flatly.
Bethran raised an eyebrow. "Cloak? That's a terrible guess."
"Maybe a tiara," Bethran mused aloud, tapping his chin. "Or an ancient wand, perhaps…"
Leo shrugged, sipping his Amberose. "Let's wait and see."
The king placed his hand on the lid and opened the box with a dramatic creak.
Guests leaned forward in their seats—some nearly falling over—trying to glimpse the contents. But Leo remained unimpressed, casting a sideways glance at Bethran with a smirk.
Inside lay a magnificent red-gold ermine coat. Threads of fire-like embroidery curled across its surface, and tiny phoenixes stitched in golden silk lined the hems.
"On behalf of the Phoenix, I present to you... the Cloak of Fire."
Gasps of admiration filled the hall. Even Bethran's jaw slackened slightly.
Queen Flowyria stepped forward, helping her daughter don the cloak with care.
"Matches your dress," the queen murmured with a proud smile. "Almost as if the two were always fated to go together."
The cloak was heavier than it looked—warm, regal, alive. The fur around her neck felt like ermine, but denser, with a wild, primal texture—perhaps wolf. Flame patterns danced as if enchanted, and along the hem, phoenixes stood poised to fly.
"Like you didn't know about this beforehand," Emelda whispered with a laugh, hugging her mother.
The crowd melted at the sight.
"I thank you all for this gift," she said, turning back to the audience. That radiant smile—the one that could disarm kings and melt iron hearts—returned to her lips.
The standing ovation lasted several moments longer before Emelda descended the steps, the Cloak of Fire billowing behind her like a living flame.
Even after she sat beside Leo and Bethran, whispers and praise continued to flow from neighboring guests.
"Once again, congratulations," Leo offered with a nod. "Your people must be extremely proud."
"They should be," Bethran added. "You're the first elven woman to be knighted."
"Quite an honor, I must say," came a voice from behind.
They turned to see Hamilton, the god rank mage , standing with a genial smile and a glass in hand.
"May I?"
Emelda glanced at her companions and then nodded. "Of course. We'd be delighted to have you join us."
"Good evening, Fang Bethran. Leo." Hamilton inclined his head politely as he took the last empty seat.
"Evening," they replied in unison.
"I suppose you're up next, Fang Bethran." Hamilton chuckled, motioning to the stage, where the fairy queen was fluttering into place.
"Me?" Bethran blinked, laughing.
But Hamilton's look was dead serious.
"You have to be kidding me…"
Bethran turned slowly as King Redbeard stepped forward, adjusting his pince-nez and squinting at the slip of paper in his fingers.
"Fang Bethran!" the dwarf bellowed.
Bethran froze.
Leo raised his glass in mock salute.
"Oh no," Bethran muttered. "This can't be happening.