Forbidden Desires: Conquering Kingdoms And Women In a Fantasy World! Chapter 35: Royal Castle of Erestia

But there was no ti to dwell on the past. I had a king to et, and I couldn’t afford to make a poor impression.

The bathing chamber was a marvel of magical engineering. Hot water flowed from crystal taps at the touch of a finger, filling a marble tub large enough for three people. Steam rose from the surface, carrying the subtle scent of lavender and mint—clearly, even the water had been enhanced with aromatic oils.

I sank into the warmth with a groan of pure pleasure, feeling days of travel dust and tension dissolve away. When was the last ti I’d had a proper hot bath? The simple washing facilities at various inns along our journey hardly counted.

As I soaked, my mind raced with questions and concerns. What was the proper etiquette for eting a king? Would I be expected to speak, or should I remain silent unless addressed directly? Queen Emma had ntioned strict protocol—what if I made so catastrophic social blunder.

Queen Emma was kind and understanding toward but I don’t know anything about the King of this Kingdom.

The water was beginning to cool by the ti I finally forced myself to erge from the tub. I’d found soap and washing cloths on a nearby shelf, along with what appeared to be so kind of magical drying cloth that absorbed moisture with remarkable efficiency.

I was just finishing getting cleaned up when I heard a soft knock at the suite’s main door.

"Co in," I called, assuming it was Olivia with the promised clothing.

Indeed, she entered carrying an armload of garnts, her expression all business. "These should fit reasonably well," she said, laying everything out on the sitting room’s central table. "I had to estimate your asurents, but the tailor I consulted is quite skilled."

Already?

She was quite fast.

But I guess in a royal capital everything was at reach and close.

I approached the display with growing amazent. The outfit was clearly designed for a formal court appearance—dark, well-tailored trousers, a crisp white shirt with subtle embroidery, a deep blue doublet with silver buttons, and a short cape lined with silk. There were even proper leather boots that looked both comfortable and elegant.

"This must have cost a fortune," I said, running my fingers over the fine fabric.

Olivia shrugged. "Her Majesty insisted on quality. You’ll be standing beside a Queen when you et the King—your appearance reflects on all of us. Besides you saved the Princess, you deserve at least this much." Olivia added with a small smile.

"I see well, thanks for the clothes," I said, running my fingers over the fine silk fabric that felt foreign against my skin.

Olivia offered a curt nod and without another word, she turned on her heel and left the room, the heavy wooden door closing with a soft thud behind her.

I stood alone in the guest chamber, staring at the elaborate garnts laid out before .

Alright, ti to look presentable.

I began dressing with care, though every piece felt like a costu I had no business wearing. The fitted breeches clung uncomfortably to my legs—I was accustod to loose, practical clothing that allowed for easy movent. The doublet, while expertly tailored, felt restrictive across my shoulders. The fabric, though undoubtedly expensive, had a stiffness that made my skin itch slightly. I longed for the simple comfort of worn cotton and leather, but such preferences were a luxury I couldn’t afford today.

These noble clothes are really too flashy, I thought, adjusting the ornate collar that felt like it was trying to strangle . But I’m about to et a King, so I suppose I have no choice in the matter.

After ensuring every button was properly fastened and every crease smoothed out, I took a final look in the polished bronze mirror. The reflection that stared back looked like a young nobleman—exactly what was intended, I supposed. Taking a deep breath, I left the chamber and made my way back to the main lobby.

I found Olivia in deep conversation with one of the Briaran soldiers. She was wearing her armor as always, she didn’t to change clothes since she was a knight.

"—ensure the periter remains secure at all tis," she was saying to the soldier. "Any sign of trouble, and we form a protective barrier around Her Majesty imdiately."

The soldier nodded sharply. "Understood, Lady Olivia."

Several minutes passed before the sound of approaching footsteps drew everyone’s attention. Queen Emma and Princess Judith entered the lobby, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

If I had thought the Queen beautiful before, seeing her in full royal regalia was almost overwhelming. She wore a gown of midnight blue silk that seed to flow like liquid around her graceful form. The bodice was intricately beaded with pearls and sapphires that caught the light with every subtle movent. Her chestnut hair was arranged in an elaborate updo, held in place by a delicate silver circlet adorned with what looked like genuine diamonds. Despite being the mother of an twelve years old child, she possessed a tiless elegance that defied age.

Was she really the mother of an twelve-year-old child?

She moved with the fluid grace of soone far younger, her skin radiant and unmarked by the usual signs of motherhood and royal stress.

Princess Judith, walking slightly behind her mother, was equally stunning in her own right. Her gown was a complentary shade of deep rose, and her chestnut hair fell in carefully arranged curls over one shoulder. Even at her young age, she carried herself with the poise of soone born to rule.

I found myself staring, completely captivated by Queen Emma’s ethereal beauty though.

My rapt attention didn’t go unnoticed. From the corner of my eye, I caught Princess Judith’s sharp gaze, her lips pressed into a thin line of obvious displeasure.

Right, it was disrespectful.

I quickly averted my gaze.

"Everything is ready, Your Majesty," Olivia announced, approaching with a respectful bow. "Oliver has sent word ahead—His Majesty has been inford of our arrival and is prepared to receive you."

Queen Emma’s expression remained serene, though I caught a flicker of sothing—anticipation? apprehension?—in her green eyes. "Then let’s not keep them waiting," she said.

We made our way outside where the royal carriage waited. However, as the royal party prepared to board, it beca clear that this ti, I wouldn’t be joining them inside.

The reasoning was obvious, and I felt no offense. All eyes would be upon them when they arrived at the castle. It would be highly inappropriate—and potentially damaging to diplomatic relations—for a young man of unknown status to erge from the royal carriage alongside a Queen and Princess. The political implications alone could spark rumors that might undermine the purpose of their visit.

Instead, I settled behind Olivia on her magnificent black destrier. The horse was clearly a war mount, its muscles rippling beneath its glossy coat as it shifted impatiently.

"You could ride with another," Olivia had suggested initially, gesturing toward another knight mounted nearby.

"I insist on riding with you," I had replied.

She had given a long, asuring look before sighing in resignation. "Very well, but hold tight and try not to fall off. It would be rather embarrassing to arrive at the royal court with you in the dirt."

Now, as we began our procession toward the castle, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitent. Since we were taking the main thoroughfare through the capital, we attracted considerable attention from the people lining the streets. rchants paused in their hawking, children pressed their faces against shop windows, and nobles in their finery craned their necks from their own carriages to catch a glimpse of our procession.

The whispers and speculation followed us like a wave:

"Who could that be?"

"Look at that carriage—those are definitely foreign nobles..."

"I heard there were marriage negotiations..."

"Is it your first ti here, Olivia?" I asked, partly to distract myself from the curious stares and partly because I was genuinely curious about her experiences.

"Yes, it is," she nodded. "I’ve served Her Majesty for three years now, but this is my first diplomatic mission to a foreign capital."

"How do you think this capital compares to Briaran’s?" I pressed, genuinely interested in her perspective.

She was quiet for a mont, considering her words carefully. "Mm. I still think Briaran’s capital is more beautiful—more structured and organized. This place has a certain grandeur, I’ll grant you, but it feels... chaotic. The streets seem to wind without purpose, and the architecture lacks cohesion. Briaran was planned by master architects; this feels like it grew organically over centuries without guidance."

"I would like to see it one day," I mumbled, imagining the perfectly organized streets and harmonious buildings she described.

As we rode through the bustling market district, I found myself fighting an almost overwhelming urge to dismount and explore. The sights, sounds, and slls were intoxicating—vendors calling out their wares, the rich aroma of baked bread and roasted ats, colorful fabrics fluttering in the breeze, and the general energy of comrce and life pulsing all around us.

I feel like a kid, I realized with a start.

And I supposed I was currently a child, but in my past life, I had never been allowed such simple pleasures. My childhood had been very dark, filled with responsibility and survival rather than wonder and exploration. Perhaps that was why I felt this almost giddy excitent now—these were the feelings of curiosity and adventure that I had never been permitted to experience. The fact that I was now in what amounted to a fantasy world certainly added to the surreal nature of it all.

"I don’t think your mother will allow that," Olivia said, and I was surprised to hear a soft chuckle in her voice.

The sound made turn slightly to look at her. It was the first ti I had heard her laugh, even quietly, and it transford her usually stern features into sothing almost... warm. Does this an she’s opening up to a little? I wondered. As expected of —I’ve always been good at making won drop their guards and legs.

"Maybe when I’m older," I said, "and at that ti, I hope you’ll show around, Miss Olivia." I smirked at her.

She seed genuinely bewildered by my request. "I work for the Queen, you know. My duties are to her, not to... entertaining curious young n with tours of foreign capitals."

I glanced back at her with a smile that I hoped conveyed both understanding and persistence. "Maybe if you have ti, then."

There was a long pause before she replied, "That’s fine for ," though her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely sure why she was agreeing.

"Perfect," I nodded, satisfied with this small victory.

The remainder of our journey passed in comfortable conversation about the differences between the two kingdoms, the intricacies of diplomatic protocol, and Olivia’s experiences as a knight in service to the crown. I found her insights fascinating and her dry wit surprisingly entertaining.

After approximately twenty-five minutes of riding through increasingly affluent districts, we finally reached our destination. The castle lood before us, its towering spires reaching toward the clouds like stone fingers. The architecture was indeed impressive, if sowhat imposing—all gray stone and sharp angles designed more to intimidate than to welco.

Soldiers of Lorendia were already assembled at the entrance, their formation precise and their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. At their head stood a middle-aged man whose bearing imdiately marked him as soone of considerable importance. He wore rich robes of deep purple trimd with gold, and a pair of wire-rimd spectacles perched on his nose gave him an scholarly appearance that seed at odds with the martial atmosphere surrounding him.

As our carriage ca to a stop, he stepped forward.

"I am Laurence Staple, Pri Advisor to His Majesty," he announced with a respectful bow. "I have been sent to welco you to our court, Your Majesty."

One of the Briaran soldiers moved forward to open the carriage door. The mont had arrived—the formal beginning of what could prove to be historic negotiations.

Queen Emma erged first, and I heard several of the assembled soldiers of Lorendia draw sharp breaths at her ethereal beauty. Even having traveled for hours, she looked as fresh and radiant as if she had just completed an elaborate morning toilette. Princess Judith followed, her own considerable beauty seeming almost to pale beside her mother’s luminous presence. Well, she was too young to be charming to begin with. She could be described as very beautiful though.

"I thank you for the welco, Lord Staple," Queen Emma replied, her voice carrying easily across the courtyard. "The hospitality of Lorendia is already evident."

Laurence Staple’s eyes lit up with what appeared to be genuine appreciation—whether for her beauty, her gracious words, or both, I couldn’t say. "Please, Your Majesty, allow to lead the way. His Majesty is most eager to discuss."

Queen Emma nodded gracefully to Lord Staple and moved forward, Princess Judith maintaining perfect posture beside her. The Briaran soldiers fell into formation around them. Olivia took point ahead of the royal pair.

As for , I made myself as inconspicuous as possible, trailing at the very back of our small procession. After all, I wasn’t here to et the King to begin with—that honor belonged solely to Queen Emma and Princess Judith. I was rely... excess baggage that couldn’t be left unattended in the capital. They had brought along out of necessity rather than any diplomatic purpose, and I was acutely aware of my status as an unwelco addition to what should have been a carefully orchestrated royal eting.

Despite my awkward position, I found myself utterly captivated by the castle’s interior. Every step deeper into the structure revealed new marvels that left speechless. The entrance hall soared three stories above us, supported by massive columns carved from what appeared to be single pieces of marble.

I’m literally walking inside a royal castle.

The thought struck with an almost surreal quality. There had been many such castles on Earth—Versailles, Windsor, Neuschwanstein—but in my past life, I had never found the ti or opportunity to visit them. Now, surrounded by this breathtaking display of dieval craftsmanship and artistry, I deeply regretted that oversight. The sheer beauty of what human hands could create when given sufficient ti, resources, and vision was truly staggering.

Did people really build such beauty of architecture? I wondered, my newbie architect’s eye automatically cataloging the techniques and materials involved. The structural engineering alone must have been phenonally complex, not to ntion the artistic vision required to unite so many different elents into a cohesive whole.

I wonder if one day I’ll be able to build sothing like this? The thought made almost laugh at my own audacity. Here I was, barely able to construct a simple house with magic without nearly collapsing from exhaustion, and I was dreaming of creating architectural marvels that had taken generations of skilled craftsn to complete.

But then again, this was a fantasy world. Perhaps in several years, when my Architecture skill had advanced significantly and my proficiency with all the elents had reached mastery level, such feats might not be entirely impossible. The idea sounded like the delusion of a madman, but stranger things had happened since my arrival in this world.

One step at a ti, I reminded myself. First, learn to build a decent cottage without fainting. Then maybe aim higher.

Our procession continued through several more corridors, each more opulent than the last, until Lord Staple finally led us to our destination. To my surprise, we weren’t taken to the throne room—that grand chamber where kings traditionally received petitioners and subjects. Instead, we were shown into what was clearly an elegant guest reception room.

The space was designed for comfort rather than intimidation.

Clever, I thought, appreciating the diplomatic consideration behind this choice. Queen Emma was, after all, a reigning monarch in her own right. For her to stand before another king’s throne like a supplicant would have been a significant breach of protocol—an insult that could have derailed negotiations before they even began. By eting in neutral, comfortable surroundings, the King was acknowledging her equal status. It was a gesture of respect that spoke well of either his political acun or his advisors’ wisdom.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Lord Staple said with another bow. "His Majesty will join you shortly." With that, he withdrew, closing the heavy doors behind him with barely a whisper of sound.

Queen Emma moved to one of the ornate sofas. Princess Judith took her place beside her mother, her posture perfect and her hands folded demurely in her lap. Even in this more casual setting, they both maintained the regal bearing that had been drilled into them since birth.

"Only Olivia will remain," Queen Emma said then glancing at us.

The Briaran soldiers understood imdiately. They had served their purpose in escorting the royal party safely to this eting, but their presence was no longer required—indeed, too many guards might suggest either distrust or weakness. With crisp salutes, they began filing out of the room, their armor clanking softly as they moved.

I moved to follow them, knowing without being told that I had no place in whatever discussion was about to unfold. Obviously, I had nothing to contribute to diplomatic negotiations between monarchs. My presence would be not just unnecessary but potentially disruptive.