Tap-Tap !!

A distant tap-tap resounded over the smooth courtyard stones. Victor's ears picked up on it at once—a clear, deliberate beat that tantalized the silence and awakened something deep inside him. His violet eyes narrowed, computing, wary, every muscle tensed with a barely contained tension. The sun of evening spread long, golden shadows through the courtyard, drawing along the lines of his white-and-purple robe. The Lionheart emblem stitched across his chest reflected the light, shining like a muted declaration of authority. He spun toward the sound, every movement fluid, deliberate, as if even the air is willing to bow to him.

Three individuals came out of the sweeping palace doors, each with an aura of power that commanded attention without saying a single word. The first came forward with a deliberate surety, every step deliberate. Long dark hair cascaded over his shoulders, strands capturing glints of gold in the dying sun, highlighting a face that reflected strength and composure. A well-groomed beard followed the sharp jawline, projecting an aura of authority, the sort that made one realize boundaries and respect without thinking. His blue eyes swept the courtyard, unruffled and piercing, exuding the assuredness of one who had triumphed in war as well as in diplomacy. A light smile played at the corners of his lips—timid, almost transparent, conveying warmth in spite of its authority, a smile that comforted even while it reminded all of the authority he wielded. He was dressed in the conventional imperial attire of the Lionheart Kingdom, white silk billowing loosely and embroidered with delicate golden patterns that declared heritage and dominance. This was Ben, Victor's father, the King—a figure that was both refuge and command, a figure whose dominance was gentle enough to soothe and keen enough to exact compliance.

Each step he took was calculated, the gentle tap of his heels against the smooth stone echoing through the empty courtyard. Victor's chest constricted, his heart a wild drum of respect and apprehension, with a touch of something more personal, a tension he couldn't define. When Ben's gaze locked with his, that storm of blue, unblinking but searing, Victor felt anchored and challenged at once, as if the weight of years and suppressed truths bore down between them. The evening air was thick, heavy with anticipation, each breath charged with the unseen tug of family—strong, sharp, and inexorable.

He shifted his position, the robe gliding across his shoulders, and caught a quiver of anticipation running down his spine. It was no formality. Every instant stretched with unwritten trials of will, comprehension, and the delicate, intricate thread that bound them together. The courtyard, muted in the decayed gold light of evening, had turned into a silent stage; every look, every cautious breath held the weight of will and significance.

Anna glided alongside him like an unsubstantial shadow of grace, her deep purple hair spilling down over the folds of her imperial robe. Her movements were slow, as if ceremonial, but charged with a warmth that relaxed the severe lines of her stance. Her very presence embodied authority, but behind it burned a quiet, unshakeable maternal force, soft as a summer morning. Her piercing gaze darted to Victor, deciphering him with the skill of a veteran outsider, and a hint of a bridle on a restrained smile touched her lips—an almost undetectable flash of pride, tightly held in check beneath her calm facade.

With a white-knuckled grip on her mother's hand, a small figure trailed behind—Ania. Ten years old, she copied her mother in every well-groomed gesture, her own purple tresses plaited neatly down her back, a miniature imitation of Anna's dignity. She had on a pale lavender dress, flowy and soft, with threads embroidered on it that glimmered feebly in the sun's failing light. Her face was still fresh in its innocence of childhood, with curiosity playing in her wide eyes, her small hands clutching her mother's hand with firm determination, and striding along in cheerful confidence. But as soon as her eyes landed on her brother, her countenance changed to pure joy.

"Brother!" she exclaimed, the voice bursting from her like sunlight through a stormy heaven. Her fingers slipped from Anna's soft grasp, and in a flash, she was running to Victor, her gown fluttering about her like wings in a lighthearted breeze. Laughter gushed from her with abandon, light and unfettered, the sort that could melt even the most granite-like hearts. "Look at me! Look!"

Victor stooped to greet her, arms opening wide, violet eyes shining warm and something more—an unspoken adoration. "Hmm… my little cutie pie. You've become a little fairy. If I were to take you anywhere, no witch, no monster could ever take you away from me. You understand that, don't you?" His tone was playful, light, but laced with a protectiveness that was almost palpable, a softness that grounded them both in the moment.

Ania puffed out her chest, a valiant grin illuminating her face, and her words spilled out in a torrent. "Don't worry, Brother! No witches, no monsters—no one—can take me away from you. I'm strong. I can look after myself… and you as well!" Her voice was filled with a blend of innocence and pride, an immature sense of responsibility shining through, with a near defiance of the world calling her out for not keeping her word.

Victor's mouth flattened into a soft, sincere smile, one that reached his eyes and relaxed every line of his face. Observing her, he experienced a burst of heat so intense that it left his chest raw in a gorgeous manner. Next to him, Ben and Anna shared a thoughtful glance, and a gentle, knowing laugh slipped from their mouths. The amusement in their eyes merged effortlessly with affection, a wordless recognition of the tie that bound these siblings one to another, unspoken but unbreakable.

Anna moved closer, her warmth a soothing yet assertive calm, leading both Victor and Ania with hands that seemed to inject reassurance directly into their hearts. "Now,"

she replied, her tone soft but accented with authority, "I hope son, now you, take all anxiety from your hearts. And go, eat the banquet laid out for you. Don't be late."

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