Bridging Worlds: Book 1 Celestoria's Time
Ambition and Arrows

Under the fading sunlight of Celestoria, Prince Draven and Oberon stood side by side on the archery range, their bows drawn with a shared sense of entitlement. Recent events at the council meeting had only intensified their determination to claim what they believed was rightfully theirs — the throne. Queen Melisandre’s attempt to advocate for Princess Freia’s ascension had only heightened the brothers’ conviction that the kingdom was rightfully under their rule.

As arrows sliced through the air, Oberon voiced his disdain. “Did you hear Melisandre prattling on about Freia being a better heir? The nerve! The throne belongs to us by birthright.”

Draven, with a calculated precision in his aim, responded, “Indeed, Oberon. Melisandre thinks she can manipulate the council, but we won’t let anyone deny us what is rightfully ours.” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Oberon’s arrow missed the mark by a hair’s breadth, frustration etched on his face. “Thank the stars for our mother knows that the throne is ours by blood, not some pawn for Melisandre’s games.”

Draven’s smirk conveyed a sense of arrogance. “Melisandre can attempt all the political maneuvering she wants, but the truth remains — we are the true heirs, and the kingdom will bow to us.”

Prince Draven and Oberon continued their archery practice, their conversation weaving through the tension of familial power dynamics. Draven, his focus unyielding, shifted the discussion towards the recent changes within the royal council.

“Did you witness how easily Mother influenced the council to our advantage?” Oberon pondered, a calculating glint in his eyes.

Draven, releasing an arrow with precision, responded, “Mother has mastered the art of political manipulation. Melisandre sorely underestimated her influence.”

Oberon, squinting in thought, added, “What about Freia? Do you think she will challenge our claim, considering Melisandre seems to favor her?”

Draven’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Freia is just a pawn to the Queen's scheme. She may be favored now, but when the time comes, the throne still belongs to us.”

“Perhaps Freia can content herself with a more manageable domain – perhaps overseeing the palace gardens or organizing social events. Leave the true matters of the kingdom to those who understand the weight of the crown,” Draven added.

Oberon chuckled, momentarily breaking the tension. “Indeed. The crown is no trinket for the faint-hearted. We’ll make sure Freia comprehends her place when the time is right.”

Their conversation, steeped in arrogance and entitlement, unfolded against the backdrop of the fading daylight. The brothers, driven by an insatiable thirst for power, remained oblivious to the potential ramifications of their actions on the kingdom. The untouched apple atop the servant’s head became a symbol not only of their archery precision but of the fragile equilibrium between ambition and responsibility.

Unbeknownst to them, their pursuit of power, coupled with their dismissive attitude toward the political intricacies surrounding them, could cast a long and ominous shadow over the kingdom they believed to be rightfully theirs. The yard echoed not only with the twang of bowstrings but with the foreboding whispers of an impending storm within the royal family, threatening the very foundation they stood upon.

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