CHAPTER 98: UNNAMED

The Courtyard of Blooming Light

The sun hung high over the Lionheart Palace, wrapped in soft white clouds that drifted lazily across a sky the color of pale sapphire. Its light spilled gently over the grand courtyard, bathing every surface in warmth and quiet splendor.

The courtyard was alive—vivid, radiant, utterly serene. The polished marble paths gleamed like liquid glass beneath the sunlight, tracing elegant lines between flowerbeds bursting with color. Petals swayed with the breeze: crimson roses brushed shoulders with snow lilies, violet irises bowed shyly beside golden sunflowers, while the subtle scent of jasmine wove through the air like a whispered secret.

At the heart of this beauty stood the great fountain. Carved from moonstone and adorned with intricate engravings of lions and wings, it shimmered as water danced from its tiers in arcs of crystal light. Every droplet seemed to catch the sun’s kiss, scattering tiny rainbows across the marble floor. Around it, the world was hushed—only the sound of flowing water and the soft rustle of petals disturbed the stillness.

Maids moved gracefully between the flower paths, their dresses fluttering softly with each step. Some carried baskets brimming with fresh blooms, others draped ribbons of silk across marble banisters and carved pillars. Their voices—gentle, respectful murmurs—blended with the sound of the fountain, creating a quiet music of life and duty.

The courtyard itself had transformed into a living dream. Golden drapes fluttered in the breeze, tied neatly to carved posts crowned with lion insignias. Tables were being arranged beneath wide parasols woven with silver-thread patterns of the Lionheart crest. The scent of polished wood, warm sunlight, and freshly baked bread hung in the air.

Near the center, a long royal table had been placed beside the fountain. Its surface gleamed with a varnish deep enough to mirror the clouds above. Fine plates of white porcelain sat neatly upon embroidered mats, each adorned with a delicate border of violet thread. Silverware glimmered faintly, arranged in perfect symmetry.

The preparation for lunch was in full rhythm. Two head maids directed the younger attendants—one ensuring the floral garlands were hung at equal intervals, the other checking every dish for perfection.

"Careful with that tray," one murmured softly. "The sauce mustn’t spill. This is for Lady Sasha and the Lionheart family."

"Yes, ma’am," came the whispering response, followed by the soft clink of dishes being set in order.

The kitchen staff moved like a quiet tide through the open courtyard, balancing trays covered with cloth. Steam escaped through the edges, carrying the aroma of roasted herbs, honeyed bread, and lemon-scented broth. It mingled with the fragrance of flowers, creating an atmosphere that felt alive—half feast, half reverence.

At the far edge of the courtyard, under the open sky, the maids began arranging the last decorations. Vases filled with long-stemmed roses and baby’s breath lined the edge of the walkway. Each corner of the space shimmered with soft magic—tiny floating orbs of light drifting lazily through the air, illuminating the scene with a dreamlike glow.

One maid paused, lifting her gaze toward the sky. The wind brushed her hair back, and for a moment, she just stood there, watching the clouds drift past the palace towers. The world seemed to slow—every movement deliberate, every sound crisp, every breath wrapped in sunlight.

Then, duty called again. She turned and hurried toward the fountain, joining her companions in laying down crystal cups and folded napkins. The courtyard rippled with quiet energy—each person moving in rhythm, like notes in a song only they could hear.

Closer to the fountain, a small bird landed on the marble edge, dipping its beak into the water. The maids smiled faintly, whispering to each other about how even the creatures seemed drawn to the peace of the Lionheart courtyard.

The royal standard fluttered gently on the palace wall—golden lions on a field of deep violet. It was a sight that spoke of pride and grace, yet there was warmth in the air, a softness that contrasted the palace’s usual austerity.

A maid carried a tray of freshly poured juice—rich crimson from berries gathered at dawn—and placed it upon the central table. She stepped back, smoothing her apron and ensuring everything stood in flawless order.

The breeze carried laughter from somewhere beyond the archways, light and distant, mingling with the sound of chimes hanging near the entrance. Sunlight shifted across the courtyard, glinting off the silver plates, scattering across the polished marble, and landing on the calm water’s surface.

It was peaceful. Too peaceful, perhaps—the kind of beauty that held stillness like a fragile secret. Every element of the courtyard spoke of care, of effort, of devotion to grace. Yet beneath it all lingered something unspoken: the calm before the next stir of life within the Lionheart Palace.

It was peaceful. Too peaceful, perhaps—the kind of beauty that held stillness like a fragile secret. Every element of the courtyard spoke of care, of effort, of devotion to grace. Yet beneath it all lingered something unspoken: the calm before the next stir of life within the Lionheart Palace.

The maids continued their preparations, their every movement a testament to precision. They spoke in low tones about serving under the open sky being a great honour and how infrequently the royal family dined outside. The air shimmered-just faintly-with enchantments designed to keep the breeze light and the temperature just right.

Flowers rustled. The fountain sang. Gild隆 resultant banners swayed like breathing light.

And as the sun climbed higher, the finishing touches were put in place—the chairs straightened, the crystalware polished, the petals freshly scattered about on the central table. A quiet fell over the courtyard, as the head maid took one last look at the setting.

"It’s perfect," she murmured, her voice little above the wind. "The royal lunch is about to begin."

One last breeze blew in, bearing the scent of roses, sun, and sorcery with it. It swirled into every nook and cranny of the courtyard, teased the silk banners until they waved, disturbed the mirror face of the fountain, and was gone out into the open blue. And yet, silent and proud, the Palace of Lionheart stood basking in the light of its own creation: a living courtyard with beauty, awaiting the first footsteps to break its stillness. [

The Lionheart Palace stood silent and proud, basking in the light of its own creation—a courtyard alive with beauty, waiting for the first footsteps to break its stillness.