Procession Of The Nobles の小説・ストーリー

That was the mask he wished the world to see. But masks cracked under pressure. And today, the cracks would show. I rode at his side, my own mount sleek and restless beneath me. Behind us trailed a procession of nobles, banners fluttering, voices raised in forced cheer. They had come not for the hunt, but for the spectacle to see if Damien still held dominion. The hounds were loose. Hooves thundered against frozen earth. The chase began. For a time, it was almost ordinary. Deer scattered, birds burst from branches, and laughter echoed as nobles loosed arrows into the cold air.

Though the occasion was not a festive one, the burning lights that sparkled like a star in a silent light across the city, gave it a peaceful, beautiful looks. Zita cupped her candlelight, barricading its glow from the wind, which was staring gently. She averted her gaze from the light when she had the sob. It was the Queen. “It’s okay, mom,” Zita whispered as she squeezes the Queen’s free hands with hers. Since they were the King’s immediate family, they were the ones who lead the procession, following after the four men, who carried the Kings corpse on the royal gurney. “You promised not to cry,” Zita whispered again as the tears dropped from her own eyes. “You promise,” she wiped her blur

She was as beautiful and delicate as the Rose. It's been fifteen years since the Royal Household of Orbloem was dethroned, the Princess would have been in her mid-teens. Everyone wanted to have a look of her rosegold skin once more, however her assassination made it impossible. None had any appetite to eat or drink while their saddened faces enraged their current Ruler. Noticing how the crowd didnt rejoice in his Victory, Edward-II commanded "Double the taxes on essentials as they cant be happy in my victory" A monstrous laugh roaring through the silent environment.

Already the roar of music and voices from the courtyard below was almost deafening, shattered by laughter as the gathering crowd reacted to the entertainment of jesters and acrobats who alleviated the long wait as the nobility filed into their seats. The ceremony itself was simple. He would walk from the doorway of the castle to a dais set in the centre of the courtyard, and there remove the crown from his own head and set it onto a bust made in his likeness that would reside in the main hall after his departure. He would say his farewell speech, and then descend the dais from the other side, leading what would be a grand procession to the bay. The words that he wanted to say were full of vi

Leading the road was a column of mounted knights, their armour shining in the early morning light, their flags displaying the emblem of Panoma, an imposing lion rampant on an azure field, cracking crisply in the breeze. The courtiers and nobility who accompanied the knights were dressed in colourful silk and brocade tapestries that resembled lively sails. Musicians accompanied the procession, their melodies weaving through the air, setting hearts aflutter with anticipation. And then, at the heart of it all, rode the Prince himself, a figure of regal bearing atop a magnificent steed, his cloak billowing behind him like a river of crimson. He seemed alluring, even though he was wearing a mask.

At that moment, they heard the sound of a flute in the distance. They all turned in the direction of the sound, only to see a wedding procession made up of hundreds of people. They were all parading in their direction. However, the wedding procession looked very strange. Everyone was dressed in bright red robes, and they were all holding scarlet banners. Right in the middle of the procession, there was a sedan chair being carried by four people. And although the flute was playing a cheerful tune, it sounded rather mournful.

The streets filled with people, shoulder to shoulder, faces lifted. Some cheered when they saw me while some just watched in wary silence. I walked anyway. The procession wound through the capital, petals scattered underfoot, incense curling in the air. When we reached the great courtyard, the Abyssal Throne stood waiting not as a monster now, but as stone and history. Xander ascended first. The crown was placed upon his head, an ancient metal warmed by the sun and the roar that followed shook the sky. “Long live the King!” Then the herald turned.

I need to discuss something with you. He immediately got up and walked to her. After he helped her off the throne, he gave the council and officials a head bob that made them spread out. “The monarch and queen of the mighty Empire of Morrian will now lead the procession around Eleadoi,” the officiant announced, and the hall rose. At the bottom of the stairs, Crixus and his men lined up beside Sabine and the red flock; their attire matched Rahl’s. On their way down the aisle, Emory couldn’t help but glance at Rahl.

People from all corners of our kingdom had gathered to witness the momentous occasion. Nobles, peasants, and visitors from different lands filled the courtyard, their faces a mosaic of anticipation and excitement. The Nobles filled the hall and sat in the rows behind the royal families. The path that connected the door of the hall to the throne was clear, and we waited for the procession to begin.

All the while, soft aria music blasted from somewhere in the garden. As the line stopped three figures came forward to the center claiming each of the throne, two men and a woman. It was definitely Carlos, Nikolai, and Sacha, the nobilities of the Zoryas. Then with a mark of a loud gong in the background, the three nobbles came forward. The man in the center raised his left hand while the man in his left produced a knife. In a swift movement, the holding the knife cut a shallow wound on the wrist of the center man. The blood was then caught in a big chalice that the woman held. After gathering enough blood, the chalice, the knife, the wrist was all raised to the air as if presenting a sacrif