《The Forgotten One》


 Chapter 1.The Bastard of Elria

    "I bled for a king who let my mother die alone. No coin, no healer, not even a damn letter. That is the loyalty you fight for?"


    -Ser Hector the Brave Knight


    My P.O.V


    The fires burned low in the war camp, the embers barely glowing beneath the cold winds rolling in from the north. Tattered banners of Gulvia fluttered, limp and torn from six years of bloodshed. Soldiers moved through the camp like ghosts¡ªsilent, hollow-eyed, and burdened by a war that should never have been waged.


    I sat sharpening my sword, the familiar rasp of steel against stone the only sound in my tent. The Third Border War was over, not through victory, but surrender. My half-brother, Prince Devran, had offered terms to the Sami High King, bringing an end to a campaign that had drained the kingdom of its strength, its coin, and its men.


    And now, the war''s final blow had come¡ªnot from an enemy blade, but from Elria itself.


    "My lord," a voice broke through the stillness.


    Ser Hector stood at the entrance of my tent, his expression grim. Behind him, a young royal rider held out a sealed parchment, the golden lion sigil pressed into the wax. The king¡¯s mark.


    I took the letter without a word, my fingers tightening as I recognized the elegant, flowing script beneath the seal. Aria.


    Breaking the seal, my eyes moved over the first lines.


    "King Valero is dead."


    I should have felt something¡ªgrief, perhaps. But there was nothing. No sorrow. No anger. Just a cold, hollow acceptance.


    The father I never truly knew, the man who sent me to war at thirteen, was gone.


    My father was dead.


    I let out a slow breath, folding the parchment. ¡°When?¡±


    "Three days ago, My Lord," the rider answered. "The court prepares for the king¡¯s wake. The vassals have been summoned to Elria."


    Hector exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "That explains the silence from the capital. Devran will be crowned soon."


    I nodded, my mind already moving ahead. "And Aria?"


    "Safe, for now," the rider said. "But she urges your return. She says the court is uneasy."


    Uneasy. A polite way of saying that Queen Anna, my father¡¯s widow, was already maneuvering to secure her son¡¯s rule. My presence in Elria would be a complication she would not welcome.


    The Royal Court¡¯s Uncertainty


    Aria''s P.O.V


    The scent of myrrh and candle wax hung heavy in the air. The council chamber was filled with murmurs, quiet conversations laced with veiled tensions. Lords and advisors gathered at the great table, their gazes shifting between one another, measuring, calculating.


    At the head of the table sat Queen Dowager Anna, draped in the deep mourning black of a grieving widow. Her expression was unreadable, her hands resting on the table with calculated grace.


    To her right, Devran¡ªsoon to be king¡ªwatched the room with the air of a man who already wore the crown. He had always been confident, always carried himself with authority, but now, that confidence was sharpened, honed into something more.


    Prince Leo, our younger brother, sat further down, arms crossed, his expression tight with barely hidden frustration. He had never liked being second to Devran, and with the crown slipping further out of his reach, his bitterness grew more obvious by the day.


    The discussion was predictable. The wake. The coronation. The kingdom¡¯s weakened state after the war.


    But then, a new topic arose.


    "Prince Alaric is expected to arrive within the week," Lord Varus, the queen''s spymaster, said, his voice smooth and practiced. "His return may... complicate matters."


    I felt my stomach tighten.


    "Complicate?" I repeated. "He is the king¡¯s son. It is only right that he be here to mourn his father."


    Queen Anna did not look at me, but I saw the flicker of displeasure in her eyes. "Of course, dear. But the timing is... delicate."


    "Prince Alaric commands the respect of many men," one of the lords muttered. "Those who fought in the Border Wars view him as one of their own."


    "Which is exactly why we must be careful," Lord Varus added. "There are some who might see him as a potential rival to Prince Devran¡¯s ascension."


    Ridiculous. Alaric had no claim to the throne. He had never wanted one. But that didn''t matter. In politics, perception often outweighed truth.


    Devran leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Aria, you are close to our brother. Do you believe he will cause trouble?"


    I met his gaze, forcing my expression to remain neutral.


    "No. Alaric has no ambitions for the throne."


    Queen Anna sighed, rubbing her temple as if weary. "Still, it would be wise to... ensure his loyalties remain clear."


    I knew what she meant.


    She wanted to make sure Alaric did not become a problem.


    I said nothing, gripping my hands beneath the table.


    Alaric had not even arrived yet, and already, the court was discussing how to handle him.


    The Letter from Aria


    My P.O.V ¨C En Route to Elria, Campfire, Two Nights Later


    The road to Elria was long and uneventful. We made camp in a quiet clearing, the distant lights of a village flickering in the valley below. My men settled in for the night, but I sat alone by the fire, turning Aria¡¯s letter over in my hands before finally opening it.


    Brother,


    I hardly know how to begin this letter. Father is gone, and Elria is restless. The court is already whispering of what comes next. Queen Mother holds counsel daily, and though Devran is to be king, some of the vassals remain¡­ uncertain.


    I miss you. Six years, and the only thing that kept me from going mad in this place were your letters. Tell me you¡¯re unharmed. Tell me war has not taken my brother from me.


    When you return, we must train again. I grow restless, and my new sword master is a fool. He tells me a princess has no place with a blade. I dismissed him, of course. No one commands me but myself. And perhaps you.


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    Be careful. The court is not the battlefield you know, but it is just as deadly. There are already rumors, whispers of disloyalty. Of those who see you as a threat to Devran¡¯s coronation. I trust you will know how to handle it.


    Come back soon. The castle feels empty without you.


    - Aria


    I let out a slow breath, folding the letter and pressing it against my palm. Even after all these years, Aria was still the only person in this world who truly saw me as more than a bastard.


    I would return to Elria. But it would not be a homecoming.


    It would be a battlefield.


    My P.O.V¨C The Gates of Elria, The Capital of Gulvia


    The damn city of Elria had not changed.


    Beyond the high stone walls, the streets bustled with life. Merchants peddled their wares beneath bright banners, the scent of fresh bread and roasted meat carried on the wind. Children ran through alleyways, their laughter lost beneath the steady hum of the crowd. The capital was alive, untouched by war.


    But beneath the surface, I could feel it¡ªthe tension in the air, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on the city like a storm waiting to break.


    The Royal Processional Gate loomed before us, the golden lion sigil of House Valero carved into the iron. Guards in polished armor flanked the entrance, their spears crossed in formation. The moment they saw us, a rider broke away from the gatehouse, galloping toward the castle to announce our arrival.


    Beside me, Ser Hector adjusted his sword belt, his jaw tight as he scanned the city ahead. He had been quiet since we neared Elria, his usual sharp remarks absent.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been here before,¡± I said.


    Hector nodded. ¡°Years ago. The city hasn¡¯t changed, but I have.¡±


    I said nothing. War changed all men.


    As the gate groaned open, my grip tightened on the reins. Six years. Six years since I last rode through these streets, a boy marching to war, sent away by a father who never wanted me. Now, I returned as a man¡ªscarred, weary, and unwelcome.


    Inside, the Queen¡¯s procession awaited.


    A column of Royal Guards stood in formation, their armor gleaming in the midday sun. At their front, draped in a deep blue cloak, stood the one person I had longed to see.


    Aria.


    Her golden hair was braided back, her violet eyes sharp as they searched for me among my men. When they found me, they softened. A relieved breath escaped her lips, and before propriety could stop her, she broke from the gathering, striding forward.


    I dismounted just in time to catch her as she threw her arms around me.


    "You''re late," she murmured, her voice thick with unspoken emotion.


    I let out a breath I hadn¡¯t realized I was holding.


    "I''m here now."


    She pulled back, studying me. ¡°You¡¯re thinner.¡±


    "You¡¯re taller."


    She smirked. "I was always tall."


    I huffed a quiet laugh, but the moment was short-lived. As I stepped back, I noticed the gathered nobles watching, their expressions ranging from curiosity to disdain. The Queen Dowager was absent¡ªexpected, but telling.


    Aria must have noticed, too, because she took my arm and turned toward the castle.


    "Come. We have much to discuss."


    As we moved forward, I caught a glimpse of Hector from the corner of my eye.


    A woman stood before him, dark-haired, her hands trembling at her sides.


    Hector¡¯s face, usually unreadable, had gone pale.


    He did not speak. The woman did not either.


    But then, Hector turned to me, his expression hardened, his voice tight.


    ¡°Alaric,¡± he said. ¡°I must go.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ll find you when I can.¡±


    And without another word, he turned, following the woman through the streets, vanishing into the city.


    Aria¡¯s grip on my arm tightened. ¡°That was his sister, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    I nodded, my gaze lingering on the empty space where my oldest friend had just stood.


    Whatever had happened, it was not my place to ask.


    Not yet.


    The great doors of the throne room groaned open as Aria and I stepped inside.


    The air was thick with the scent of incense and candle wax, the banners of House Valero hanging high above the polished marble floor. The throne itself, carved from black oak and adorned with gold, loomed over the chamber.


    And seated upon it, draped in royal finery as though he already wore the crown, was Devran.


    His golden cloak pooled around him, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest. Beside him stood Ser Lanselot Hamilton, his sworn sword, clad in the heavy steel of the Royal Guard. The knight¡¯s expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was a statement.


    To the right of the throne stood Prince Leo, arms crossed, his personal guard Ser Midryn beside him like a vulture waiting for scraps. And on the left, watching with veiled calculation, stood Queen Dowager Anna¡ªher ice-blue gown flowing around her as she rested a delicate hand on the hilt of her chair.


    Above, from the terrace that overlooked the chamber, Lord Varus stood in the shadows, watching.


    They had gathered to see me. To test me.


    I exhaled, pushing forward.


    The moment we stepped inside, all eyes turned to me.


    Devran leaned forward, a slow smirk creeping onto his face.


    ¡°So, the Bastard of Gulvia returns.¡±


    Aria stiffened beside me, but I did not stop walking until I stood just below the dais of the throne. My gaze never left Devran.


    ¡°Strange,¡± I said, voice even. ¡°I do not recall our father¡¯s funeral taking place yet.¡±


    A silence fell over the chamber.


    Devran¡¯s smirk twitched.


    ¡°What of it?¡±


    I gestured to the throne. ¡°You sit there as if you already wear the crown.¡±


    A muscle in his jaw tightened. ¡°I am the heir.¡±


    ¡°That does not give you the right to sit there yet.¡±


    From the terrace, I sensed Lord Varus¡¯ gaze sharpen. He was studying me. Learning what kind of man the 3rd Border War had made me.


    Queen Dowager Anna let out a breathy laugh, tilting her head as if amused. ¡°How quaint,¡± she murmured. ¡°The Bastard speaks of royal traditions as if he were raised among them.¡±


    Leo scoffed. ¡°It¡¯s a wonder he even knows how to read the laws, Mother.¡±


    Aria¡¯s grip on my arm tightened.


    I ignored them. My gaze remained locked on Devran.


    He rose slowly from the throne, descending the steps with the same practiced ease he had always carried.


    ¡°We have much to discuss, Alaric.¡±


    I did not bow.


    ¡°Then speak.¡±


    A flicker of irritation crossed his face, but he masked it well.


    ¡°Where is Ser Hector?¡±


    His voice was casual, but I could hear the intent beneath it. Devran and I had never been close, but he knew¡ªHector and I were like Aria and I. Inseparable. If I was here alone, that meant something had happened.


    I met his gaze without hesitation.


    ¡°Personal matters.¡±


    He studied me for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose.


    ¡°You are my brother, Alaric, bastard or not. We all bled for Gulvia in the war.¡±


    I said nothing.


    He stepped closer.


    ¡°Swear your loyalty to me, and I will see to it that you are rewarded for your service.¡±


    A slow, bitter smile curled at my lips.


    ¡°There it is.¡±


    Devran frowned.


    I took a step closer.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want a brother, Devran. You want a dog. Someone to kneel, to swear fealty, to follow your command like a trained hound.¡±


    I tilted my head. ¡°I am no one¡¯s hound.¡±


    Leo snorted. ¡°He acts as if he has a choice.¡±


    I turned my head sharply, my gaze pinning him in place. ¡°A choice? Like the choice our father gave me when he sent me to war at thirteen?¡±


    Leo stiffened.


    The amusement in Devran¡¯s eyes faded.


    Queen Dowager Anna sighed, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°We do not have time for the tantrums of an ungrateful bastard.¡±


    Aria¡¯s voice snapped like a whip. ¡°Stop calling him that.¡±


    Silence.


    The frustration in her voice echoed through the chamber.


    Leo¡¯s expression twisted. ¡°Why should we not? It is what he is.¡±


    Aria turned, stepping between us. ¡°Enough.¡±


    Her gaze swept over the room, daring anyone to speak. Even Devran hesitated.


    I had seen her angry before, but this¡ªthis was different.


    The golden lioness had teeth.


    ¡°Alaric is my brother,¡± she said coldly. ¡°And you will treat him as such.¡±


    Devran exhaled through his nose, then slowly shook his head. ¡°Very well.¡±


    He turned back to me. ¡°You will not swear fealty, then?¡±


    I met his gaze evenly. ¡°No.¡±


    His smirk returned. But this time, there was no amusement behind it.


    Only calculation.


    ¡°Then let us see how long you last.¡±


    The throne room lingered in silence after my final words.


    Some faces showed confusion. Others, poorly masked shock. No one had expected me to refuse.


    Even Lord Varus, watching from the terrace, tilted his head slightly, no doubt rethinking whatever conclusions he had made about me.


    Devran had not spoken again. His smirk had remained, but there was a new glint in his eyes¡ªsomething dangerous.


    Queen Dowager Anna had not even looked surprised, only mildly irritated, as if I were a fly refusing to be swatted.


    Leo had scowled. Ser Midryn had sneered. Ser Lanselot had simply watched.


    And Aria¡ªshe had barely concealed her frustration.


    She grabbed my wrist the moment we left the throne room, striding ahead without a word.


    Ser Gildas followed behind us, his heavy boots echoing through the grand halls of Elria Castle. The old knight had remained silent the entire time, offering no comment on my choice. But his presence alone was a comfort.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have done that,¡± Aria finally spoke, voice sharp.


    I arched a brow. ¡°You wanted me to kneel?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she snapped. ¡°But you know how Devran is. You should have handled it better.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I handled it the way I handle everything.¡±


    She stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and turned, her eyes narrowing. ¡°And that is exactly the problem, Alaric.¡±


    I exhaled, rubbing my temple. ¡°What did you expect me to do? He sat on our father¡¯s throne while his corpse is barely cold.¡±


    She hesitated, glancing away. ¡°I know.¡±


    Her hand gripped the door handle, her shoulders tense. ¡°I just¡ª¡± she sighed, shaking her head. ¡°You could have bought yourself time.¡±


    I crossed my arms. ¡°I am not a man of false smiles and empty oaths.¡±


    She let out a short laugh, bitter and tired. ¡°I know.¡±


    Ser Gildas finally spoke, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension. ¡°It is done. There is no point arguing over it now.¡±


    Aria sighed. ¡°Fine.¡± She opened the door and stepped inside.


    I hesitated at the threshold.


    This was my old room. The one I had not slept in for years.


    I had spent my nights on the training grounds, the barracks, even in taverns among commoners and soldiers. The walls of this place felt too distant. Too grand for someone like me.


    Aria must have noticed my hesitation because she frowned, stepping closer.


    ¡°You have a long journey behind you,¡± she said, softer this time. ¡°Just rest, Alaric. We¡¯ll talk tomorrow.¡±


    I studied her for a moment. Then I nodded.


    She gave me one last look before stepping back into the hallway, Ser Gildas following her without a word.


    The door shut behind them, leaving me alone.


    For the first time in years, I was back in Elria.


    And for the first time in years, I did not know what tomorrow would bring.


    "A lion does not ask permission to rule the jungle."


    -King Valero the Frail

 Chapter 2.The Gathering Storm

    "War does not make heroes, Only Graves"


    -Alaric the Bastard


    My P.O.V


    The royal quarters felt foreign. Too clean, too quiet. I had spent years sleeping in taverns, barracks, and open fields soaked in blood. This place¡ªthis gilded cage¡ªoffered neither comfort nor familiarity. And yet, for the first time in years, I had slept deeply.


    Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe it was the weight of being back in Elria.


    I rose without ceremony, dressing in the same worn tunic and battered armor I had carried through the war. The steel bore the scars of countless battles, each scratch a memory. My sword rested where I had left it, sheathed at my bedside. The hilt had been smoothed by years of use, the leather wrapping long since worn away. Aria had given it to me six years ago. The only true gift I had ever received. I would never part with it.


    I fastened the blade at my hip and stepped into the hall. Aria and Ser Gildas were already waiting.


    Aria wore mourning robes of deep black, silver embroidery tracing delicate patterns along the sleeves. Even in grief, she carried herself with quiet dignity. The veil over her head softened the sharpness of her features, but her eyes burned with that same fierce light.


    Ser Gildas, ever the knight, stood in full armor. The gold trim on his breastplate had faded with time, dulled by age and war. He gave me a respectful nod.


    Aria smirked. ¡°So, the bastard finally sleeps in the royal quarters. Shall we prepare the city for snowfall as well?¡±


    I snorted. ¡°It was too quiet. Nearly went mad.¡±


    Ser Gildas chuckled under his breath, but Aria only shook her head. ¡°Come. Devran¡¯s called a council. He¡¯ll have words if we keep him waiting.¡±


    We walked through the palace corridors, past servants who averted their gazes and guards who stood stiff-backed, expressionless. The nobles we passed were less discreet. I saw the curled lips, the narrowed eyes¡ªthe barely concealed disdain.


    If it were up to them, I would not be here at all.


    But Aria was at my side, and her glare alone was enough to keep their tongues still.


    The throne room was heavy with silence.


    Devran sat on the throne, his posture rigid, his mourning robes immaculate. The golden lion of Gulvia stretched across his chest¡ªa reminder of what he was. Firstborn. Heir. The Golden Prince.


    Beside him, Ser Lanselot stood like a statue, silvered armor gleaming in the dim light. He did not speak. He did not need to. His presence alone was a warning.


    Leo was off to the side, arms crossed, watching everything with that same calculating stare. Beside him, his pet knight, Ser Midryn, wore a smirk that made my fingers itch for my sword.


    And then there was Anna. The Queen Dowager sat in her high-backed chair, clad in black, veil obscuring most of her face. But I could feel her gaze on me, sharp and assessing. Even in grief, she was a force in this court. She did not acknowledge me. I expected nothing less.


    The ministers stood in a careful line, wrapped in silks and somber expressions. Lord Callus, the Minister of Diplomacy, was thin and sickly looking. Lord Saban, the Minister of Finance, seemed exhausted, his balding head gleaming with sweat. The Grand Marshal, Ser Alden, was stiff and unreadable.


    And then there was Lord Varus, lingering on the terrace above, more shadow than man. Always watching.


    Aria and I stepped forward. Ser Gildas remained a pace behind.


    Devran¡¯s gaze flicked toward us, irritation flashing across his face. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I was sleeping.¡±


    Leo exhaled sharply, like he was trying to suppress a laugh. Midryn didn¡¯t bother. His chuckle echoed in the silence.


    Aria¡¯s tone was sharp. ¡°We came as soon as we were summoned.¡±


    Devran held her gaze for a moment before waving a hand. ¡°No matter. We have more pressing concerns.¡±


    Lord Callus cleared his throat. ¡°The King¡¯s death has left the realm¡­ delicate. Nobles are gathering in Elria¡ªsome to mourn, others to position themselves. The western lords have been discussing new alliances and¡­¡± He hesitated. ¡°Duke Eadric has yet to swear fealty.¡±


    The chamber grew still.


    I kept my face impassive, but the words sat heavy in my gut.


    Eadric¡¯s absence was no simple delay. It was a message.


    Devran drummed his fingers against the armrest of the throne. ¡°Eadric will come. He would not dare defy the throne.¡±


    I studied him. His voice was firm, but there was uncertainty beneath it.


    Ser Alden stepped forward next. ¡°There is also unrest among the soldiers who fought in the war. Many remain unpaid. Some have turned to banditry.¡±


    My jaw tightened. I had fought beside those men. I had watched them bleed for a king who was already in his grave. And now they were being cast aside.


    Devran exhaled sharply. ¡°We will deal with them in time.¡±


    I met his gaze. ¡°You should deal with them now. These men fought for Gulvia. If you abandon them, they will not forget it.¡±


    Silence stretched.


    Then Anna spoke, her voice smooth, edged with ice. ¡°Your concern for these men is touching, Prince Alaric. But the Crown¡¯s coffers are stretched thin. We cannot afford to waste coin on sellswords.¡±


    I turned to her. ¡°They were not sellswords when they fought your war.¡±


    The tension in the room thickened. Even Devran shifted slightly.


    Anna held my stare. ¡°You have spent too much time among them. You forget your place.¡±


    Aria¡¯s hand found my arm, a silent warning. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to look away.


    Devran¡¯s voice cut through the silence. ¡°Enough. We will discuss military matters later.¡±


    Ser Alden gave a stiff bow and stepped back.


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    Eadric¡¯s Silence


    From the terrace, Lord Varus finally spoke. His voice was smooth, almost amused. ¡°The question of Duke Eadric remains.¡±


    Devran straightened. ¡°Send a royal envoy. He will swear fealty, or he will be reminded of his place.¡±


    I crossed my arms. ¡°And if he refuses?¡±


    Devran hesitated.


    Anna answered for him. ¡°Then we remind him of the power of the Crown.¡±


    I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. ¡°What power?¡±


    The room stilled. The Queen Dowager turned her gaze on me, eyes narrowing. ¡°Mind your tongue, boy.¡±


    I met her glare without flinching. ¡°You speak as if the throne still commands this realm, but without Auria, what does the Crown truly hold? Five thousand men? A court full of scheming nobles who will not risk their own necks? A treasury so empty it cannot even pay its own soldiers?¡± My voice was steady, but the anger in my chest burned. ¡°If you move against Eadric, you will not win.¡±


    Anna¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°You overestimate him. He is but a single duke.¡±


    I stepped forward. ¡°A single duke who rules the richest lands in the kingdom. A single duke whose levies outnumber the royal army two to one. A single duke whose men bled for Gulvia while you sat safely behind these walls.¡± My voice dropped lower. ¡°If Eadric rises against you, do you truly believe the other lords will rush to your side?¡±


    I saw it then¡ªa flicker of something in her eyes. Not fear, but hesitation. She knew I was right.


    And yet, she only smiled, cold and sharp. ¡°We will remind him where his loyalties lie,¡± she said. ¡°And if he has forgotten, we will ensure he remembers.¡±


    I almost laughed. ¡°With what? Empty threats? Promises of retribution from a throne that barely holds itself upright?¡± My fingers curled into fists. ¡°Eadric does not forget, my Queen. And he does not forgive.¡±


    Her smile faded. ¡°You speak as if you admire him.¡±


    ¡°I speak as someone who knows him.¡±


    Silence. Thick. Unyielding.


    Devran shifted on the throne, irritation flickering across his face. ¡°Enough.¡± His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. ¡°Eadric will be dealt with. One way or another.¡±


    I exhaled slowly, stepping back. There was no point in arguing further. They would see soon enough.


    Aria looked at me, her brows drawn together in concern, but she said nothing.


    Devran had made his decision.


    Shortly after the Council, Aria finallt decided to attend our father''s funeral which was I forced to attend, We head to the Church inside the Castle The scent of incense was suffocating. Thick and cloying, it clung to the air like the weight of a hundred whispered prayers.


    The church was quiet, but not peaceful. The silence here felt heavy¡ªlike a breath held too long. Like the calm before a storm.


    At the center of the chamber, draped in gold and black, lay King Valero. His crown rested upon his chest, his hands folded over the hilt of a ceremonial sword. He looked dignified. Regal. Like a king should.


    He had never looked like that in life.


    I stared at him, waiting for something¡ªanger, grief, even satisfaction¡ªbut I felt nothing.


    I had spent my childhood chasing the love of a father who never saw me as his son. Then I had spent my youth trying to forget him entirely. Now, all that remained was this corpse wrapped in silk.


    Aria knelt at the altar, her lips moving in silent prayer. She grieved for him in a way I never could. He had been her father, if nothing else.


    I did not kneel.


    I had no prayers for the dead.


    A slow sigh came from beside me. Ser Gildas, still clad in his battered golden armor, stood with his hands clasped before him. He studied the body with an unreadable expression.


    ¡°He looks peaceful,¡± the old knight murmured.


    I snorted. ¡°That makes one of us.¡±


    Gildas chuckled under his breath, but the amusement didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Aye. Perhaps not.¡±


    I turned back to the dead king, my jaw tight. ¡°Do you think he feared it? The end?¡±


    Gildas was quiet for a moment. Then he said, ¡°All men do.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure if he meant my father, or if he meant me.


    Behind us, Aria rose to her feet. She turned to me, her dark eyes sharp with something that wasn¡¯t quite anger but wasn¡¯t far from it, either.


    ¡°You should be careful,¡± she said.


    I frowned. ¡°For what?¡±


    She took a step closer. ¡°You were right in the council, but you let your temper show.¡± Her voice was low but firm. ¡°The nobles already fear you. The Queen Dowager despises you. Every word you speak is a weapon they will use against you.¡±


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°So I should let them bleed the kingdom dry?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°But you must be smarter.¡±


    A scoff came from Gildas. ¡°Your sister speaks wisely.¡±


    I turned to him. ¡°You¡¯ve never held your tongue.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve also lived long enough to know when to speak and when to listen.¡± He met my gaze evenly. ¡°You¡¯re a soldier, Alaric. You fight battles with steel. But here, in court? The battlefield is words, and they are far deadlier than any sword.¡±


    I exhaled sharply, forcing my anger down.


    Aria¡¯s expression softened. ¡°I know it¡¯s difficult. But you have to choose your battles.¡±


    I looked at her, then at the cold body of the man who had ruled our lives.


    The future of Gulvia was uncertain.


    But one thing was clear¡ªI would not survive this war with a sword alone.


    The palace walls felt tighter with every passing hour. Too many eyes watching, too many whispers in the halls. I needed air.


    I turned to Aria as we walked through the torchlit corridors. ¡°I need to be dismissed for a while.¡±


    She raised a brow. ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°To find Hector.¡±


    She studied me, searching for something in my face. Finally, she sighed. ¡°Be careful.¡±


    ¡°I always am.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°That¡¯s a lie.¡±


    I smirked but said nothing.


    She gave a nod, dismissing me, and I turned on my heel, heading for the lower gates.


    The streets of Elria were restless. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and damp stone, the voices of merchants and beggars blending into the usual city noise. But there was an unease here¡ªa tension beneath the surface.


    It wasn¡¯t just grief. It was uncertainty.


    The king was dead. The city knew it. The kingdom knew it. And now, all waited to see what would happen next.


    I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders as I stepped into the lower district, heading toward the place I knew Hector would go when the palace became too much.


    The *Weeping Soldier* stood at the end of a narrow street, tucked between two aging stone buildings. It had no banners, no bright lanterns. It didn¡¯t need them. Every man who had ever lifted a sword for Gulvia knew this place.


    Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ale, damp wood, and the lingering bitterness of old war stories. Veterans sat hunched at their tables, some drinking in silence, others muttering among themselves. A few turned as I entered, their gazes lingering a moment before returning to their cups.


    I had been here before. I had seen these men before. Soldiers of the Third Border War, wearing the same scars I carried.


    But tonight, I wasn¡¯t looking for them.


    I found her first.


    Elvira.


    She sat near the back, her hands clenched in her lap, her expression tight with worry. She looked up as I approached, and the relief on her face was brief¡ªreplaced almost instantly by something harder.


    ¡°You¡¯re here for Hector,¡± she said.


    I nodded. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    She hesitated, then gestured toward the stairway leading to the rooms above.


    I didn¡¯t wait for an invitation.


    I climbed the stairs, the floorboards creaking beneath my boots. If Hector was here, he had a damn lot of explaining to do.


    I found Hector in the farthest corner of the tavern, hunched over a wooden table, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested upon them. His face was gaunt, his once-sharp eyes dull with exhaustion. He looked like a man unmoored, drifting in a sea of grief with no shore in sight.


    Elvira sat beside him, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes flickered to me as I approached, filled with silent relief¡ªbut also with something else. Worry. Fear.


    Hector didn¡¯t acknowledge me at first. He merely stared at the cup of ale in front of him, fingers tracing its rim in slow, absent-minded circles. Only when I pulled out a chair and sat across from him did he finally glance up.


    ¡°So,¡± I said quietly. ¡°You¡¯re alive.¡±


    Hector let out a dry, bitter chuckle. ¡°Unfortunately.¡±


    Elvira flinched at his words, turning sharply to him. ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡±


    Hector exhaled through his nose and took a slow sip of his drink, saying nothing.


    Elvira looked at me then, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°He hasn¡¯t been the same since he returned. He barely eats, barely sleeps. He won¡¯t talk to me, won¡¯t tell me what¡¯s wrong.¡± She swallowed hard. ¡°I told him you would come. That maybe¡­¡± She trailed off, but I understood.


    I turned my gaze back to Hector.


    ¡°Then tell me what happened,¡± I said.


    For a long moment, he remained silent. Then, slowly, he set his cup down, his fingers tightening around the wooden surface. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady¡ªbut beneath it, I heard something frayed, something barely holding together.


    ¡°My mother died,¡± he murmured. ¡°A year after the war started.¡±


    The words hung in the air, sinking into my chest like a blade.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know,¡± he continued. ¡°No one told me. No letters. No word from home. Nothing.¡± He exhaled shakily. ¡°Because the Crown wouldn¡¯t allow it.¡±


    I felt my jaw tighten.


    Elvira nodded, her expression grim. ¡°We begged for help. We weren¡¯t asking for gold¡ªjust for a letter to be sent. Just to let him know. But they wouldn¡¯t allow it.¡± Her voice trembled with fury. ¡°When I kept pushing, they threatened to throw me in the dungeons.¡±


    She swallowed hard, her hands trembling.


    ¡°I was nearly arrested,¡± she whispered. ¡°For trying to tell my own brother that our mother was dead.¡±


    Hector let out a sharp, ragged breath, running a hand through his unkempt hair.


    ¡°They let me fight for them,¡± he said bitterly. ¡°Let me bleed for them. And all the while, my mother lay dying, and I didn¡¯t even know.¡± His voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on. ¡°She begged for help. She sent word. And they ignored her.¡±


    He looked up at me then, and there was something cold in his eyes, something that had been burned into him deeper than any wound from war.


    ¡°Tell me, Alaric,¡± he said. ¡°What does a soldier¡¯s loyalty mean when the Crown treats us like dogs?¡±


    I met his gaze, but I didn¡¯t answer immediately. Because I already knew the truth.


    It meant nothing.


    "A war won is a kingdom strengthened. A war lost is a king forgotten."


    -King Valero the Frail

 Chapter 3.The Weight of the Sword

    ¡°The throne does not belong to those who want it¡ªit belongs to those who take it.¡±


    -Queen Anna of House Feldyn


    My P.O.V


    The morning sun cast long shadows across the training yard as Aria and I circled each other, wooden swords in hand. Sweat glistened on her brow, but she held her stance firm. I smirked¡ªshe had come a long way. Nearby, a small crowd of soldiers had gathered to watch. Even Ser Gildas, leaning on his cane, was watching with an amused glint in his eyes. I could tell he enjoyed these sessions¡ªperhaps they reminded him of his own youth.


    I lunged, forcing her onto the defensive. She parried well, her movements precise, but she was still slower than me. I feinted left before striking at her hip, landing a clean hit.


    She groaned, rubbing the sore spot. ¡°Damn you, Alaric.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°The enemy won¡¯t wait for you to pick up your sword.¡±


    Aria scowled, but before she could retort, a familiar voice interrupted.


    "Alaric, If it''s alright with you can you fight me?"


    The murmurs among the gathered soldiers grew louder. Ser Gildas stepped forward, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. He wasn¡¯t joking.


    I turned to face him fully. ¡°Are you sure, old man?¡±


    Ser Gildas smirked. ¡°You should be asking yourself that.¡±


    I felt Aria¡¯s hand on my arm. ¡°Alaric, don¡¯t be reckless,¡± she said, her voice quieter now. ¡°Ser Gildas¡ª¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°If I can¡¯t face him, I have no right to call myself a warrior.¡±


    She hesitated, then sighed. ¡°Ser Gildas, don¡¯t hurt him too badly.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t hold back.¡±


    Aria shot me a look before turning to Ser Gildas again. ¡°Fine. Just... be careful.¡±


    Ser Gildas chuckled. ¡°No promises.¡±


    Then, in a single fluid motion, he unsheathed his blade. The air shifted. Even at his age, the way he moved made my grip tighten around my sword.


    I exhaled slowly and drew my own.


    The moment our blades met, I felt it¡ª**power.** His strikes weren¡¯t just fast; they were precise, unyielding. I blocked, barely keeping up. He shifted angles effortlessly, forcing me to move or be overwhelmed.


    I adjusted, managing to go on the offensive. My sword clashed against his in a flurry of blows, the murmurs around us growing louder. Then¡ª


    A sudden strike.


    Pain flared in my leg, and before I could react, I was on the ground.


    The courtyard fell silent.


    Ser Gildas stood over me, his expression unreadable. Then, he extended a hand.


    I took it.


    Aria knelt beside me, her lips curving into a relieved smile. ¡°You were lucky to last that long.¡±


    I chuckled, still catching my breath. ¡°It didn¡¯t feel like it.¡±


    Ser Gildas gave a rare nod of approval. ¡°You did well.¡± He turned to leave, then glanced over his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll have to do this again.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°Only if I get to win next time.¡±


    He let out a low chuckle. ¡°You¡¯ll be waiting a long time, boy.¡±


    As the crowd dispersed, I caught sight of Ser Lanselot watching from a distance. He met my gaze and gave a small, approving nod before turning away.


    But not everyone left.


    Ser Midryn, standing near the gates, had been watching intently. His jaw was tight, his mind clearly racing. Without a word, he turned and strode off toward the castle.


    I had no doubt about where he was going or who he intended to tell.


    Ser Midryn strode into the chamber with an urgency that made Leo frown. He barely looked at the lavish tapestries or the golden goblet on the table¡ªhis usual arrogance was replaced with something else.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Leo asked, swirling the wine in his cup, barely glancing up.


    ¡°My prince,¡± Midryn said, bowing slightly. ¡°It¡¯s about Alaric. He¡ª¡±


    Leo groaned, already unimpressed. ¡°If this is another tale about how my dear bastard brother put on a show, spare me.¡±


    Midryn¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°I watched him fight Ser Gildas.¡±


    Leo scoffed. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°He lasted against him, my prince. Longer than anyone expected.¡±


    At that, Leo chuckled. ¡°Then I suppose Gildas is getting slower in his old age.¡±


    Midryn stiffened. ¡°No. Ser Gildas fought him seriously. He didn¡¯t hold back.¡±


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    Leo finally looked up, raising a skeptical brow. ¡°So what are you saying? That Alaric is some great warrior now? Please.¡± He leaned back in his chair, waving a dismissive hand. ¡°The bastard got lucky. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Before Midryn could argue, the chamber doors creaked open.


    A slow, measured thud echoed as boots crossed the marble floor.


    Both men froze.


    Varus had arrived.


    The Lord Steward of the realm, the man who had advised their father for years, walked in with his usual unsettling calm. His mere presence made Leo¡¯s fingers tense around his cup.


    ¡°My prince,¡± Varus greeted, his voice smooth as silk but cold as steel.


    Leo straightened slightly. ¡°Varus.¡±


    The older man glanced at Midryn first, then at Leo, his dark eyes unreadable. ¡°I heard you were speaking about your dear brother.¡±


    Leo scoffed. ¡°Midryn is overreacting. He thinks Alaric is suddenly a great warrior because he managed to amuse an old knight.¡±


    Varus exhaled softly, shaking his head. ¡°Prince Leo¡­ you are a fool.¡±


    Leo¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°What did you just say?¡±


    Midryn, for once, had nothing to say either.


    Varus stepped closer, lowering his voice. ¡°The Alaric you knew¡ªthe boy who could be pushed aside, mocked, and discarded¡ªis gone.¡± He let the words sink in before continuing. ¡°You see him as the same thirteen-year-old bastard your mother sent to war, but he is not that boy anymore.¡±


    Leo swallowed but said nothing.


    Varus leaned forward slightly. ¡°He is a man now. A man who commands respect. A man who even knights whisper about. And, most importantly¡ªhe is a **threat.**¡±


    The room felt colder.


    Even Midryn, usually filled with arrogance, shifted uncomfortably.


    Varus straightened. ¡°But you, my prince¡­ you should not be wasting time worrying about him.¡±


    Leo clenched his fists. ¡°Then what would you have me do?¡±


    ¡°Focus on building your own image,¡± Varus said smoothly. ¡°Duke Romulus Drakemont arrives today.¡±


    Leo¡¯s eyes widened slightly. ¡°Romulus?¡±


    ¡°Yes. And we do not know if he comes to bend the knee or simply to observe.¡± Varus¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°A man like him only follows strength. If you wish to rule, you must convince him that you, not Alaric, are the future of this kingdom.¡±


    Leo took a slow breath. He hated admitting it, but Varus was right.


    For the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar when he thought about his bastard brother.


    Not hatred.


    Not jealousy.


    Something far worse.


    Doubt.


    The chamber was filled with movement as attendants rushed about, arranging garments and accessories in preparation for Duke Romulus¡¯s arrival. Devran stood before a grand mirror, arms crossed, watching his reflection with a calculating gaze. His valet, Corvin, an older man who had served the royal family for decades, presented two different attires.


    ¡°The black doublet, my prince,¡± Corvin suggested, running a careful hand over the fine fabric. ¡°A color of authority and dignity.¡±


    Devran barely glanced at it before shifting his attention to the other option¡ªa deep red surcoat, lined with gold. The embroidery shimmered under the candlelight, the sigil of House Feldyn stitched into the breast.


    ¡°And this one?¡±


    ¡°Regal. Bold. A statement,¡± Corvin replied without hesitation.


    Devran smirked. ¡°Then that is what I shall wear.¡±


    The valet nodded and set to work adjusting the attire to fit him perfectly. A golden chain was brought forth, its weight significant but not overbearing. As Devran allowed Corvin to drape it over his shoulders, a knock came at the door.


    The attendants quickly bowed as the Queen Dowager entered. Dressed in a gown of midnight blue, her presence was as commanding as ever, her sharp gaze assessing her son¡¯s appearance with an approving nod.


    ¡°You are preparing well,¡± she noted, walking further into the room. ¡°Duke Romulus is not a man easily impressed.¡±


    Devran adjusted his cuffs, glancing at his reflection. ¡°I have no intention of failing.¡±


    His mother approached slowly, her voice lowering to something more calculated. ¡°You know what would impress him further?¡±


    Devran smirked but didn¡¯t turn. ¡°I assume you¡¯re about to tell me.¡±


    ¡°Marriage.¡±


    His jaw tightened. ¡°Not this again.¡±


    ¡°Romulus has a daughter,¡± she continued smoothly, ignoring his irritation. ¡°Victoria Drakemont. They say she is a beauty, well-learned, and of noble stock. A match between House Feldyn and House Drakemont would solidify our rule for generations.¡±


    Devran finally turned to her, his expression unreadable. ¡°I care nothing for marriage, Mother.¡±


    The Queen Dowager gave a knowing sigh, moving to the nearby table where his accessories were laid out. She picked up a signet ring¡ªthe mark of House Feldyn¡ªand turned it over between her fingers.


    ¡°You must, eventually,¡± she mused, placing the ring down delicately.


    ¡°I will, when the time is right.¡± Devran turned back to the mirror, adjusting his collar. ¡°But for now, my focus is Gulvia. Securing my rule. Strengthening the realm. Marriage is a distraction.¡±


    His mother studied him carefully, her expression unreadable. ¡°A distraction¡­ or an opportunity?¡±


    Devran met her gaze in the mirror¡¯s reflection.


    ¡°Marriage is a tool,¡± she continued, stepping closer. ¡°One that kings have used for centuries to forge alliances, secure power, and eliminate threats.¡±


    Devran scoffed. ¡°Then perhaps you should marry Victoria instead.¡±


    A sharp silence fell between them.


    The Queen Dowager did not flinch. Instead, she simply tilted her head, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles.


    ¡°I see,¡± she murmured. ¡°You believe yourself above such traditions.¡±


    ¡°I believe,¡± Devran said, turning to face her fully, ¡°that I do not need a woman to rule.¡±


    Her gaze sharpened. ¡°No. But you will need a kingdom.¡±


    They stared at each other for a long moment. The Queen Dowager had always seen through him.


    She knew that he did not desire marriage, nor love, nor even peace.


    He desired only the crown.


    My P.O.V


    The training yard was still buzzing with quiet murmurs from the soldiers who had watched my sparring match with Ser Gildas. I could still feel the sting of his last strike, the one that had knocked me to the ground. The old knight had been toying with me, even if he¡¯d been kind enough not to say it outright.


    I sat on the bench, rolling my shoulder, unstrapping my gauntlets, and ignoring the glances from those nearby. It was only a matter of time before rumors spread¡ªsome would say I held my own, others would say I got lucky. It didn¡¯t matter. What mattered was that I had fought.


    I barely had time to let out a breath before I heard hurried footsteps.


    ¡°There you are.¡±


    I didn¡¯t need to look up. I knew that voice.


    Princess Aria stood before me, hands on her hips, staring at me like I was a particularly stubborn child. She was dressed finer than before, having changed out of her training clothes, though her hair was still a little disheveled, proof that she had rushed here.


    I exhaled, already irritated. ¡°What now?¡±


    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t act so miserable. You¡¯re coming with me.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    She grabbed my wrist and pulled. I didn¡¯t move an inch.


    ¡°Aria,¡± I said flatly.


    ¡°Alaric,¡± she mimicked in the same dry tone, voice full of mockery. ¡°Don¡¯t be difficult.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had my fill of courtly nonsense for a lifetime.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°Duke Romulus will be here soon.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Victoria Drakemont will be with him.¡±


    I stilled for half a second but quickly gave her a dull stare. ¡°And?¡±


    Aria smirked. ¡°She¡¯s quite the beauty, you know.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°I doubt that.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but she is,¡± Aria continued teasingly. ¡°Fair skin, golden hair, sharp eyes. A lady of refinement and grace. I hear she¡¯s also well-versed in poetry. Perhaps she¡¯ll compose a love sonnet for you.¡±


    I groaned and leaned back against the bench. ¡°You¡¯re insufferable.¡±


    She only grinned. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t hurt for you to make a good impression.¡±


    I exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over my face. ¡°Duke Romulus won¡¯t care about me, Aria. He¡¯s here to see the King.¡±


    Aria¡¯s playful expression softened slightly. ¡°That may be true¡­ but it wouldn¡¯t kill you to at least look presentable.¡±


    I wanted to argue, but I knew she wasn¡¯t wrong. My reputation at court had always been precarious at best¡ªan inconvenience at worst. Duke Romulus was one of the most powerful men in the realm. I had no desire to impress him, but looking like an unkempt, disinterested outsider would only give my enemies more reasons to dismiss me.


    Aria must have seen my reluctant acceptance, because she grinned victoriously and grabbed my arm again. ¡°Come on, then.¡±


    I grumbled but let her drag me toward the palace.


    As we walked, she smirked. ¡°I can ask the servants to prepare a bouquet of flowers if you wish to present one to Lady Victoria.¡±


    I shot her a glare. ¡°If you do, I¡¯ll throw you into the fountain.¡±


    She only laughed, the sound light and genuine. I nearly smiled before shaking my head. I had fought a war, battled men twice my size, and survived the cold indifference of the court¡­ yet nothing in this world was as exhausting as my sister.


    Ser Gildas¡¯ P.O.V


    The flickering torchlight barely pierced the damp, suffocating air of the dungeon. Ser Gildas moved quietly, his heavy boots muffled by the stone beneath him. He had come here not for any particular reason¡ªjust an old habit. Wandering, thinking, keeping watch. A knight¡¯s duty did not end with battle; sometimes, the sharpest threats were whispered in the dark rather than drawn in steel.


    Then he heard voices.


    He stilled, pressing his back against the cold stone wall, listening. Two men spoke in hushed tones, their voices bouncing softly in the narrow corridor. He could not make out their faces, but their words carried weight¡ªdangerous weight.


    "It¡¯s only a matter of time now," one man murmured. "The Duke of the West gathers his banners. His levies train day and night, and his messengers ride across the realm seeking alliances."


    Eadric Darien. The Duke of Auria. A dangerous man, charismatic and battle-hardened. Ser Gildas had fought alongside him once, long ago. If Eadric was raising an army, then war was not just a possibility¡ªit was inevitable.


    "An internal war," the second voice said grimly. "This kingdom bled for six years in the Border Wars, and now it will bleed again. But this time, the enemy is within."


    Ser Gildas frowned. The realm had barely recovered from the Third Border War, its lords weakened, its armies thinned. Another war could shatter Gulvia beyond repair.


    Then came a name he hadn¡¯t expected.


    "And what of the Bastard?"


    There was a pause.


    "Alaric?" the first man scoffed. "A sword in service to the Crown, but one that could just as easily turn against it. Many respect him. Too many. If Eadric marches, it won¡¯t just be the Dariens we have to fear¡ªit will be him as well. He is no longer the boy they discarded. He is a man now. A warrior. A threat."


    Ser Gildas narrowed his eyes.


    There it was¡ªthe growing undercurrent of fear within the court. They did not see Alaric as merely a bastard prince anymore. They saw what Gildas had seen today on the training field. Strength. Resilience. A man hardened by war, no longer easily dismissed.


    "Prince Devran¡¯s coronation must not be threatened," the second man muttered. "If Alaric¡¯s influence continues to grow, he could disrupt everything. The politics of the realm are fragile enough."


    A soft shuffle of boots. The sound of retreating steps.


    Ser Gildas exhaled, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. He had learned much in these few moments¡ªperhaps too much. War was coming. And Alaric¡­ Alaric was no longer just an afterthought in the great game of power.


    He turned on his heel and walked away, his mind racing. He would have to warn Aria. And perhaps, just perhaps, he would have to prepare Alaric for the battles yet to come.


    ¡°A bastard with ambition is more dangerous than a prince with a crown.¡±


    -Lord Varus

 Chapter 4. The Lion and The Drake

    <h3 style="text-align: center">


    <h3 style="text-align: center">¡°There is nothing more dangerous than a man who has been wronged and still holds a sword.¡±


    -Duke Romulus Drakemont


    My P.O.V


    The great bells of Elria tolled, their deep chime echoing across the capital as one of the most powerful lords in Gulvia arrived at the palace gates. Duke Romulus Drakemont, the Magnificent, had come to pay his respects to the late king. House Drakemont¡ªrich, influential, and battle-hardened¡ªwas a force to be reckoned with, and his arrival was met with the full spectacle of royal grandeur.


    The palace courtyard had been dressed in banners, the gold and crimson of House Feldyn standing in stark contrast to the black and silver of House Drakemont. Rows of guards lined the pathway, the royal knights standing on one side, while the Duke¡¯s personal knights took their place on the other. The tension between them was immediate¡ªtwo elite forces, each measuring the other.


    I could feel it in the way the Royal Knights held their swords, their gauntleted hands tightening ever so slightly. The Drakemont Knights, clad in dark steel and bearing the sigil of the Black Drake, were just as unreadable. Silent. Unmoving. But watching.


    One step out of place, and there would be blood in the courtyard.


    Then, Duke Romulus dismounted his horse.


    A mountain of a man, broad-shouldered and imposing, he walked with the confidence of someone who knew his worth. His cloak, lined with dark wolf fur, swept across the marble as he strode forward, his steel-gray eyes surveying us all. He was not just here to mourn. This was a test. A show of power.


    He first approached Devran, The man who would soon be crowned.


    ¡°My condolences, Your Highness,¡± Romulus said, his voice deep and steady. ¡°King Valero was a formidable man.¡±


    A polite remark, but there was no grief in his tone.


    ¡°Your words are appreciated, Duke Romulus,¡± Devran replied, offering a cordial nod. He waited, expectant.


    Would the Duke bend the knee?


    He did not. Instead, he extended his hand for Devran to clasp. The tension in the air thickened as the heir to Gulvia hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it.


    A firm shake. No more, no less.


    The Queen Dowager, standing to Devran¡¯s left, smiled, though it did little to hide the sharpness in her gaze.


    ¡°Duke Romulus,¡± she said smoothly, ¡°It is good to see you still hold Gulvia¡¯s traditions in high regard.¡±


    ¡°Traditions change, Your Grace,¡± Romulus replied, his voice unwavering. ¡°What matters is who adapts to them.¡±


    A subtle challenge. One the Queen did not miss.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± she murmured. ¡°And what of loyalty, Duke? Is that not a tradition worth preserving?¡±


    Romulus gave a measured smile. ¡°Loyalty is earned, not demanded.¡±


    The Queen¡¯s expression did not falter, but I saw the flicker of irritation behind her eyes.


    The Duke turned to Leo, giving a brief nod before moving on to Aria, whom he greeted with more warmth. ¡°Princess Aria, you¡¯ve grown into a fine lady. I hear my daughter has the pleasure of your friendship.¡±


    Aria inclined her head, her tone light but respectful. ¡°Victoria speaks highly of you, my lord. She will be glad to know her father is well received here.¡±


    Romulus smiled at that, though I caught the glint of calculation behind his gaze. He was measuring Aria just as much as he had Devran.


    Then, to my surprise, his gaze landed on me.


    ¡°I have seen you before, Alaric,¡± he said, his voice like gravel over stone. ¡°The Siege of Alverton. Three years ago.¡±


    Alverton. One of the most brutal battles of the war. A place where men died screaming, where honor and chivalry meant nothing.


    I met his gaze and gave a respectful nod. ¡°An honor, Your Grace.¡±


    Romulus studied me for a moment before nodding in return. ¡°Few men leave that place unbroken.¡±


    It was a simple statement, but it held weight. I knew what he meant. I had left that battlefield changed, just as he had.


    The moment passed, but before I could exhale, I caught Aria grinning at me. I knew that look.


    Leaning in, she whispered, ¡°You should greet Victoria. Who knows? Maybe you¡¯ll fall for her.¡±


    I shot her a flat look. ¡°Keep dreaming.¡±


    Aria only laughed.


    A few feet away, the Drakemont Knights and the Royal Knights were still standing in silent opposition, neither side willing to show weakness. The way Ser Lanselot, commander of the Royal Guard, observed them made it clear¡ªhe saw them as a potential threat. And they knew it.


    One of the Drakemont knights, a man with a scar running down his cheek, smirked as he met Lanselot¡¯s gaze. ¡°You seem uneasy, Ser,¡± he said, his voice just loud enough to be heard.


    Lanselot didn¡¯t blink. ¡°I¡¯ve seen enough battles to know when swords are drawn, even when they aren¡¯t in hand.¡±


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    The knight chuckled, but the tension remained. It was a warning, one that needed no further words.


    Before the moment could escalate, Devran stepped forward, breaking the air of hostility.


    ¡°To honor Duke Romulus and his House, a feast has been prepared in his name.¡±


    Murmurs of approval rippled through the gathered nobles.


    ¡°You are welcome to pay your respects to the late king at the church,¡± Devran continued, ¡°but tonight, let us set aside mourning, if only for a short while.¡±


    The formalities were complete. The games had begun.


    As the Duke and his retinue moved toward the palace, I found my gaze lingering on him. Was this an ally¡ªor an enemy waiting for his moment?


    Across the hall, the tension between the elite knights of Gulvia and the Drakemont knights had begun to take shape, unspoken but heavy in the air.


    At the center of it sat Ser Lanselot Hamilton, the famed commander of the Royal Guard, and across from him, Ser Thaddeus, the most decorated knight in Drakemont¡¯s service. Both men were warriors of great renown, veterans who had seen the horrors of war and lived to tell the tale. Around them, the knights of both factions subtly squared their shoulders, each side measuring the other.


    Ser Thaddeus was the first to break the silence. ¡°You have fine men, Ser Lanselot,¡± he said, his voice calm but edged with something beneath the surface. ¡°Though I wonder if your Royal Guard has grown too comfortable in Elria¡¯s halls. Guarding kings and nobles is quite different from standing on the battlefield.¡±


    Lanselot¡¯s smirk was slow and deliberate. He tapped his fingers lightly against the pommel of his sword. ¡°A knight is only as good as his last battle, Ser Thaddeus. Shall we compare?¡±


    The remark was laced with challenge, and the other knights leaned in slightly, sensing the weight behind his words.


    Ser Gildas, though older and long past his prime, chuckled as he swirled his goblet of wine. ¡°I wasn¡¯t at Alverton,¡± he mused, his voice casual but pointed, ¡°but I did hear of a certain retreat. House Drakemont¡¯s banners pulling back from the walls, if I recall correctly.¡±


    The air between them turned sharp. A few Drakemont knights stiffened at the remark, their hands instinctively twitching toward their hilts. Ser Thaddeus¡¯s jaw tightened, but he kept his composure, though his grip on his goblet had visibly tightened.


    ¡°That siege lasted longer than most would have survived,¡± Thaddeus said, his voice even but firm. ¡°A tactical withdrawal is not the same as defeat.¡±


    Lanselot didn¡¯t let up. ¡°Perhaps. But those who stayed didn¡¯t have the luxury of retreat.¡±


    It was an unspoken truth: Drakemont had pulled back, and others had bled in their place. The implication was clear.


    Ser Thaddeus met Lanselot¡¯s gaze, the tension thick enough to cut with a dagger. If they weren¡¯t seated in a royal feast, steel might have been drawn right then.


    But before the conversation could escalate further, a throat cleared.


    Duke Romulus.


    The moment his gaze flicked toward his knights, they immediately eased back, their shoulders relaxing¡ªthough the fire in their eyes remained. It was not the time for bloodshed, not here.


    But the message had been sent.


    The knights of Gulvia and the knights of Drakemont would not see each other as allies anytime soon.


    The hall was alive with the glow of chandeliers and the murmur of noble conversation. Servants moved swiftly, refilling goblets and setting down lavish dishes, yet the true spectacle was not the feast itself but the unspoken war brewing between the two most commanding figures at the high table¡ªQueen Anna and Duke Romulus Drakemont.


    The conversation ebbed and flowed between pleasantries and political undertones, but it was Lord Varus of House Montclair who shifted the tide, his voice cutting through the chatter.


    "A curious absence tonight," Lord Varus remarked, swirling the wine in his goblet. "One would think the Duke Eadric Darian would make an appearance to pay respects to his late king."


    The words lingered, drawing the attention of many at the table.


    Duke Romulus smirked faintly but said nothing, taking a slow sip of his wine. It was Queen Anna who spoke first.


    "Duke Eadric is many things," she said, her tone smooth as silk but laced with thorns. "Grateful is not one of them."


    Some of the gathered lords chuckled softly, though others shifted uncomfortably. House Darien¡¯s absence had been noted by many, and whispers of its meaning had already begun to spread through the court.


    Lord Varus, ever the instigator, leaned forward. **"A shame, truly. Considering all the years he fought under our banner, one might expect a greater sense of duty. But perhaps," he mused,"he feels¡­ wronged?"


    That was when Duke Romulus finally spoke. He set down his goblet with deliberate care, his gaze flickering toward Lord Varus before settling on Queen Anna. "There is nothing more dangerous than a man who has been wronged and still holds a sword."


    The table fell into silence, the weight of his words settling over them like an approaching storm.


    Queen Anna turned her gaze to him, her voice honeyed but edged with steel. "Wronged?" she echoed. "House Darien holds the largest and wealthiest lands in the realm. If that is being wronged, I shudder to think what privilege must look like."


    Devran, seated beside her, stiffened. He knew that tone well¡ªhis mother was preparing for battle, but this was not an enemy to antagonize. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to grip his goblet too tightly.


    Romulus chuckled, slow and deliberate. "Wealth does not erase grievance, Your Grace, nor does land quiet the sting of betrayal. A wound left to fester will one day demand blood in return."


    Queen Anna leaned forward ever so slightly. "Then do enlighten me, Duke Romulus¡ªhow exactly did House Feldyn wrong House Darien?"


    Silence fell over the table. Even the music from the minstrels seemed to fade into the background.


    The Duke of Drakemont did not flinch. "Wars do not end when the swords are sheathed. Promises were made. Men bled for the Crown, and when the time came for repayment, what did House Darien receive? Nothing but closed doors and deaf ears. And yet, you expect them to remain loyal?"


    Devran tightened his grip on his fork, resisting the urge to slam it down. This was spiraling into disaster. He forced a calm breath before speaking. "Duke Romulus," he said, voice steady despite his growing frustration, "House Drakemont has always been a pillar of Gulvia. Our kingdom is still in mourning, and yet here we are, at odds. That is not why I invited you here."


    Queen Anna barely spared him a glance, her gaze locked on Romulus. "The Crown governs a realm, not a single house¡¯s ambitions," she pressed. "If Eadric Darien imagines himself slighted, it is because he desires more than what is rightfully his."


    Romulus chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Perhaps. But let us not pretend that House Darien stands alone in its grievances. If you think Eadric is the only lord watching and waiting, then you have far more to fear than a single rebellious duke."


    Devran exhaled sharply, his patience fraying. "Enough," he said, his voice quiet but firm. He turned to his mother. "We need allies, not enemies."


    Queen Anna finally looked at him, her expression unreadable. "And you believe bending to every perceived slight will earn you their loyalty?"


    "I believe," Devran said, voice tight, "that antagonizing the only man at this table with the power to shift the tides of war is foolish."


    Romulus smirked. "Perhaps your son sees the board more clearly than you, Your Grace."


    Anna''s lips curled into a cold smile. "Or perhaps he is too eager to crown himself king before the game has even begun."


    Devran gritted his teeth, but before he could speak, Romulus leaned back in his chair, tilting his goblet slightly. "Ambition is a fire, Queen Anna. And those who let it consume them rarely live to see the ashes."


    Anna met his gaze without flinching. "Then let us hope the Crown does not mistake smoke for mere shadows."


    The tension at the high table was thick enough to choke on. Devran exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain composed. His mother¡¯s sharp tongue had just driven a wedge between him and the one man he needed on his side.


    And Romulus knew it.


    The duke finally took a sip of his wine, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "An interesting feast," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.


    Devran clenched his jaw, already feeling the weight of what his mother had just cost him.


    My P.O.V


    The feast was a blur of laughter, clinking goblets, and hollow pleasantries. I had endured enough. Stepping away from the great hall, I welcomed the cold night air as it brushed against my face. The torches lining the castle walls flickered in the wind, casting long shadows against the stone.


    "You always were one to sneak away," came a familiar voice.


    I turned to see Ser Hector the Brave Knight, clad in his Royal Guard armor, the weight of years and battle evident in his stance. His face, once filled with the fire of youth, now bore the exhaustion of a man who had seen too much.


    "Why don¡¯t you join the feast?" he asked, stopping beside me.


    I exhaled, shaking my head. "This kind of thing... I¡¯m not used to."


    Hector chuckled. "You¡¯ve fought in a hundred battles, yet a table of nobles unsettles you?"


    "At least on the battlefield, I know where my enemies stand," I muttered.


    He let out a dry laugh but then fell silent. For a moment, we simply stood there, two warriors who had outlived too many of their comrades.


    Then he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "I¡¯m retiring, Alaric."


    I turned to him, but he wasn¡¯t looking at me¡ªhis eyes were on the city beyond the castle walls.


    "I¡¯ve given everything to the Crown," he continued. "And now¡­ the only thing that kept me going is gone."


    I nodded, understanding without needing further explanation. He had fought not for king or country, but for the ones he loved. And now, there was nothing left for him here.


    Without another word, he unsheathed his sword and held it out to me¡ªa Royal Guard¡¯s final act of service.


    For a moment, I hesitated before gripping the hilt. The metal was cold, heavy¡ªnot just in weight, but in meaning.


    "What will you do?" I asked.


    "I¡¯ll find a good living outside the capital," he said. "With Elvira."


    A faint smirk touched my lips. "So, you¡¯re choosing a quiet life over war?"


    "For once," he admitted, a ghost of a smile crossing his face.


    I reached into my belt and pulled out a small pouch of coins, offering it to him. He barely spared it a glance before shaking his head.


    "I don¡¯t need it," Hector said.


    "Take it," I said, my voice firm. "This is my last and final order."


    He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed, taking the pouch reluctantly. "Still giving orders even now," he muttered, shaking his head with a smirk.


    I tightened my grip on his sword. "You deserve a better ending than this, Hector."


    He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip strong but fleeting. "We all do, Alaric. But life doesn¡¯t give us what we deserve. It gives us what we take."


    As he turned to leave, he paused just before stepping into the shadows.


    "See you, old friend."


    I didn¡¯t answer right away. Something about the way he said it lingered in the air, as if fate had already written another meeting into our future.


    "See you, Hector," I finally said.


    Neither of us knew that when we met again, it wouldn¡¯t be as allies.


    Not as foes.


    But as brothers who had chosen different paths.


    ¡°If my last act is to shield my king, my prince, or my brothers, then I die fulfilled.¡±


    -Ser Lanselot Hamilton

 Chapter 5. Seeds of Lie

    "Before Arthur the Conqueror, Gulvia was but a dream. After Arthur, it was a kingdom eternal."


    -King Valero the Frail


    ¡°You¡¯ve ruined everything.¡±


    Prince Devran¡¯s voice echoed through the queen¡¯s chambers, sharp with barely contained fury. He stood tense before his mother, fists clenched at his sides. Queen Anna sat across from him, composed as ever, sipping calmly from her goblet. Sunlight spilled through the high windows, catching the golden embroidery of her gown, but her expression was cold, unmoved.


    ¡°Mind your tone,¡± she said coolly.


    Devran ignored her. ¡°Romulus was our last chance,¡± he pressed, stepping closer. ¡°The uncertain lords looked to him¡ªif we had secured his loyalty, others would have followed. But after last night? He left Elria insulted and embittered. You all but pushed him into Eadric¡¯s arms.¡±


    Anna exhaled through her nose, setting her goblet down with deliberate ease. ¡°Romulus was never ours to begin with. He is a cautious man, and cautious men do not leap at the first offer.¡±


    Devran scoffed. ¡°A cautious man still needs a reason to choose a side. He gave you that chance, and you threw it away over pride.¡±


    Anna¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡°A queen does not grovel.¡±


    ¡°A queen secures her throne,¡± Devran countered. ¡°And right now, our throne is looking fragile. The lords hesitate because they smell weakness, and last night, you proved them right.¡±


    His mother stood, smoothing the folds of her gown. ¡°Enough. I will not be lectured by a boy who has never ruled a day in his life.¡±


    Devran¡¯s jaw tightened, his pride stung. ¡°I may not be a ruler yet, but I can see what¡¯s happening. Eadric is gathering strength, and we are standing still.¡±


    Before Anna could retort, a knock sounded at the door.


    Devran exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Enter.¡±


    The heavy wooden door swung open, and a palace attendant stepped inside, bowing quickly. ¡°Your Grace,¡± he said to Anna before turning to Devran. ¡°My prince. Lord Varus requests an audience. He says it is urgent.¡±


    Devran let out a dry, humorless laugh. ¡°Another vulture circling,¡±


    Anna¡¯s lips curled slightly¡ªwhether in amusement or annoyance, he couldn¡¯t tell. She lifted her goblet once more. ¡°Send him in.¡±


    The attendant bowed and stepped out.


    Anna took a slow sip of her wine and said nothing.


    The chamber doors opened, and Lord Varus entered in silence, his cloak barely rustling as he strode forward. A man of quiet cunning, his lined face bore no expression save for the faintest glint of calculation in his eyes. Unlike the noble lords who draped themselves in gold and silk, he dressed in dark, unembellished garments¡ªpractical, forgettable. He bowed, first to Queen Anna, then to Prince Devran.


    ¡°Your Grace. Your Highness.¡±


    Queen Anna gestured to a chair. ¡°Sit, Lord Varus.¡±


    He did not. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and spoke without ceremony.


    ¡°There is a growing problem. One that, if left unchecked, may become a disaster.¡±


    Devran, still bristling from his earlier argument with his mother, crossed his arms. ¡°Then speak plainly.¡±


    Varus¡¯s eyes flicked to the prince before settling on the queen. ¡°It is Alaric.¡±


    Silence.


    Anna swirled the goblet in her hand, watching the wine shift like blood. ¡°Go on.¡±


    Varus stepped closer. ¡°The lords whisper of him. Not just the lowborn soldiers, not just the city rabble, but knights, vassals¡ªeven those who once scorned him. His victories in the Border War earned him grudging respect, but it is Aria¡¯s favor that elevates him further.¡±


    Devran exhaled sharply. ¡°Aria is na?ve, but she has no power¡ª¡±


    ¡°She has the love of the people,¡± Varus interrupted. ¡°And through her, so does he.¡± His voice lowered. ¡°The soldiers call him a warrior-prince, one who bleeds for Gulvia while others sit in palaces.¡± He tilted his head. ¡°And where do you sit, my prince?¡±


    Devran¡¯s jaw tightened, but before he could snap a retort, Queen Anna spoke.


    ¡°You believe he must be removed.¡±


    Varus inclined his head. ¡°I believe the longer he breathes, the stronger his shadow grows. And a shadow that large may one day swallow the throne.¡±


    Devran scoffed. ¡°Alaric is loyal to Aria. He has no ambition beyond protecting her.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Varus allowed. ¡°But ambition is not always the threat¡ªperception is.¡± He took a slow step forward. ¡°When a man gains too much love, too much respect, others will crown him whether he seeks it or not. If not today, then tomorrow. And if not him, then those who would use him.¡±


    Anna¡¯s fingers tightened around her goblet.


    Varus continued. ¡°You have a rebellion on one side and a pretender brother on the other. The last thing this kingdom needs is a third figure rising from the ashes.¡±


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Devran exhaled harshly and waved a dismissive hand. ¡°Leo is no threat.¡±


    Varus did not react. ¡°He grows bolder.¡±


    Devran scoffed. ¡°Leo is a child playing at politics. He will not act unless I allow him to. He¡¯s spent his whole life in my shadow, and that is where he will remain.¡±


    Varus¡¯s gaze remained unreadable. ¡°Shadows grow when left unchecked.¡±


    Devran rolled his eyes. ¡°Enough of this. Alaric is the concern, not Leo.¡±


    Anna leaned back, her expression unreadable. ¡°If something were to happen to Alaric¡­ it must not be traced back to us.¡±


    Varus smiled thinly. ¡°Of course.¡±


    Devran said nothing for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. ¡°If we kill him outright, Aria will never forgive us.¡±


    Varus gave an almost imperceptible nod. ¡°Then do not kill him outright.¡± He turned to the queen. ¡°You sent him to war once before. Send him again. A battlefield is an unpredictable place.¡±


    Anna¡¯s gaze was cold, thoughtful. Then, after a moment, she nodded. ¡°See it done.¡±


    Varus bowed low. ¡°As you command.¡±


    The chamber doors shut behind him, leaving mother and son in heavy silence.


    Devran ran a hand over his face. ¡°If Aria learns the truth¡­¡±


    ¡°She won¡¯t,¡± Anna murmured, lifting her goblet once more. ¡°And even if she does¡­ by then, it will be too late.¡±


    My P.O.V - Castle Training Grounds


    The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh dew as I adjusted my stance. I nocked an arrow, feeling the smooth shaft between my fingers before drawing back the string. My breath slowed, my muscles steady.


    I released.


    A twang split the quiet, and the arrow flew true, sinking into the center of the target with a solid thunk.


    ¡°Show-off,¡± Aria muttered beside me.


    I smirked, lowering my bow. ¡°It¡¯s not my fault you¡¯re still gripping too tight.¡±


    Aria huffed, lifting her own bow as if to prove a point. She had always been better with a sword than a bow, but she had insisted on practicing archery this morning. Her form was solid¡ªshoulders squared, feet planted¡ªbut she held the bowstring like she wanted to wring its neck.


    She released her arrow. It veered slightly left, landing just off-center. A decent shot, but not perfect.


    Aria sighed, brushing her hair from her face. ¡°Better?¡±


    I folded my arms. ¡°You¡¯re still overthinking it.¡±


    ¡°I have to think about it,¡± she shot back, stepping forward to retrieve her arrows. ¡°You¡¯ve been doing this since you were a child. I, on the other hand, have to actually try.¡±


    I watched her yank the arrows from the target with more force than necessary. I could tell she wasn¡¯t irritated with me, not really.


    ¡°You¡¯re distracted,¡± I said.


    Aria paused, gripping the arrow between her fingers. ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡±


    I gave her a pointed look. ¡°You¡¯ve barely insulted me today.¡±


    That earned me a small, amused scoff. She turned back, twirling the arrow absentmindedly in her hand. ¡°Fine. Maybe I am a little distracted.¡±


    I already knew why.


    ¡°The feast?¡± I asked.


    She nodded. ¡°Devran and Mother argued after it ended. Loudly. I heard them from my chambers.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t surprised. The queen¡¯s arrogance had driven Duke Romulus away, all but pushing him into Eadric¡¯s camp. Devran had to know what that meant for him, for the crown. But I doubted Queen Anna cared.


    Aria sighed, lifting her bow again. ¡°I suppose Lord Varus was there this morning?¡±


    I exhaled through my nose. ¡°Yes. He had¡­ suggestions.¡±


    She frowned, drawing her bowstring back. ¡°Let me guess. He thinks you¡¯re a threat.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve always been a threat,¡± I said dryly.


    A heavy silence followed my words.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t say things like that so easily,¡± a deep voice rumbled behind us.


    I turned, finding Ser Gildas standing a few paces away, arms crossed, his face unreadable. The old knight had been watching us for a while, though I hadn¡¯t noticed when he arrived. Despite his years, he still moved like a shadow when he wished.


    Aria lowered her bow. ¡°Gildas,¡± she greeted, tilting her head. ¡°Something on your mind?¡±


    His eyes flicked to me. ¡°The prince should know better than to call himself a threat while standing in the middle of the training grounds.¡±


    I furrowed my brow. ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Gildas said, his tone even. ¡°But truth is a dangerous thing in a place like this.¡±


    There was something off about his demeanor, the way he was looking at me¡ªstudying me, as if trying to decide whether to say more. He was a man of few words, but I had known him long enough to recognize when something weighed on him.


    Aria noticed it too. ¡°You¡¯re worried,¡± she said plainly.


    Gildas didn¡¯t deny it. Instead, he turned his gaze to the targets ahead of us, his expression darkening just slightly. ¡°There are always whispers in court,¡± he muttered. ¡°Some are worth listening to.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t speaking plainly, which meant whatever he had heard wasn¡¯t something he wished to discuss here.


    The training grounds weren¡¯t the best place for certain conversations. Too many ears.


    Aria and I exchanged a brief glance, but we didn¡¯t press him. Not yet.


    After a moment, Gildas exhaled and shook his head. ¡°Your form is sloppy, princess.¡±


    Aria scoffed, immediately bristling. ¡°It is not.¡±


    He ignored her protest. ¡°Your left foot shifts before you release,¡± he said gruffly. ¡°It throws off your aim.¡±


    Aria muttered something under her breath but adjusted her stance anyway. Gildas gave me a look before stepping back, watching as she drew another arrow.


    I knew he hadn¡¯t come here just to lecture her about archery. He had something else to say.


    Something he wasn¡¯t saying yet.


    Gildas watched Aria loose another arrow, his expression unreadable. This time, her shot was steadier, landing just shy of the center. He grunted in approval but said nothing more.


    I studied him from the corner of my eye. He was tense, shoulders squared, his usual gruffness masking something deeper. Gildas wasn¡¯t one for idle conversation¡ªif he had sought us out, it was for a reason.


    Before I could press him, a page came jogging across the training grounds, a folded parchment in hand. He stopped before me, bowing his head slightly. ¡°Prince Alaric. A letter for you.¡±


    I wiped my hands on my tunic before taking it. The wax seal was already broken. Likely checked by the royal scribes before it ever reached me.


    Still, my stomach tightened when I saw the familiar crest¡ªHouse Darien.


    Eadric.


    I turned the letter over in my hands, but I didn¡¯t open it immediately. My eyes flicked to Gildas. He was watching me now, his gaze sharp, calculating.


    Aria leaned closer, curiosity plain on her face. ¡°Who is it from?¡±


    I hesitated for only a moment before unfolding the parchment. My eyes scanned the words, and I felt something in my chest tighten.


    Alaric,


    It has been too long, how are you? I write to you not as a Duke, nor as a traitor, but as a friend. There is much to discuss. Much that you should know. I have no doubt the Queen whispers poison into the ears of those around you, but I trust you have not forgotten those who stood beside you when the world turned its back on you.


    Come to Auria, if you still value the truth. If you still value our bond. The war drums have not yet sounded, but they will soon. You will have to choose where you stand.


    ¡ªEadric


    I stared at the words longer than I needed to.


    Eadric¡¯s message was carefully worded, but the meaning was clear. He was warning me¡ªpreparing me for what was to come.


    I folded the letter before Aria could lean any closer.


    ¡°What does it say?¡± she asked, frowning.


    ¡°Nothing important,¡± I lied smoothly.


    Gildas didn¡¯t believe me. I could see it in his eyes.


    And, worse still, I had the distinct feeling we were no longer alone.


    Across the training yard, standing near the entrance to the inner keep, I spotted a familiar figure. Ser Midryn.


    His eyes were locked on me. And even from this distance, I could tell¡ªhe had seen the seal on the letter.


    A slow, knowing smile curled at the corner of his lips before he turned on his heel and strode away.


    A cold weight settled in my gut.


    I had just made a mistake. A simple letter, a moment of hesitation, and now my enemies had something to use against me.


    And I had no doubt Ser Midryn would not waste the opportunity.


    Ser Midryn moved through the corridors of the keep with purposeful strides, his cloak billowing slightly behind him. His pulse thrummed with anticipation, a smug satisfaction curling at the edges of his lips. This was an opportunity¡ªone he had been waiting for.


    Prince Leo was in his solar, a cup of wine resting in his hand as he stood near the window overlooking the city below. He barely spared Midryn a glance as the knight entered. ¡°You look eager,¡± Leo remarked, swirling his drink.


    ¡°My prince,¡± Midryn said, bowing slightly. ¡°I bring news you may find¡­ troubling.¡±


    Leo sighed. ¡°Another petition? Another noble whining about taxes?¡± He turned, finally giving Midryn his full attention. ¡°If so, you can deal with it.¡±


    Midryn smirked. ¡°No, my prince. This is about your dear half-brother.¡±


    That caught Leo¡¯s attention. He straightened, setting his wine down. ¡°Speak.¡±


    Midryn took a step closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. ¡°Moments ago, in the training yard, Alaric received a letter. From none other than Duke Eadric of Auria.¡±


    Leo¡¯s eyes darkened. ¡°Eadric?¡±


    Midryn nodded. ¡°I saw the seal myself.¡±


    For a moment, Leo said nothing. He simply stared at Midryn, his fingers tapping against the wooden table beside him. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°I saw the way Alaric reacted,¡± Midryn continued smoothly. ¡°He was careful, guarded. He knew what the letter meant. It wasn¡¯t just a friendly correspondence. There¡¯s something more.¡± He let the implication hang in the air.


    Leo exhaled sharply, rubbing his jaw. ¡°A letter alone is not proof of treason.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± Midryn conceded, tilting his head. ¡°But why would Eadric, a man openly defying the crown, write to Alaric of all people? And why did Alaric seem so¡­ concerned?¡±


    Leo frowned, his thoughts clearly turning. Midryn pressed on.


    ¡°I suspect this is not their first exchange,¡± he said. ¡°Eadric was Alaric¡¯s commander once. They fought side by side. It would not surprise me if Alaric still holds some¡­ loyalties to his old friend.¡± He stepped even closer, lowering his voice. ¡°You and I both know your mother has been looking for a reason to be rid of him. What better evidence than secret letters from the greatest traitor in the realm?¡±


    Leo¡¯s expression hardened, though a flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes. Midryn noted it immediately. The prince wanted Alaric gone¡ªhe had made that clear in their previous conversations¡ªbut Leo was cautious, careful. He wouldn¡¯t act on mere accusations.


    Not yet.


    ¡°I will inform the Queen,¡± Leo said after a long pause. ¡°She will decide how to proceed.¡±


    Midryn bowed. ¡°A wise choice, my prince.¡±


    He had done his part. Now, all he had to do was wait. The seeds were planted. And soon, very soon, Alaric would find himself standing on the edge of a blade¡ªone that Midryn would gladly see driven deep.


    "Some men kill for coin. Others for a cause. I kill because I was told to."


    -Ser Daudalus (Sworn Royal Guard of Queen Anna)

 Chapter 6. Shackles and Shadows

    "You''re Foolish to think that Leo isn''t a threat Your Grace"


    -Lord Varus to Queen Anna


    My P.O.V


    Midnight hung heavy over Elria when they came for me.


    I awoke to the soft creak of my chamber door opening, the flickering candlelight revealing a hooded figure stepping inside. Ser Daudalus.


    He moved like a wraith, his presence barely stirring the air. Behind him, several Royal Guards followed, their hands already gripping their weapons. I didn¡¯t resist. The moment I saw Daudalus, I knew Queen Anna had finally made her move.


    He did not speak. He never did.


    Cold iron shackles snapped around my wrists, the weight familiar but no less infuriating. The guards grabbed my arms and dragged me from my chamber, my boots scraping against the cold stone.


    As we passed through the dimly lit corridors, I spotted a lone figure at the far end of the hall. Ser Gildas.


    His expression was unreadable, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. He said nothing, but his keen eyes followed every movement. He knew this was a trap. He knew what was coming.


    I had no doubt that he would go straight to Aria.


    By the time I was thrown before Prince Devran, dawn was still hours away.


    The throne room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by flickering torches. Their glow cast jagged shadows against the towering stone pillars, making the room feel even colder.


    Devran sat upon the throne, but he did not look victorious. He looked angry.


    To his left, Queen Anna, ever the puppet master, observed in silence, her expression sharp as a blade. To his right, Prince Leo leaned lazily against his seat, amusement flickering in his gaze.


    Behind them, Royal Guards stood ready, hands gripping their swords. This was no trial. It was a test¡ªone meant to break me.


    A guard¡¯s hand pressed down on my shoulder, forcing me to kneel. My shackles clinked against the marble floor.


    Devran wasted no time.


    "Where is the letter?" His voice was like a hammer striking steel.


    I remained silent.


    His grip on the throne tightened. "I will not ask again, Alaric."


    Still, I said nothing.


    The tension in the air thickened. Then, as expected, Ser Midryn stepped forward, ever the ambitious snake.


    "It is clear, Your Highness, that Alaric is hiding something." His voice carried the certainty of a man who had already made up his mind. "I saw it myself¡ªhe received a letter from Duke Eadric. He did not hesitate to take it, as if they had been in communication all along."


    I scoffed, barely containing my disdain.


    But Midryn wasn¡¯t finished. He turned toward Devran, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "And let us not forget his reputation. A bastard. An outcast. The only one here with a true connection to Eadric."


    He took a slow step toward me, lowering his tone as if whispering a dark truth. "It is clear, my princes, that Alaric plots against the Crown."


    I chuckled dryly, shaking my head. "You must be desperate, Midryn, if you think fabricating lies will earn you favor."


    His smirk twitched. "We shall see how much of it is a lie when the executioner has his turn."


    Then the doors slammed open.


    Aria stormed in, her hair loose, her emerald eyes burning with fury.


    The tension in the room shifted immediately. Guards hesitated, some even glancing at Devran for orders. No one expected Princess Aria to arrive like this¡ªwearing only her nightgown and a thick cloak hastily thrown over her shoulders.


    But she did not care.


    She stopped before the throne, her hands clenched into fists. "What is the meaning of this?"


    Devran exhaled sharply. "Aria, this does not concern you¡ª"


    "Like hell it doesn''t!" she snapped, stepping closer. "You had him dragged here in chains like a common criminal! What has he done?"


    Queen Anna spoke then, her voice smooth as silk. "Your brother refuses to hand over a letter that was given to him by Duke Eadric. His silence is damning."


    Aria¡¯s eyes flickered toward me, searching my face.


    I met her gaze but said nothing.


    She turned back to Devran, voice sharper now. "So he is guilty because he will not speak? Because Midryn¡ªof all people¡ªaccuses him?"


    Midryn¡¯s smug grin faltered slightly.


    Aria pressed on. "If there is evidence, present it! Or shall we start executing people simply because we suspect them?"


    Devran''s frustration boiled over. "This is not a game, Aria! This is treason! If Alaric sides with Eadric, he¡ª"


    "If," she repeated mockingly, stepping even closer. "If. But he has not. Because he is here. Because I called for him. Not Eadric. Me."


    Silence.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Devran gritted his teeth, glancing toward Queen Anna. He did not know what to say. He had expected me to break under pressure. He had expected me to lash out.


    But Aria had forced him into a corner.


    She turned to the guards. "Release him."


    The guards hesitated, looking toward Devran.


    Aria¡¯s voice turned ice-cold. "I said¡ªrelease him."


    Still, they did not move.


    I saw it then¡ªDevran¡¯s weakness.


    Even as Crown Prince, he could not bring himself to directly oppose Aria when she stood firm. He turned his gaze toward Queen Anna, waiting for her to intervene.


    And she did.


    "Enough." Anna¡¯s voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a dagger.


    She stood, moving with the grace of a queen who knew she still held the real power in this room. Her sharp eyes locked onto mine. "Keep the chains on him. He will remain in the dungeons until we decide what is to be done with him."


    Aria took a step forward. "No. I will not allow it."


    Queen Anna smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "You have no authority here, little girl."


    "And neither do you," a new voice spoke.


    Ser Gildas.


    Every head turned.


    The Old Knight stood at the entrance, his sword drawn.


    The Royal Guards stiffened, gripping their weapons, but they did not dare attack.


    And for the first time that night¡ªQueen Anna¡¯s expression faltered.


    Ser Gildas stepped forward, his presence like a storm rolling in. "You act as though the King is still alive, my Queen. But he is not."


    His gaze swept across the room. "And no matter what schemes you weave, Aria is still a Princess of Gulvia. And I still serve her. So I suggest you let the boy go before I have to remind these guards who I am."


    For a long moment, no one moved.


    Then¡ªfinally¡ªDevran let out a frustrated sigh and waved a hand.


    "Release him."


    The guards hesitated, but obeyed.


    The chains fell from my wrists.


    I rose to my feet, my muscles aching, but I did not falter. I looked at Devran, then at Queen Anna, memorizing their faces.


    This would not be the end.


    This was only the beginning


    For the first time since I had returned to Elria, I had stood against Devran and the Queen¡ªand it felt good. Not just because I had defied them, but because, for once, I had refused to play their game. I had always been forced to endure, to swallow my pride, to pretend their insults and schemes did not touch me.


    But tonight, I had not bowed.


    That small victory lingered as I finally returned to my chambers. The tension in my shoulders had lessened, but I knew better than to feel relief. Queen Anna was not the kind of woman to forget an insult.She would rather die than allow me to win.


    I collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion weighing me down like armor. My body ached, not from battle, but from the weight of court politics¡ªthe invisible war fought with whispers, chains, and lies.


    And yet, as my mind drifted, I was not in the palace anymore.


    I was in Alverton.


    The dream was always the same.


    The burning city. The scent of charred flesh.


    The bodies.


    The battlefield stretched before me, littered with my fallen comrades¡ªfaces I once knew, men who had fought beside me, all reduced to rotting flesh in the mud. The screams of the dying echoed in my ears, a never-ending chorus of suffering.


    I saw Garrik, a friend of mine who once laughed with me around the campfire, now missing half his skull. Elyas, a boy no older than sixteen, whose body had been torn apart by northern steel. Captain Reiner, my commander, the man who once told me I had the makings of a great warrior, impaled on a broken spear.


    I tried to move, but my legs felt like they were wading through blood. The smoke choked my lungs, and the fire turned the sky into a hellish red.


    Then, I heard the voices.


    ¡°Bastard¡­¡±


    ¡°You should have died with them¡­¡±


    ¡°Traitor¡­¡±


    The words slithered around me, faceless, cruel, relentless.


    I turned and saw Queen Anna¡¯s smile, cold and sharp like a dagger. Devran¡¯s glare, full of barely contained rage. Leo¡¯s smirk, the look of a man waiting for his moment.


    And behind them¡ªAria.


    But her face was not angry. It was pained.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you save them, Alaric?¡±


    I tried to reach for her, but the battlefield swallowed me whole.


    I woke with a gasp, my hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn¡¯t there.


    The morning light filtered through the curtains, too bright, too harsh. My heartbeat was still racing, my body drenched in sweat. The scent of burning flesh still lingered in my mind, a phantom that refused to leave.


    I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.


    It had been years since Alverton.


    But the past never truly leaves.


    I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples. The time had passed too fast. The nightmares always made it feel that way¡ªone moment I closed my eyes, and the next, the sun was already rising.


    But I did not have time to dwell on it.


    Today would be critical.


    After what had happened last night, I needed to be ready, wary, cautious and prepared. Queen Anna was not the type to back down.


    She would strike again.


    And this time, she would not fail.


    The halls of the castle were unnervingly quiet. The wake had drained the court, leaving only the occasional patrolling guards moving through the corridors like ghosts. I stepped lightly, my boots barely making a sound against the cold stone floor.


    Today was the last day of King Valero¡¯s wake. Tomorrow, he would be buried, and the day after that, Devran would be crowned. Time was slipping through my fingers. Once Devran wore the crown, it would be nearly impossible to challenge him¡ªAnna would ensure it.


    I needed answers.


    I bypassed Aria¡¯s quarters. A faint glow from inside told me she was awake, likely preparing for the morning¡¯s court affairs. She would be with the Queen and my brothers soon, sharing a morning meal she barely tolerated.


    The air in the halls felt heavier than usual. The silence was too perfect. My instincts tensed.


    A group of soldiers passed me, their faces unreadable. One gave me a slight nod¡ªacknowledgment, perhaps, or just a courtesy. I returned it, keeping my expression neutral. Even among the castle guards, I could no longer be certain of my allies.


    I moved swiftly through the corridors, heading toward the Royal Guard quarters. If there was one man who could give me insight into what came next, it was Ser Gildas. Unlike Aria, he was not bound by courtly constraints¡ªhe had no need for pleasantries or careful maneuvering. He had lived too long, fought too many wars, to waste words on anything but the truth.


    When I reached the quarters, I pushed open the heavy wooden door. The scent of oil, steel, and damp stone filled my nose.


    Ser Gildas sat at the wooden table, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate strokes. He didn¡¯t look up as I entered the Royal Guard quarters, but I knew he had been expecting me. He had been there last night¡ªhe had seen everything.


    ¡°You held yourself well,¡± he said after a moment, his gravelly voice breaking the silence.


    I exhaled sharply, pulling up a chair across from him. ¡°I stood my ground.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± he nodded. ¡°And for the first time since you returned, you finally looked like a man unwilling to be trampled.¡± He inspected the edge of his sword. ¡°But that won¡¯t stop Anna.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°It never has.¡±


    Gildas placed the whetstone down and met my gaze. ¡°You saw Devran¡¯s temper last night. That boy is cracking under the weight of his crown before he¡¯s even placed it on his head.¡±


    I leaned forward. ¡°That¡¯s why I need to know what comes next. Anna won¡¯t stop at humiliating me¡ªshe¡¯ll push for Devran to remove me before the coronation. If I let them strike first, I might not live long enough to strike back.¡±


    Gildas studied me carefully. ¡°You want information?¡±


    ¡°I need it.¡±


    He nodded slowly. ¡°The Queen has the lords of Elria behind her, but they care more for their own positions than her ambitions. She will move quickly, knowing her grip on power depends on crowning Devran without delay. After the events last night, she¡¯ll do what she must to secure her son¡¯s reign.¡± He set his sword aside. ¡°And you? You have Aria.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°For how long? She¡¯s fighting for me, but she¡¯s not safe either. If she¡¯s not careful, Anna will find a way to silence her too.¡±


    Gildas rubbed his jaw, deep in thought. ¡°That''s impossible, Although the Princess have protecting you ever since, she wouldn''t dare to hurt her own daughter. Devran will never allow it.¡±


    Ser Gildas had a worried look on his face, and then speaks once again.


    "And Boy, you need to becareful I was in the dungeons this past few days and Overheard something¡ªvoices in the dark, speaking in hushed tones. They didn¡¯t recognize me, and I didn¡¯t recognize them, but I heard enough.¡±


    My jaw tightened. ¡°What did they say?¡±


    ¡°They were talking about you.¡± Gildas leaned forward. ¡°Not just watching you¡ªkilling you.¡±


    A cold weight settled in my chest. I had expected Anna to act against me, but this quickly?


    ¡°They weren¡¯t guards,¡± Gildas continued. ¡°Could¡¯ve been assassins, could¡¯ve been mercenaries. But whoever they were, they had orders. Someone wants you dead before Devran wears the crown.¡±


    I exhaled slowly. ¡°Anna.¡±


    ¡°Most likely.¡± Gildas¡¯s voice was grim. ¡°She won¡¯t stop now. You embarrassed her in court, and that alone is enough to put your head on a pike. But this? This is different. She¡¯s moving fast, and that means you don¡¯t have much time.¡±


    My hands clenched into fists. The trial in the throne room had been a warning, but now the real game had begun. Anna wasn¡¯t going to wait for politics to resolve this¡ªshe wanted me gone before Devran was crowned.


    I had to move first.


    Queen Anna''s P.O.V


    The candlelight flickered against the cold stone walls, casting restless shadows across my chamber. Lord Varus stood before me, his face grim, his tone measured but edged with unease.


    ¡°The arrest of Alaric has caused an uproar among the commoners,¡± he said. ¡°While some lords support it, others hesitate. There is doubt in the air, Your Grace.¡±


    I clenched my jaw. Of course, there was doubt. There was always doubt when it came to that boy. He should have died years ago, yet here he was¡ªbreathing, defying, poisoning everything I had built.


    ¡°Alaric is a threat,¡± Varus continued. ¡°Soldiers and common folk alike are rioting in the streets, cursing the Royal Family. Some are calling him the rightful heir.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°Rightful heir? He is a stain on my husband¡¯s honor.¡± I leaned forward, folding my hands on the table. ¡°Then he must die before the coronation.¡±


    Varus hesitated. I hated that hesitation. ¡°That will not be easy, Your Grace. Too many influential people shield him. Princess Aria, Ser Gildas¡­ and others who dare not speak openly but would act if harm comes to him.¡±


    Aria. The girl had always been too sentimental, too foolishly attached to that bastard. And Gildas¡ªold, stubborn, clinging to an oath he swore to a dead king. Obstacles, all of them.


    ¡°I cannot abandon what I started,¡± I said, my voice cold and sharp. ¡°Do you understand, Varus? Alaric must die before Devran takes the crown. Once my son is king, there can be no question of his rule.¡±


    Varus exhaled through his nose. ¡°He may be a bastard, but he is still the king¡¯s eldest son.¡±


    ¡°And that is precisely why he cannot be allowed to live.¡± I met his gaze, unwavering. ¡°It does not matter that he has no claim. A king¡¯s bastard has no right to linger when his brother takes the throne. So long as Alaric draws breath, he is a symbol for rebels, a rallying cry for those who would challenge Devran.¡±


    Varus bowed his head slightly. He knew I was right.


    ¡°If an assassination is too dangerous, we must find another way,¡± I continued. ¡°We will break him. Strip him of his allies. Make him the traitor in the eyes of the realm. By the time Devran is crowned, Alaric will not just be unwanted¡ªhe will be despised.¡±


    Varus nodded. ¡°I will see it done.¡±


    He turned to leave, but I remained seated, my gaze fixed on the flickering candle. Alaric had survived too long, slipping through the cracks like a cockroach. But I had crushed men greater than him.


    Before the coronation, I would crush him too.


    "They call me tyrant, they call me butcher¡ªyet they kneel all the same."


    -King Arthur the Conqueror

 Chapter 7. The Duke of Auria

    "Alaric will be always be my brother, and nothing in the world could change that fact"


    -Princess Aria Feldyn


    Duke Eadric P.O.V


    Military Camp Near Darienport, Duchy of Auria


    I turned to Edward, who was still catching his breath. "Speak," I commanded, though I already knew what troubled him.


    "Devran tried to arrest Alaric," he said. "The city is restless, but the boy still breathes."


    I scoffed, shaking my head. "Devran is a fool. He thinks himself a king already, but he doesn¡¯t even understand the game he¡¯s playing. Arresting Alaric? He may as well have slit his own throat."


    Edward frowned. "You wanted them to turn against each other, didn¡¯t you? Wasn¡¯t this a good outcome?"


    "It is, but not for the reasons Devran believes," I said, walking toward the large map spread across my table. My finger traced the route from Elria to Darienport, then eastward to Divina¡ªthe seat of House Drakemont.


    "Devran does not realize what he has done. Without Alaric, the Royal Army is doomed before I even raise my banners," I said, my voice thick with satisfaction. "Who does he think will lead his men? Ser Lanselot?" I let out a sharp laugh. "A fine swordsman, but a fool when it comes to war. A knight, not a general."


    "Ser Gildas, then?" Edward offered.


    "Past his prime. The man was a terror in his youth, but age has caught up with him. He would sooner break on the battlefield than hold the line."


    "Ser Midryn?"


    I scoffed. "That ambitious whelp? He¡¯s nothing but a hound for Leo. He has never fought a true war, only trained in the comforts of the capital. If he commands the Royal Army, I will break them before the first moon passes."


    I turned to Edward, my voice firm. "No, the only man who could hold the army together was Alaric. He is the only one who understands war¡ªthe only one who has bled for it. And Devran, in his arrogance, has cast him aside."


    Edward nodded. "So what now? With Alaric isolated, he may remain neutral or even flee. That leaves the capital weak, but we are not yet ready to march."


    I smiled. "No, not yet. We need allies. The Drakemonts will be our key. Without them, the Feldyns will not have the numbers to stand against us. If Romulus Drakemont sides with me, we will take Elria before the war even begins."


    Edward hesitated. "Romulus despises war. He has always remained neutral."


    I waved a dismissive hand. "Romulus is not a man of war, but he is a man of ambition. The Feldyns have overshadowed the Drakemonts for too long. I will remind him of that. Everyone has a price, Edward. If I must promise him lands, titles, or marriages, I will. If he refuses..." My voice darkened. "Then we will find another way to remove his neutrality."


    Edward nodded. "I''ll send a rider to Divina at once."


    As he left, I allowed myself a smirk.


    This kingdom was crumbling.


    And only I could shape its future.


    My P.O.V¨C Elria, The Great Sepulcher


    I was late.


    It was no accident.


    The funeral procession had started at dawn, winding through the streets of Elria before reaching the Great Sepulcher, where the Kings of Gulvia were laid to rest. Thousands had gathered, filling the streets with whispered prayers, murmured grievances, and quiet mourning. Some wept, others stood in silence, but I knew the truth¡ªmost came not to mourn King Valero but to witness the transition of power.


    For them, today was not about the dead. It was about the living. About the future king.


    I stood at the edge of the funeral crowd, lingering in the shadows of the towering crypt. The chill of the morning clung to my skin, and the heavy scent of incense and melting tallow from a hundred lanterns thickened the air. The royal funeral rites had begun long before I arrived, but the words carried through the vaulted chamber.


    "Dust you were, and to dust you return."


    The High Priest of Althar stood at the altar, his crimson robes flowing as he raised his hands over the body of the king. Valero lay in state, clad in a gilded funeral shroud embroidered with the sigil of House Feldyn¡ªa golden lion rampant on a field of deep blue. His face was pale, lips drawn tight as if even in death, he disapproved of my presence.


    I almost scoffed. Even now, he lay above the common man.


    His body had been embalmed in myrrh and camphor, an honor reserved only for kings. The royal morticians had spent three days preparing him¡ªwashing his flesh, anointing him in scented oils, and dressing him in the finest silks so that when the time came, he would not stink of rot before the kingdom.


    A funeral befitting a ruler.


    Not the funeral that I imagined for him.


    I adjusted my belt, watching the proceedings from afar. The nobility was gathered at the front¡ªBarons, Counts, and their household knights all clad in black. The Royal Family stood closest.


    Devran, in his finest mourning attire, stood with his hands clasped before him, playing the role of the dutiful son. The crown was not yet on his head, but it might as well have been.


    Queen Anna stood beside him, veil drawn, but even from this distance, I could see how her shoulders were stiff with pride, not sorrow. Leo lingered close, his expression unreadable.


    Then there was Aria.


    She stood apart from them, her hands trembling at her sides. Her face was pale, not with grief, but with the weight of everything unfolding. She alone did not belong among them.


    The burial continued.


    The funeral knights lifted the king¡¯s body, carrying him toward the stone sarcophagus that had been prepared within the sepulcher¡¯s deepest vault. It was tradition¡ªevery king of Gulvia was entombed in a sealed crypt beneath the city, entombed with gold, their weapons, and the relics of their reign.


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    "May he be received by the gods," the High Priest intoned, sprinkling consecrated water over the body.


    "May his soul find rest."


    The knights placed him inside. A hush fell over the chamber as the heavy marble lid was lifted¡ªtwo tons of stone that would seal him within forever. The priests chanted in Old Gulvishan, their voices solemn and ancient.


    The lid was lowered.


    King Valero of House Feldyn was no more.


    A silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.


    Then Devran stepped forward.


    "Our father is dead, but Gulvia will endure." His voice rang through the sepulcher, unwavering. "His legacy will not fade. As we bury him today, let us remember the strength he gave this realm."


    Strength?


    I clenched my jaw.


    He sent me to war when I was thirteen. He left his soldiers to die, unpaid and forgotten. He let my mother waste away in sickness and filth.


    If that was strength, then it was the kind that bled men dry.


    Devran continued, eyes scanning the gathered nobles. "In two days, Gulvia will have a new king. I will honor my father¡¯s name and continue his rule, for the good of this kingdom."


    The words sat bitter on my tongue.


    For the good of himself.


    Scattered murmurs of agreement rose among the nobility, but there was no great applause. Some lords nodded, others whispered to their attendants. The tension in the room was palpable¡ªDevran was to be king, but not all in the room celebrated it.


    Then I saw them.


    The common folk.


    They had been allowed in at the back, peasants and merchants dressed in ragged mourning garb. Some looked solemn, some reverent. Others glared. I caught one man whispering furiously to his neighbor, eyes flicking toward Devran with something close to contempt.


    Arresting me had caused an uproar.


    Even now, the wounds of the Third Border War festered, and the soldiers who fought in it still suffered. They had wanted justice. They had wanted Valero to pay for abandoning them.


    Instead, they got a funeral.


    I was no king. I had no claim. But I had marched with them. I had bled beside them. They would not forget that.


    Perhaps Anna knew that.


    Perhaps that was why she wanted me dead.


    "This funeral is over," Devran declared, stepping down from the altar. "Let us return to the palace."


    The nobles moved first, filing toward the great stone doors, their voices hushed. The priests remained, tending to the crypt.


    Aria stayed.


    I met her eyes from across the sepulcher, but before I could speak, Ser Gildas appeared at my side, his voice low with warning.


    "Not here."


    I nodded. We left the Great Sepulcher behind.


    King Valero was buried.


    The real war was just beginning.


    My P.O.V¨C The Throne Room


    The throne room of Elria had always felt more like a battlefield than a hall of counsel, filled not with steel and blood, but with words sharpened to cut and alliances as fragile as glass.


    I had no desire to be here, yet here I was¡ªsummoned like a dog to heel.


    Ser Gildas and I arrived to find the council already gathered, the air thick with murmured conversations and tension hanging like a storm on the horizon. Devran sat at the head of the great table, draped in his golden cloak, looking every bit the king he wished to become. Queen Anna sat beside him, her eyes watchful, a quiet force behind every move her son made. Leo lounged to Devran¡¯s right, his expression unreadable, while Aria stood near the council table, arms crossed, her face a mask of thinly veiled frustration.


    As soon as I stepped inside, all eyes flicked toward me, some with contempt, others with unease. I was late. Again. But no one expected otherwise.


    It was the baron speaking¡ªone of the Feldyn lords¡ªwho finally shattered the uneasy hum of the room.


    "An army, Your Highness. Five thousand men under Duke Eadric of House Darien, marching eastward. They have established camp dangerously close to Lion¡¯s Crest."


    A murmur of unease rippled through the gathered lords.


    Lion¡¯s Crest. The fortress that guarded the only pass through the Drowning River. The waters were too wild for bridges, too deep to ford¡ªany army seeking Elria¡¯s gates had to cross at Lion¡¯s Crest or not at all. If Eadric took it, the road to the capital would be open.


    Yet, Devran barely looked concerned. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the table. "Five thousand men? That is no army¡ªmerely a gathering of swords. Eadric knows he cannot lay siege to Elria, not yet."


    I scoffed before I could stop myself.


    His gaze snapped to me, sharp as a drawn blade. "Something amusing, bastard?"


    I met his glare with an even one of my own. "Only that you assume Eadric needs to lay siege at all. If Lion¡¯s Crest falls, he won¡¯t have to. The lords of the east will rally to him. And when they do, you won¡¯t be facing five thousand men¡ªyou¡¯ll be facing twenty."


    A hush fell over the chamber.


    "Let him march," Ser Midryn said at last, standing beside Leo. He spoke with the same arrogance that dripped from every word that left his mouth. "Our garrison at Lion¡¯s Crest is strong. Eadric won¡¯t waste his strength on an assault. He will be forced to turn back."


    Ser Gildas grunted, shaking his head. "And if he does not? If he camps at the foot of Lion¡¯s Crest and blocks the supply roads, the garrison will starve before long. That fortress is strong, aye, but it is not invincible."


    Midryn sneered. "Then we resupply them. A simple matter."


    I shook my head. "And how do you intend to get through his forces without losing half your men in the process? You''re thinking like a knight, not a commander."


    Midryn¡¯s nostrils flared, but before he could retort, Aria spoke.


    "Eadric would not make a move this bold without reason." She turned to Devran, her voice sharp. "We must send reinforcements before it¡¯s too late."


    Devran sighed loudly, as if bored by the entire discussion. "So eager to send men to die?"


    "So eager to prevent greater bloodshed later," Aria snapped.


    Queen Anna, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but beneath it lay something dangerous. "Perhaps the question we should be asking is why Eadric has moved now, before he is at full strength. It seems¡­ rash."


    I frowned. It was a good point. Eadric was no fool. He was the kind of commander who only struck when he was certain of victory. He wouldn¡¯t move unless he had reason to believe the scales were about to tip in his favor.


    "The Drakemonts," I said aloud, the realization settling like a weight in my chest. "If they declare for him, it won¡¯t matter if Lion¡¯s Crest stands or falls. He¡¯ll have the numbers to march anyway."


    The lords muttered among themselves, uneasy now.


    Ser Midryn smirked suddenly, his voice laced with amusement. "Perhaps your dear friend Eadric can explain himself. After all, he sent you a letter recently, did he not?"


    I tensed.


    The room went quiet.


    Midryn spread his hands. "A mere letter, of course. A friendly note, asking after your health. Nothing at all to concern us." His voice dripped with mockery.


    Before I could speak, Leo scoffed. "So. You exchange letters with the traitor while sitting among us?"


    "It was nothing," I said through gritted teeth.


    "Nothing?" Leo laughed coldly. "A bastard and a traitor exchanging pleasantries¡ªwhat a touching sight. But tell me, Alaric, how many men will die because of your friendship? Do you even care for the men under your command?"


    The words slammed into me like a hammer.


    I stood so quickly my chair scraped against the floor. My hands clenched into fists.


    Then, without thinking, I slammed my palm against the table, the sharp crack echoing through the chamber.


    "Don¡¯t go there!" I snarled.


    Aria gasped.


    Leo¡¯s smug expression faltered.


    "You know nothing of men dying." My voice was low, but it carried through the hall like thunder. "Nothing."


    I could see it¡ªflashes of faces I had once known. Men who had fought beside me, men who had bled for a kingdom that had abandoned them. Bodies strewn across the frozen fields of the Border Wars, screams swallowed by the wind.


    And Leo my half brother¡ªthis spoiled princeling who did not even fought or never seen the brutality of the war¡ªhad the gall to question if I cared?


    Ser Gildas stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Alaric."


    I shrugged him off. I was burning from the inside out, anger and grief rising like bile.


    Then¡ª


    "Alaric."


    Aria¡¯s voice.


    Soft. Steady.


    It cut through the storm raging in my head like a sword through mist.


    I swallowed hard. The throne room felt too small. The walls too close.


    Without another word, I turned and left.


    The heavy doors slammed shut behind me.


    Footsteps followed, first slow, then quicker.


    "Alaric, wait!"


    Aria. And Ser Gildas.


    I didn¡¯t stop. I couldn¡¯t. Not yet.


    The past was clawing at me, and for the first time in a long while, I wasn¡¯t sure if I could push it back down.


    Queen Anna¡¯s Point of View


    I did not expect the bastard to break like that.


    Not in this room, not before the gathered lords and knights of the realm. Not before my sons.


    And yet, the fury that erupted from him was as raw and unyielding as the war that forged him.


    Even Lord Varus, who had stood in the shadows of the throne room for decades, unreadable as ever, showed the smallest flicker of surprise. His hand had twitched¡ªjust slightly¡ªtoward the hilt of his sword. A subtle, fleeting motion, but one that did not go unnoticed by me.


    And my eldest son¡ªmy golden lion.


    Devran.


    He sat there, silent. Unmoving.


    He did not rise. He did not speak.


    He did not defend his own blood.


    His face was carefully blank, but I saw it¡ªhesitation.


    Fear.


    It was only for a breath, gone as quickly as it came, but it was there.


    Was he scared of the bastard?


    The thought curdled in my stomach like sour milk.


    Alaric had slammed his hand against the table with such force that the sound still rang in my ears. The way he had snarled¡ªfor a moment, I thought he would draw his sword and cut down my son where he sat. That beast that my husband had let run wild for too long¡ªshackled to war, hardened by it, yet never truly tamed.


    I had underestimated him.


    That would not happen again.


    The room had stilled in those moments after his outburst. Even I, for a brief instant, had been taken aback.


    But I do not fear him.


    Nor do I pity him.


    What I saw in that moment was not just a man unraveling before the court. It was his weakness.


    Pain.


    Guilt.


    The dead still clung to him like ghosts, whispering in his ears. He carried them with him¡ªevery soldier who had died under his command, every friend he had buried in foreign soil. They were chains that bound him tighter than any steel I could forge.


    And weakness is a dangerous thing.


    He will break again.


    And next time, there will be no Aria to steady his hand.


    My fingers traced the rings on my hand, the gems cold against my skin.


    The bastard must be eliminated.


    Before, I had only entertained the thought. A distant possibility, should the need arise.


    Now, I am certain.


    He is too dangerous. Not because he covets the throne¡ªhe is too blind to ambition for that. But because his presence alone makes the court tremble, even if they do not yet realize it. Because men like him do not die quietly in exile. Because Aria¡¯s devotion to him could lead to something far more troublesome than I had anticipated.


    The storm has begun to rise, and I will not allow it to reach my gates.


    Alaric must die.


    And I will be the one to ensure it.


    "You speak of war as if you''ve ever stood on its battlefield."


    -Alaric the Bastard

 Chapter 8. The Unwanted Warrior

    "Do you know what he have been through? Alaric was crying in the first nights when he got sent of the War!!


    -Ser Hector the Brave Knight


    My P.O.V


    The Weeping Soldier was nearly empty at this hour, save for a few slumped figures¡ªmercenaries, drunkards, and men who had no homes to return to. A low fire crackled in the hearth, its dying embers casting faint shadows across the wooden walls. The scent of old ale and damp straw filled the air. I sat in the farthest corner, my fingers idly tracing the rim of an untouched tankard.


    I had spent the entire night here, away from the palace, away from the suffocating weight of duty and expectation. I had no illusions about my place in that council chamber¡ªI was a bastard, an afterthought, a soldier to be used and discarded. Devran¡¯s arrogance, Leo¡¯s sneering disdain, and Queen Anna¡¯s cold, calculated gaze were nothing new. But Leo¡¯s words had struck something deep within me. Do I even care for the men under me?


    How dare he? A man who had never set foot on a battlefield, who had never heard the dying screams of comrades, who had never had to choose between ordering an impossible charge or letting his men be slaughtered. I wanted to believe he was just goading me, but there was something in his tone¡ªsomething that made me wonder if I had truly lost sight of why I fought.


    I was unwanted in Elria. I had always known it, but tonight, it felt heavier than before. I had only stayed for Aria, only swallowed my pride and anger for her sake. But now, I wasn¡¯t sure if that was enough anymore.


    Then there was Eadric.


    The letter he had sent was simple, almost meaningless¡ªasking how I was, as if we were two comrades meeting after years apart. It was an opening, a reminder that I still had a place beyond these cold palace halls. And perhaps¡­ an invitation.


    I could go to him now. No one would stop me.


    Duke Eadric was no fool. He knew the Crown¡¯s weakness. Without me, the Royal Army was nothing more than a collection of knights and conscripts led by commanders who had never fought a real war. Devran was not his father, and Ser Lanselot, for all his skill with a sword, was not a man who could lead a campaign. Gildas was too old. Midryn was too self-absorbed. And Leo? Leo thought wars were won with words and titles.


    Without me, Eadric would win. And he knew it.


    But if I went to him, what then? I had spent my life fighting for a kingdom that had never wanted me. If I fought for Eadric, I would be nothing more than his sword, a means to his victory. And Aria¡­ Aria would never forgive me.


    The door creaked open, and heavy boots thudded against the wooden floor. I didn¡¯t need to look up to know who it was. The unmistakable presence of Ser Gildas was enough. He did not say a word as he pulled up a chair across from me, his weathered face unreadable.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been gone all night,¡± he finally said. ¡°She¡¯s worried about you.¡±


    I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. ¡°I needed to think.¡±


    Gildas leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. ¡°And did you?¡±


    I hesitated. ¡°War is coming, Gildas.¡±


    ¡°Aye. It is.¡±


    I clenched my fists. ¡°Then tell me, old man¡ªwhere should I stand?¡±


    Gildas studied me for a long moment, his sharp eyes searching mine. ¡°You already know the answer. You just don¡¯t want to say it.¡±


    Silence stretched between us. He was right. I knew where I had to stand. I just didn¡¯t know if I had the strength to do it.


    A sharp knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. One of the city watchmen stood there, looking nervous. ¡°My lord, you are summoned to the throne room. A council has been called.¡±


    I exchanged a glance with Gildas before rising.


    It seemed my time to choose had already begun.


    My P.O.V - Throne Room


    The throne room felt colder than usual. Not in temperature, but in presence. The lingering echoes of bootsteps, the flickering torchlight reflecting off the polished marble floors¡ªeverything about this place had always felt unwelcoming, but today, it was suffocating.


    I had no choice but to be here. Summoned like a hound, as if I were one of Devran¡¯s sworn men rather than his half-brother. After Leo¡¯s last insult, I had no interest in entertaining whatever self-righteous speech they had prepared, but Aria had asked me¡ªno, begged me¡ªto come.


    She stood beside me now, her presence the only thing grounding me in this den of wolves.


    ¡°Take it easy,¡± she whispered under her breath, her hand lightly brushing my arm. ¡°Don¡¯t let them get to you.¡±


    I said nothing, but I knew she could feel the tension in me.


    The council chamber was full. The high lords who still supported the Crown, commanders, and of course, the royal family. Queen Anna sat upon the throne, silent but watchful. Her expression was unreadable, but I knew better. She was observing. Measuring. Calculating.


    Devran stood before the assembled lords, his jaw tight, clearly irritated. Not by the war. Not by the dire state of our forces. No¡ªhe was irritated that Aria had dared to speak in my defense in the last council, as if her words had any weight against his own.


    Leo stood beside him, arms crossed, watching me like a hawk. I knew it was only a matter of time before he tried to goad me again.


    Ser Lanselot, now Grand Marshal of the Realm.


    The title had been his for only a short time, awarded to him swiftly after the death of Ser Alden, the previous Grand Marshal. Before Devran had even been crowned, Lanselot had been given command of the Royal Army. Another piece of Queen Anna¡¯s influence falling into place. I had no doubt she had orchestrated this. One by one, her allies were claiming the highest positions of power.


    ¡°The state of the Royal Army is a disaster,¡± he said bluntly, his deep voice carrying across the chamber. ¡°We have five thousand men. Half of them are city watchmen, untrained for battle. The rest¡ªpoorly equipped levies. There is no cohesion, no discipline. If Duke Eadric reaches Lion¡¯s Crest unopposed, we will not have the strength to stop him.¡±


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    I listened in silence. None of this surprised me.


    ¡°The Drakemonts refuse to raise their banners,¡± Ser Lanselot continued, ¡°and many of the lesser lords hesitate to commit. The Crown¡¯s influence has been weakened.¡±


    ¡°What about the other duchies?¡± he asked, his tone sharp.


    ¡°It is not only the Drakemonts,¡± Callus said. ¡°The Duchess of Montaklar, Duke Mandevill, and Duke Wulfrum have all declared neutrality. They refuse to send men to either side.¡±


    A murmur spread through the chamber. Devran¡¯s frown deepened, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.


    Devran cursed under his breath. ¡°Cowards,¡± he muttered. ¡°All of them.¡±


    Queen Anna remained silent, but her smirk deepened ever so slightly.


    Leo took the opportunity to speak.


    ¡°You hesitate to say it, Ser Lanselot, but we all know the truth,¡± he said, turning toward me. ¡°Half the realm believes Duke Eadric has the better claim to rule. And why? Because the bastard standing before us refuses to take a side.¡±


    Aria stiffened beside me, but Leo wasn¡¯t finished.


    ¡°You spent the night in the Weeping Soldier, didn¡¯t you, Alaric?¡± His tone was taunting. ¡°Drinking, thinking, wondering if you should flee to Eadric¡¯s side. Tell me¡ªhave you decided?¡±


    I clenched my fists.


    Aria spoke before I could.


    ¡°Stop it, Leo,¡± she snapped. ¡°This isn¡¯t helping.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± Leo scoffed. ¡°He stands here like some undecided fool while war looms over us.¡±


    Aria stepped forward, her voice firm. ¡°Enough.¡±


    But Leo wasn¡¯t done. He turned fully to her, his eyes narrowing.


    ¡°Why do you always defend this bastard?¡± he demanded.


    "Leo Enough," Devran speaks in a tired and frustrated tone.


    Silence.


    Aria¡¯s expression didn¡¯t waver. She stood tall, her blue eyes fierce, her posture unshaken.


    ¡°Because Alaric is my brother,¡± she said. ¡°And nothing in the world could change that fact. So enough.¡±


    The room fell still. Even Queen Anna studied Aria with renewed interest.


    Devran looked between us, frowning, as if trying to decide whether to scold Leo or allow this moment to pass.


    I exhaled slowly, my jaw tight. Aria¡¯s words had settled something in me, but they had also made it clear¡ªno matter how much the world wanted to cast me aside, she never would.


    I had come here to listen to what Devran had to say. I would endure this for Aria. But my patience had its limits.


    ¡°What do you want from me?¡± I finally asked, breaking the silence.


    Devran straightened, regaining his composure. ¡°Your sword.¡±


    Of course. That was all I ever was to them.


    I turned away from Leo, from Devran, from their petty power struggles. I looked at Aria, the only person who had ever seen me as more than just a weapon.


    For now, I would stay.


    For her.


    I did not speak.


    I did not argue, did not raise my voice, did not stay to hear their justifications or their commands.


    I simply turned and left.


    No one called after me. No one needed to. They all understood. That was my answer.


    I would fight for them.


    But not for the kingdom. Not for the throne. Not for the people who had shunned me, ridiculed me, and cast me aside like a broken sword.


    I had sworn only to fight for her. For Aria.


    And yet, here I was, preparing to spill blood for those who had never once stood for me. For those who had called me bastard before they called me prince. For a crown that had never once belonged to me.


    The thought gnawed at me like a festering wound.


    I had no choice.


    Not if I wanted her to survive this war.


    The halls of the palace felt suffocating, the air thick with the weight of decisions I did not make. My footsteps echoed down the stone corridors, the cold biting into my skin, yet my blood burned.


    The kingdom had taken everything from me¡ªmy name, my honor, my place. And now, it demanded my sword.


    Fine.


    They would have it.


    But they would never have me.


    The council had ended. I had left without a word, yet everyone understood what my silence meant¡ªI would fight for them. Not because I believed in the crown, not because I felt loyalty to Devran or his mother, but because I had no choice.


    The corridors of the palace were empty at this hour, the flickering torches casting long, wavering shadows on the stone walls. I was walking towards my quarters when I heard footsteps behind me¡ªlight, careful steps, followed by the steady, heavier pace of an old knight.


    I didn¡¯t turn. "If you''re here to scold me, spare your breath, Gildas."


    The old knight only let out a tired sigh. "I¡¯ve long since given up on scolding you, lad. I¡¯d sooner scold a storm for raging."


    Aria was beside him. She stepped ahead, blocking my path, her blue eyes filled with concern. "Alaric," she said softly. "Talk to me."


    I exhaled, rubbing my temple. "What do you want me to say, Aria? That I am grateful? That I¡¯m proud to stand beside them? That I will fight with all my heart for a kingdom that would rather see me dead?" I shook my head. "I gave my answer when I walked out of that chamber."


    She flinched at the bitterness in my tone, but she did not back down. "You are fighting for me," she reminded me. "Not for them."


    I looked away. "I know."


    "And I will never be ungrateful," she added.


    Ser Gildas leaned against the cold stone wall, watching us both. "Aye, she won¡¯t be. But others will." He met my gaze, his tone grim. "You know this already, boy. You could win them a dozen battles, bleed for them, save their damn city from ruin¡ªand still, you¡¯ll be nothing more than ¡®the bastard.¡¯"


    "Then why fight at all?" I muttered.


    Aria reached for my arm, her grip firm. "Because if you don¡¯t, Eadric will win."


    Silence stretched between us. I clenched my jaw. I wanted to argue, but I couldn''t. She was right.


    Ser Gildas sighed again, rolling his shoulders. "You were never meant to have an easy path, lad. But easy or not, it¡¯s the one you¡¯ve chosen. Just make sure you don¡¯t lose yourself along the way."


    I scoffed. "And what is left to lose?"


    Aria¡¯s grip tightened. "Me," she whispered.


    That was the only answer that mattered.


    I sighed, shaking my head before finally looking at her. "Go rest, Aria. We have a war to prepare for."


    She hesitated, but she knew better than to argue. With one last glance, she turned and left.


    Ser Gildas lingered a moment longer, studying me. Then he grunted and walked off after her, leaving me alone once more.


    I stared down the empty corridor, the weight of my choice settling on my shoulders.


    No, I wasn¡¯t fighting for the kingdom. I was fighting for her.


    That would have to be enough.


    The Royal chamber was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the stone walls. Tension hung heavy in the air, thick enough to suffocate. Queen Anna sat at the head of the room, her hands clenched tightly on the armrests of her chair, her expression unreadable¡ªexcept for the fire burning in her eyes. Devran stood before her, arms crossed, his jaw set in frustration.


    "You humiliated yourself today," the Queen finally spoke, her voice sharp as a blade.


    "I did what was necessary," Devran replied coolly, meeting her gaze without flinching.


    Anna¡¯s grip on the chair tightened. ¡°Necessary? You stained the *Pride of the Lion* by asking for a *bastard¡¯s* sword.¡± She leaned forward, her voice laced with barely contained fury. ¡°Do you even understand what you¡¯ve done?¡±


    Devran exhaled, his patience thinning. ¡°I understand that war is coming, and we have no one else.¡±


    A tense silence followed until Lord Varus, seated at the far end of the table, finally spoke. His voice was steady, measured, a stark contrast to the rising emotions in the room.


    "If you still wish to enjoy your throne for longer, my Queen, then we need Alaric," he said. "I understand why Prince Devran asked for the bastard¡¯s sword. War is upon us. Who do you think will lead our men when Eadric marches?¡±


    Queen Anna turned her sharp gaze toward him, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in his words. ¡°Ser Lanselot. The greatest swordsman in the realm.¡±


    Devran scoffed, shaking his head. ¡°Lanselot is not a general.¡±


    Ignoring him, Anna continued, grasping at other options as if speaking them aloud would make them viable. ¡°Then Ser Daudalus, a seasoned knight. Or Ser Midryn. And lastly, we have Leo. He is old enough to command. Just¡­ don¡¯t do this, my son.¡±


    Devran sighed, exasperated. ¡°You don¡¯t understand, Mother.¡±


    The Queen¡¯s expression softened slightly, sensing his frustration. ¡°Then help me understand.¡±


    For a moment, Devran hesitated, as if debating whether to say what he truly thought. Then, his voice hardened. ¡°I am not scared of Alaric. I just need to use him for now. That is all.¡±


    The Queen studied him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but there was none. Devran had made up his mind. A heavy silence stretched between them before he finally turned to leave.


    ¡°Enough with this conversation,¡± he said over his shoulder, not bothering to look back.


    As the door closed behind him, Queen Anna remained seated, her nails digging into the fabric of her gown. The flames in the chamber flickered, casting shifting shadows on the walls, but the weight of what had just transpired lingered like a ghost in the air.


    Duke Eadric¡¯s Point of View


    Milian Camp, Early Morning


    The cold morning air bit at my skin as I stepped out of my tent, the first light of dawn casting a pale glow over the camp. Fires still smoldered from the night before, and the scent of damp earth and burning wood filled the air. My men were stirring¡ªsome sharpening their swords, others breaking their fast with stale bread and salted meat. The sound of steel clashing against whetstones was a familiar rhythm, one that spoke of preparation, of war.


    Lion¡¯s Crest was within reach, but I knew we were not ready. Not yet. Though more counts in Auria had formally declared for me, swelling my ranks, I was still wary. The Royal Army was weak¡ªpoorly trained, poorly led¡ªbut I would not underestimate them. Not when Alaric stood among them.


    I did not fear King Valero¡¯s bastard, but I could not ignore him either. He had been just a boy when I first met him, thrust into war before he could even grow into his own name. I still remember his first night in the Third Border War¡ªhow he had sat by the fire, silent and shaking, his eyes filled with the fear of a child who had seen too much too soon. He had cried that night, though he had tried to hide it. I had wondered then what kind of man the war would forge him into. Now, I would find out.


    The tent flap rustled behind me, and I turned to see my son, Edward, striding toward me with a gleam in his eyes. Even before he spoke, I knew he carried important news.


    ¡°Father,¡± he said, his voice steady but filled with excitement. ¡°It is done. Duke Romulus has agreed to the alliance.¡±


    I felt a slow smile form on my lips. It was the answer I had been waiting for.


    ¡°And?¡± I pressed.


    ¡°More than that¡ªhe has offered a marriage between Victoria and me,¡± Edward continued, pride evident in his voice. ¡°He marches with seven thousand men. Within weeks, they will arrive.¡±


    Seven thousand. More than I had hoped for. Romulus was not a man who gave his loyalty freely¡ªhis agreement to this alliance meant he had finally abandoned any lingering ties to the Crown.


    With his forces at my back, there would be no stopping us.


    I turned toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning to rise. The moment Duke Romulus arrived would be the moment the Lion¡¯s Crest fell. And then, all of Gulvia would see the true strength of House Darien.


    "Kill those disgusting Commoners!!!"


    -King Brandon the Cruel to the People of Elria


    </article>

 Chapter 9.The Calm before the storm

    "The Day I die is the day I lost"


    -King Arthur the Conqueror


    My P.O.V


    The council chamber was thick with tension. House Drakemont and House Darien had formed an alliance. The two largest duchies in the realm now stood united against the Crown, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.


    Devran sat at the head of the table, his jaw clenched, fingers drumming impatiently. Queen Anna sat beside him, her face a mask of cold fury. Lord Callus, ever the tactician, adjusted the rings on his fingers, eyes flickering between the gathered lords. Lord Saban, the steward, had just finished his report, and the news was worse than expected.


    "Trade has stagnated," Lord Saban said gravely. "Duke Eadric has blocked all Crown-affiliated trading ships from using Darienport. Without it, we have no access to foreign trade. Merchants are growing restless. If this continues, we will have no coin left to fund the war."


    Queen Anna inhaled sharply. "That snake," she spat. "Eadric wages war without lifting a sword. He cuts off our lifeline while we sit here and do nothing!"


    "We should have crushed him before he became a threat," Ser Midryn muttered, arms crossed. "Now he controls trade, the largest army in the realm, and now House Drakemont. What¡¯s next? The crown itself?"


    Devran¡¯s fingers curled into fists. "House Drakemont should have been ours," he said bitterly. "If my dear mother had not driven Romulus away, they would be fighting for us, not against us."


    Queen Anna¡¯s glare could have melted steel. "Do not lecture me about Romulus, my son. That man was never loyal to the crown¡ªonly to his own ambitions."


    Lord Callus sighed. "It does not matter why Romulus betrayed us. What matters is he has sided with Eadric. Seven thousand Drakemont soldiers are already marching to join him. When they arrive, Lion¡¯s Crest will fall."


    The room fell silent.


    Lion¡¯s Crest. The fortress that stood between Elria and the rebel armies. If it fell, Elria would fall with it.


    Ser Lanselot, his face unreadable, finally spoke. "Then we must hold it." His voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the grim reality. "The Royal Army is in no shape for a prolonged siege. We have only five thousand men, and most of them are city guards and untrained levies. Against Eadric¡¯s forces, we will be hard-pressed to hold Lion¡¯s Crest for long."


    Leo scoffed. "Then why not send Alaric and his men to die for us? He seems eager enough to throw himself into impossible battles."


    Queen Anna¡¯s lips curled into a smirk. "Perhaps Leo is right. If the bastard is so eager to prove his worth, let him bleed for the kingdom he loves so much."


    Devran, who had remained silent, finally spoke. His tone was calm, measured. "I don¡¯t care what any of you think. I¡¯m not sending him because he¡¯s a bastard. I¡¯m sending him because he¡¯s the only one who can win."


    Ser Gildas, who had been silent until now, leaned forward, his voice gruff yet certain. "The boy has fought in more battles than any of you. And he survived them all. I¡¯d wager he understands war better than your entire court combined."


    Queen Anna scoffed but said nothing.


    Lord Varus nodded. "We do not have the numbers for open battle. But if we allow Lion¡¯s Crest to fall, Elria is lost. There is only one man who can lead the defense."


    The room turned to me.


    I said nothing.


    I did nothing.


    Aria was worried if I would say anything.


    But silence was all my answer.


    They all knew it.


    I would fight for them.


    But fight for a kingdom that had hated and mistreated me my entire life? A realm that called me bastard before it ever called me prince?


    I had sworn to fight only for her.


    Yet now, I fought for those who would never be grateful.


    I had no choice.


    If Eadric wanted Elria, he would have to take Lion¡¯s Crest first.


    And I would make sure the cost was too high.


    Eadric''s P.O.V-Early Morning in the Military Camp


    Everything was in place. My army stood ready, the banners of House Darien flying high over my war camp. My men drilled in the early morning mist, sharpening their swords, reinforcing their armor, speaking in hushed tones of the battle to come. Lion¡¯s Crest was within reach.


    That fortress is the key. It is the last great stronghold protecting the road to Elria, the heart of the kingdom. Once it falls, the war will shift entirely in my favor. There will be no more need for drawn-out skirmishes, no more need for political maneuvering. One great siege, one decisive march, and the throne will be mine.


    Still, I could not allow myself to grow overconfident. Not yet.


    Though my host had grown¡ªminor counts and barons from Auria had declared for me, swelling my numbers¡ªI knew victory would not be easy. The royal army, for all its weaknesses, still held one great advantage.


    Alaric.


    The thought of him gave me pause.


    It was strange, really. By all accounts, this war should have been over in a matter of months. The Crown had no great allies. House Drakemont and House Darien, the two largest duchies in the realm, stood united against them. Devran was an untested fool, surrounded by scheming nobles and spineless courtiers who cared more for politics than war. The royal army was a shadow of what it once was, held together by gold rather than loyalty.


    And yet¡­ the presence of one man changed everything.


    I remembered Alaric as a boy. He had been thrown into the Third Border War like a lamb to the slaughter, too young to fight, too inexperienced to lead. I had seen him weep in those first days, seen the horror in his eyes as he stepped onto the battlefield for the first time.


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    But he survived.


    More than that, he endured.


    War shaped him, hardened him into something greater than the nobles who mocked him. While the lords of Gulvia sat in their feasting halls, he stood knee-deep in the blood and mud of battle, learning the true nature of war.


    Now, the boy I had once comforted in his darkest hours stood in my way.


    I did not know what kind of man I would face on the battlefield. That was what worried me the most.


    Alaric was not like his brothers. Devran and Leo had their titles, their pride, their noble blood. But Alaric? Alaric had war.


    I knew he would fight for Lion¡¯s Crest until his last breath. If I underestimated him, even for a moment, it could cost me everything.


    I took a deep breath, steadying myself. The time for doubts was over.


    The next time I saw him, it would be on the battlefield.


    As I stood in my tent, lost in thought, the sound of boots crunching against the dirt snapped me back to the present.


    Edward entered, his expression brimming with satisfaction.


    "Good news, father," he said. "Ser Hector has arrived to speak terms."


    A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. It seemed my offer had not been ignored after all.


    Ser Hector. A man who had once been a brother to Alaric, a fellow bastard knight, hardened by the same war. But unlike Alaric, he had no reason to fight for the Crown.


    I had sent him a message days ago, reminding him of that fact.


    The Crown abandoned him.


    They had used him as a sword, as a tool, and when the war was over, they discarded him like a common mercenary. They had denied him the recognition he had earned, ignored his sacrifices, and worst of all, left his family to suffer.


    His mother had died alone, begging for aid that never came. The Crown could have sent him word. But they didn¡¯t. They needed him to keep fighting, to bleed for them without question.


    And so, he had.


    Now, I offered him something better.


    A chance to fight not for a king who saw him as nothing, but for a cause. A chance to stand against the same lords who had thrown us all into the meat grinder of war and left us to rot.


    A chance for revenge.


    I had no doubt he was torn. Loyalty is a difficult thing to cast aside, especially for a man like Hector. But loyalty to whom? To a king who never cared for him? To a kingdom that had let his family suffer?


    No.


    He had only one duty left¡ªto the men who had died beside him in the Border Wars. And I would remind him of that.


    He would not waste his life defending a dying throne.


    "Bring him in," I ordered Edward, my voice calm but firm. "Let us hear his answer."


    The morning sun had barely risen above the hills when Ser Hector was brought into my war tent. The man stood before me, clad in battered plate, dented in places, scratched in others. It was armor that had seen war, real war, not the polished vanity pieces worn by the knights of the capital. His cloak was plain, his boots caked in dried mud, and his expression bore the weight of a man who had long abandoned the notion of glory.


    I studied him carefully, as I always did when dealing with men like him. Bastards, commoners who clawed their way into knighthood, always had something to prove. Some sought wealth, others titles, but Hector was a different breed. He was here not for gold, not for land¡ªhe was here because of pain, the same kind of pain that turns a man into either a legend or a corpse.


    "Yer Grace," he greeted me, giving a slight bow. His voice was rough, unrefined. He spoke like the men in the trenches, the ones who bled for their lords but never dined at their tables.


    I allowed my gaze to linger on him for a moment longer. "Ser Hector," I replied, leaning back in my chair. "You''ve taken your time. I was beginning to think the Crown had its leash too tight around your neck."


    Hector let out a dry chuckle. "Leash? The only thing tight ''round my neck is the memory of the men we lost in the Third Border War. I ain''t here to waste words, Duke. You sent me a message, and I came to listen. Speak."


    I could not help but smirk at his audacity. A lesser man would have been thrown out for addressing a highborn in such a manner, but Hector was no lesser man. He was a survivor.


    "Very well," I said, steepling my fingers. "You and I both know why you''re here. The Crown left us to rot in the Border Wars. They bled us dry, sent us home as ghosts, and then spat on us like we were nothing. And yet, you still serve them." I let the words settle before continuing. "But you are not a fool. You know there is no future for you there. I offer you a place among us, Ser Hector. Not as a dog to a master, but as a man who deserves better."


    Hector¡¯s jaw tightened. "Deserve better, eh? And what better do ye speak of, Duke? A grave with a fancy banner over it?" He exhaled sharply. "I ain''t blind. The Crown failed me, failed my kin, and aye, I ain''t forgotten what they did to my mother. Died alone, she did. Begged for help, but none came. I ain''t forgivin¡¯ that. But ye think I''m just gonna jump and fight for ye ''cause I¡¯m angry?"


    I leaned forward slightly. "Not just because you''re angry, but because you know what war is. You know that loyalty must be earned, not given freely. The Crown never earned yours, and they never will. But I?" I gestured to the banners hanging behind me, to the men gathered outside. "I am offering you vengeance, Hector. And more than that¡ªI am offering you purpose."


    Hector scratched his unshaven jaw, his eyes dark with thought. "Purpose, aye? And what purpose would I have, fightin'' for you?"


    I smiled, though I could not help but look at him as a man of lesser standing. He was a bastard knight, a common-born soldier in dented steel, yet he spoke as if his choices carried the weight of kings.


    "You command men, do you not?" I asked. "You led in the Third Border War. You know battle, strategy, and the cost of both. I would not waste your talents." I allowed my voice to drop slightly, speaking as one soldier to another. "You are a good commander, Hector, but you are not a noble. The Crown will never let you be more than what you are. Under me, you can rise as high as your sword allows."


    Hector snorted. "Rise, huh? Aye, I heard that song before. Means somethin'' different when ye ain''t born in a castle, don''t it?" He eyed me warily, as if searching for deception. "And what if I say no?"


    I shrugged. "Then you return to the Crown, to a life where you will never be more than a nameless blade. You will fight, you will bleed, and when you die, they will not even remember to carve your name on a stone. Or, you fight for me, and when this war is won, you will not be Ser Hector the Bastard¡ªyou will be Ser Hector, a knight who stood against a kingdom that betrayed its own."


    He was silent for a long moment, his calloused fingers curling into fists.


    "...What do ye want me to do?"


    I smiled. "For now? Ride back. Speak to your men, those who still remember the Border War and what it cost them. Tell them that I do not ask for blind loyalty, only the will to fight for something greater than a dying kingdom. When the time comes, you will know where to stand."


    Hector exhaled slowly, nodding once. "Aye... I''ll think on it."


    I knew then that I had already won.


    My P.O.V - Castle Training Grounds


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    I swung my sword again, the steel biting deep into the straw dummy. Bits of straw scattered with each strike, but I didn¡¯t stop. I couldn¡¯t. My arms burned, my breathing was ragged, but the war inside my mind raged far worse than any exhaustion I felt.


    Can we even win this war?


    The thought haunted me with every swing. The truth was, I didn¡¯t know. I wanted to believe we could, that we would find some way to hold Lion¡¯s Crest, to stop Eadric¡¯s advance before it reached Elria. But what did we have? A few thousand men, many of them fresh recruits with no real experience. A handful of knights, good ones, but too few to turn the tide. And commanders? Aside from Ser Lanselot and Ser Gildas, there were none I would trust to lead men into battle.


    I struck again, my blade cutting deep into the wooden post beneath the straw.


    What if I spoke to Eadric?


    It was foolish, but the thought kept returning. He had been my mentor once. In the Border Wars, he had been like a father to me¡ªstrong, capable, commanding respect without demanding it. He would listen to me, wouldn¡¯t he? If I rode to his camp, if I asked him what he wanted, if I took his demands to Devran¡­ could this war end before it truly began?


    But no.


    It was far too late for that.


    Eadric was already marching, less than a week away. Even if I wanted to speak with him, Devran would never allow it. He saw every slight against the Crown as treason, and I knew he already doubted my loyalty.


    I exhaled sharply, gripping my sword tighter.


    Then what the hell am I still fighting for?


    Not for Devran. Not for the Crown. Not even for Elria.


    I already knew the answer.


    Her.


    If I could force Aria to leave this place, I would. If I could drag her away from the war, away from the bloodshed, away from the chaos, I would. But she would never go.


    She was stubborn, reckless, fearless. Just like I had been when I was younger.


    Another strike. Another deep cut into the straw.


    The world around me faded into nothing¡ªonly the dull thud of my blade against the dummy, only the weight in my arms, only the storm inside my mind.


    And then¡ª


    A touch.


    Soft. Familiar.


    A scent I knew better than my own filled the air, and I froze, my grip tightening around the hilt of my sword.


    I didn¡¯t have to turn around. I already knew who it was.


    Aria.


    I let out a slow breath, lowering my sword. The scent of lavender and something faintly sweet¡ªperhaps honey¡ªlingered in the cool morning air. It was unmistakable.


    ¡°Aria,¡± I murmured, but I didn¡¯t turn to face her just yet.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to break your arm before the battle even begins,¡± she chided. Her voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge to it. She knew me too well. She knew why I was out here, hammering away at a straw dummy as if sheer force alone could change the course of this war.


    I finally turned, wiping sweat from my brow. She stood before me, arms crossed, golden curls spilling over her shoulders. In the early morning light, she looked almost out of place¡ªtoo bright, too untouched by the war creeping toward us. But I knew better.


    ¡°You should be inside,¡± I said, sheathing my sword. ¡°It¡¯s cold.¡±


    She scoffed. ¡°And you should be resting, but here you are, trying to kill something that can¡¯t fight back.¡±


    I let out a tired chuckle, shaking my head. ¡°It¡¯s not the dummy I¡¯m fighting.¡±


    Her expression softened, and for a moment, there was only silence between us. The distant sound of soldiers training in the courtyard, the clank of metal on metal, the occasional shout of orders¡ªthose sounds faded into the background. It was just the two of us, as it had been many times before.


    ¡°You¡¯re worried,¡± she finally said. It wasn¡¯t a question.


    I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. ¡°You don¡¯t need me to tell you that.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she admitted, stepping closer, ¡°but I want you to.¡±


    I hesitated. How could I put it into words? How could I tell her that I wasn¡¯t just worried¡ªI was terrified? That every possible outcome played in my head like a cruel game, and in almost every one, we lost?


    That I lost her?


    I turned away, staring at the ruined training dummy. ¡°Eadric will be at Lion¡¯s Crest within the week. We aren¡¯t ready.¡±


    ¡°We will be,¡± she said firmly.


    I almost laughed. ¡°And what makes you so sure?¡±


    ¡°Because we have you.¡±


    I looked at her then. She said it with such certainty, such unwavering belief, that for a brief moment, I almost let myself believe it too.


    ¡°You put too much faith in me,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°And you put too little in yourself,¡± she countered, stepping directly in front of me now. ¡°You¡¯ve fought in more battles than anyone here, Alaric. You survived when others didn¡¯t. I trust you more than anyone else in that war council.¡±


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°Devran doesn¡¯t.¡±


    Aria rolled her eyes. ¡°Devran is too blinded by his own pride to see what¡¯s right in front of him.¡±


    I looked away again. ¡°It¡¯s not just Devran.¡±


    She fell silent at that.


    I knew she understood. It wasn¡¯t just Devran. It was the entire court. The lords, the nobles, the knights¡ªno matter how many battles I fought, no matter how many times I bled for this kingdom, they would always see me as Alaric the Bastard.


    But not her. Never her.


    She reached out then, placing a hand over mine. It was warm, grounding me, pulling me back from the dark thoughts swirling in my head.


    ¡°Alaric,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Do you trust me?¡±


    I met her gaze. The answer was immediate.


    ¡°With my life.¡±


    She smiled, but there was sadness in it. ¡°Then trust that we will find a way. Together.¡±


    I exhaled, letting my shoulders drop just slightly. For her, I would try.


    Even if I didn¡¯t believe in myself, I would fight for her.


    Always.


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    "A sharp blade can take a life, but a well-placed whisper can take a kingdom."


    -Lord Varus the Queen''s Shadow

 Chapter 10.The Road to Lions Crest

    "Kill every last of them seems a good option"


    -Ser Lanselot at the Battle of Lion''s Crest


    My P.O.V - The Throne Room


    The air in the throne room was thick with tension, the morning light casting long shadows through the high-arched windows. The scent of oiled steel and leather filled my lungs¡ªbattle was coming. The so-called Royal Army was already assembled in the courtyard, a ragtag force of knights, levies, and men who had never seen true war. It was hard to believe that this was the force standing between Eadric and the capital.


    As I stepped forward, all eyes turned to me. Some filled with shock, others with skepticism. It seemed they hadn¡¯t truly believed I would stand beside them. Devran gave me a nod of acknowledgment, a rare gesture of acceptance, while Leo''s glare was sharp enough to cut steel. Beside him, Ser Midryn''s sneer was barely concealed. Neither of them spoke, but their contempt was clear.


    Before taking my place, I unbuckled my sword belt and handed it to the guards at the door. A show of good faith, but also a necessity in a room filled with nobles who would rather see me dead.


    At the head of the room, Ser Lanselot stood beside Devran, his posture firm as ever, his hands resting on the pommel of his greatsword. To his right, Lord Callus whispered to a scribe, no doubt ensuring every word of this council would be recorded. Lord Saban, dressed in chainmail, bore the weight of trade collapsing under Eadric¡¯s blockade. Lord Varus, ever the spymaster, observed in silence, his expression unreadable.


    Queen Anna sat at the high seat, her fingers gripping the arms of the throne as if she could crush the wood beneath them. She had always hated me, but today, even she knew my presence was necessary.


    Devran cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "The time has come. Eadric marches, and we must be ready. Lion¡¯s Crest is our only hope¡ªlose it, and we lose Elria."


    Ser Lanselot stepped forward, his voice steady. "We must hold the fortress at all costs. Its walls are thick, the terrain favors defense, and with proper command, we can delay Eadric¡¯s advance for weeks, maybe even months."


    "Delay," Leo scoffed. "Not win. You all talk as if we stand a chance."


    "We do," I said, my voice even. "If we fight smart."


    All eyes turned to me again.


    "And what do you suggest, Bastard?" Ser Midryn spat.


    The word hung in the air for a moment too long.


    Then, before I could even react, a sharp voice cut through the room.


    "Say that again."


    It was Aria.


    Her tone was cold as steel, and the look in her eyes was sharper than any blade in this hall. She sat upright, her small hands clenched into fists, her blue eyes burning with fury. Ser Midryn, to his credit, faltered for the briefest moment. He had made a mistake.


    If there was one thing Aria hated above all else, it was hearing someone call me "bastard" in her presence.


    Ser Midryn, ever the arrogant knight, tried to compose himself. "I meant no offense, princess," he said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.


    "You meant every offense," she snapped. "You wear that armor as if you are a knight, yet you speak like a coward."


    Midryn clenched his jaw but did not respond. Even Queen Anna said nothing. No one, not even the Queen, would challenge Aria when she was like this.


    I exhaled quietly and stepped in before the matter escalated. "It¡¯s fine," I said, my tone even. "If Ser Midryn meant no offense, then let¡¯s move on to more important matters."


    Aria¡¯s glare lingered on him for a moment longer, but she eventually shifted her focus back to the council. Midryn swallowed his pride and turned his attention forward, though I could still see the irritation on his face.


    With the matter settled, I spoke again. "If we fight smart, we can hold Lion¡¯s Crest. Eadric expects a weak resistance. He believes his numbers will be enough to break through. But Lion¡¯s Crest is a fortress built for war. If we force him into a prolonged siege, he¡¯ll bleed resources. He has the numbers, but we have the walls."


    Lord Callus folded his hands. "A prolonged siege requires supplies¡ªdo we have enough?"


    Lord Saban answered grimly. "Barely. Trade has slowed to a crawl since Eadric barred our ships from Darienport. If we don''t act fast, starvation may kill us before his swords do."


    Silence. Then Queen Anna spoke for the first time. "Then we need a decisive battle. Dragging this war will only weaken us further."


    "No," I said firmly. "If we meet him in open battle, we¡¯ll be crushed. Our only chance is to force him to attack us where we are strongest. If we do that, he will suffer."


    "And who do you expect to lead this?" Leo challenged.


    Devran straightened, his voice sharp. "Alaric will command the vanguard."


    Shock rippled through the room. Even I wasn¡¯t expecting that.


    Leo slammed his fist on the table. "You would put a Bast¡ª" He stopped himself, glancing at Aria, who was already glaring daggers at him. He swallowed his words. "You would put him above me?"


    "You would put your pride above the kingdom?" Devran shot back. "Alaric has fought in real wars. You haven''t. He is the only one who knows how Eadric thinks."


    Leo was speechless, seething but unable to argue.


    Ser Lanselot turned to me. "Will you take this responsibility?"


    I took a slow breath. I had no love for this kingdom, but for Aria, for the men who would die beside me¡ªI would see this through.


    "I will," I said.


    And with that, the strategy for the defense of Lion¡¯s Crest began.


    The council had ended. Orders were given, strategies drawn, and fates sealed. The weight of war loomed over us like an unshakable shadow. The throne room emptied quickly, leaving behind the lingering echoes of hurried footsteps and tense whispers.


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    I stepped outside, the cold morning air hitting my face as I exhaled slowly. Elria was alive, but not in the way it usually was.


    The castle courtyard was filled with movement¡ªsoldiers fastening armor, sharpening swords, adjusting saddles on restless horses. Blacksmiths hammered final touches onto steel, sparks flying in the dim light. Pages ran between knights, carrying orders and supplies, their faces pale with the kind of fear that came before battle.


    Some men prayed. Others sat in silence, staring into the distance, knowing that by week¡¯s end, they could be dead.


    A column of warhorses, massive and armored, stood by the stables, their breaths visible in the crisp morning air. Stable hands moved quickly, tightening straps and fitting barding onto the destriers. The scent of sweat, leather, and damp earth filled the air. War had a smell, and this was it.


    Beyond the castle gates, Elria itself stood frozen. Families had gathered to say farewell to sons, husbands, and fathers. A woman clutched a man¡¯s face, pressing her forehead against his, whispering words I couldn¡¯t hear. A boy, no older than ten, gripped his father¡¯s cloak with small, trembling hands, refusing to let go.


    The father knelt, saying something softly. The boy nodded, but his lip quivered.


    I forced myself to look away.


    I had seen this before, and I would see it again.


    I left the courtyard behind and made my way down the winding streets of Elria. The city was eerily quiet¡ªno merchants haggling, no music from minstrels, no lively chatter. The only sounds were the occasional clank of armor and the soft murmurs of the people who watched us pass.


    I found myself at the Weeping Soldier, a modest tavern nestled between an old bakery and a leather shop. It had always been a favorite among the city guards and off-duty knights, a place where men could drink away the weight of their duty.


    Tonight, it was different.


    Few men remained inside. The ones who did sat hunched over their drinks, speaking in hushed voices. Some simply stared into their cups, as if the bottom of an ale mug held all the answers.


    I approached the counter, nodding to the innkeeper. ¡°Mead.¡±


    He filled a cup without a word.


    I drank it in one go, the burn doing nothing to ease the unease settling in my chest.


    For a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine a different life. One where I wasn¡¯t a bastard prince leading men to war. One where Aria wasn¡¯t a princess caught in the crossfire of politics and ambition.


    But that was not the world we lived in.


    I set the cup down and left.


    Back at the castle, Aria was preparing.


    I found her in her chambers, tightening the straps of her leather bracers. The moment she saw me, she spoke, her voice firm and unyielding.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you.¡±


    I exhaled sharply. ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡±


    She narrowed her eyes. ¡°Lion¡¯s Crest is only two days¡¯ march from here. I won¡¯t sit in a castle while you fight a war.¡±


    ¡°Living with soldiers isn¡¯t like living in a palace, Aria.¡± I stepped closer, lowering my voice. ¡°It¡¯s not for a princess.¡±


    She clenched her jaw. ¡°I am not a princess. I am a warrior.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Right.¡±


    Her eyes burned with frustration. ¡°I¡¯ve trained my whole life¡ªwith you. You know I can fight.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the point.¡± I sighed. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t fight well if I knew you were near the battlefield.¡±


    She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the straps of her bracers.


    ¡°You¡¯re asking me to stay behind while you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I stepped closer, my voice softer this time. ¡°Just tell me stories when I get back.¡±


    She let out a frustrated sigh, crossing her arms. ¡°Fine. But if you take too long, I¡¯ll make something up.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°I¡¯d expect nothing less.¡±


    Before leaving, I sought out Ser Gildas. The old knight was in the courtyard, already in full armor, overseeing the last-minute preparations.


    ¡°I need you to stay,¡± I told him.


    His gray eyes flickered toward me. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°I need someone to protect Aria.¡±


    Ser Gildas scoffed. ¡°She¡¯s safer with me in battle than she is behind these walls.¡±


    ¡°Not if Eadric marches on Elria.¡± I crossed my arms. ¡°If I don¡¯t make it back, I need to know she¡¯ll be safe.¡±


    For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a heavy sigh, he looked toward the castle. ¡°She won¡¯t like this.¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have to.¡±


    The old knight let out a grumble but finally nodded. ¡°Fine. But if you die, I¡¯ll kill you myself.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°That makes no sense.¡±


    He only grunted in response.


    Morning came swiftly.


    The sky was a dull gray, the kind of sky that promised blood and battle.


    Men gathered in the courtyard, adjusting armor, checking supplies, mounting their horses. The banners of the Crown were raised¡ªgold against black, fluttering in the cold morning wind. The sound of marching boots filled the streets as the army prepared to depart.


    I stood at the gates, looking back one last time I saw Aria still waving at me.


    Is this the last time I would see her?


    Elria stood behind us, silent and still.


    Ahead of us lay Lion¡¯s Crest.


    And beyond that, war.


    My P.O.V - The Road to Lion''s Crest


    The first night of our march toward Lion¡¯s Crest was colder than I expected. Even in the height of spring, the wind howled across the open fields of the Great Road, carrying with it the distant scent of damp earth and smoke from the countless campfires scattered across our encampment. Five thousand men¡ªknights, levies, and city watch¡ªhad set up camp in the shadow of the great oaks lining the road. The soft neighing of horses, the low murmur of men speaking in hushed voices, and the occasional clanking of armor filled the air.


    Men sharpened their swords in quiet determination, while others sat in tight circles sharing dry rations and murmured prayers to the gods. Some wrote final letters to their families, unsure if they would return from the coming battle. It was a sight I had seen before¡ªmen hardening their hearts for the fight ahead, masking their fear with idle conversation and forced laughter.


    The officers and knights had been summoned to a war council in Devran¡¯s command tent. I stepped through the entrance flap, shaking off the lingering cold, and found myself facing a dimly lit room where the highest commanders of our so-called Royal Army had gathered.


    Devran stood at the center of the tent, arms crossed, his golden hair glinting in the torchlight. His usual air of arrogance had been replaced with something resembling focus. To his right, Leo sat on a wooden stool, idly toying with the hilt of his dagger, his expression unreadable. Next to him, his ever-present shadow, Ser Midryn, observed the room with his usual sharp-eyed scrutiny, as if waiting for a chance to pounce on weakness. Across from them, Ser Lanselot leaned over the large map spread across the table, his brows furrowed in deep thought.


    I took my place at the table, standing between Lanselot and Devran. The air was thick with tension, but I had no time to waste on pleasantries.


    ¡°We need archers,¡± I said without preamble, my voice cutting through the silence. ¡°Defending a fortress requires more than just men with shields. We need volleys of arrows to break their ranks before they even reach the walls.¡±


    Leo scoffed, shaking his head. ¡°We don¡¯t have enough bowmen, and we¡¯re not about to summon some phantom force out of thin air. Unless you have a few thousand archers hiding somewhere, Alaric?¡± His tone was laced with mockery.


    I ignored him and turned to Devran. ¡°We turn the Royal Knights into archers.¡±


    A silence fell over the tent. Even Lanselot lifted his head to glance at me. Devran raised a brow, clearly skeptical.


    ¡°The knights won¡¯t like that,¡± Ser Midryn said flatly. ¡°Knights are meant to charge into battle, not sit behind walls and shoot like peasants.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have a choice,¡± I countered. ¡°Knights and cavalry are useless in a siege. They can¡¯t charge the enemy, and if we waste them trying to hold the walls in melee, we¡¯ll be cut down before the real fight even begins. If we give them bows, they can at least hold the walls properly.¡±


    Lanselot, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. ¡°It¡¯s not ideal, but it¡¯s better than watching our knights die uselessly on the walls. We need every advantage we can get.¡±


    Devran exhaled slowly, rubbing his chin in thought. ¡°The knights won¡¯t be happy about it, but I see the sense in it.¡± He glanced at me. ¡°You sure about this?¡±


    I met his gaze without hesitation. ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    Leo scowled but said nothing. Devran finally gave a slow nod. ¡°Then it¡¯s decided. The knights will be given bows, and they¡¯ll learn to use them on the march.¡±


    Ser Midryn clicked his tongue in distaste but made no further objections.


    With that decision made, we moved on to other matters¡ªthe placement of defenses, how to ration supplies, and how long we could realistically hold the fortress. The meeting stretched on deep into the night, until finally, we left the tent one by one, each of us lost in our own thoughts.


    I stepped outside, greeted once more by the cold night air. The stars stretched endlessly above, distant and uncaring.


    Lion¡¯s Crest awaited. And with it, our first true test.


    As I stepped out of the council tent, the crisp night air wrapped around me, a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. The scent of damp earth and burning firewood mixed with the faint metallic tang of sharpened blades, a reminder of the battle to come. The camp stretched before me, dimly lit by scattered torches and flickering lanterns. Soldiers murmured in small groups, some sharpening their swords, others tending to their horses, while a few sat in quiet prayer.


    I had barely taken a few steps when I noticed a rider approaching from the main road. His horse, a lean, sweat-lathered bay, bore the signs of hard travel. The man atop it, cloaked and hooded against the cold, urged his mount forward with a sense of urgency. My hand instinctively drifted to the hilt of my sword as the rider neared, though I quickly noted the royal crest sewn onto his cloak¡ªa messenger from Elria.


    The rider dismounted swiftly, landing with the practiced ease of one accustomed to long journeys. He gave a slight bow before reaching into his satchel and pulling out a sealed letter. Even in the dim light, I recognized the familiar wax seal¡ªAria¡¯s.


    "Prince Alaric," he addressed me, his voice rough from travel. "A letter from Her Highness, Princess Aria. She insisted it reach you without delay."


    Aria.


    I took the letter carefully, my fingers tracing the seal before I broke it open. I glanced up at the messenger. "You''ve ridden hard. Have you eaten?"


    The rider shook his head. "Not yet, my lord. I was ordered to deliver this as swiftly as possible."


    "Then find yourself something warm to eat. Speak to the quartermaster¡ªtell him I sent you."


    The man bowed again, gratitude flickering across his face before he led his weary horse toward the supply tents.


    With a steadying breath, I unfolded the parchment, my eyes scanning Aria¡¯s delicate script. As I read, I felt the weight of the war momentarily lift, replaced by something far heavier¡ªher longing, her worry, her unwavering belief in me.


    To my dearest brother, Alaric


    I hope this letter reaches you safely. The thought of you on the road to war unsettles me more than I can put into words, but I know you, and I know nothing I say will make you turn back. So instead, I will ask¡ªhow are you? Have you been eating properly? Sleeping, at least a little? I can already imagine you scoffing at me for worrying over such things, but someone must, and I will do so whether you like it or not.


    Is Devran treating you well? Or at the very least, with some measure of respect? I know how he is, how he looks at you like an unwanted shadow trailing behind him. If he says or does anything¡ªanything at all¡ªknow that I am here, and I will remind him that you are worth more than he will ever understand.


    The castle feels emptier without you. The halls are quieter, though not for lack of voices. The lords still bicker, the council still squabbles, and the weight of our father¡¯s absence lingers over everything. But you are not here, and that is what makes it truly empty for me. Ser Gildas watches over me as you asked. He is as gruff as ever, though I suspect even he misses your company in his own way.


    I walked through the training yard today and imagined you there, correcting my stance, laughing at my mistakes, pushing me harder when I faltered. I have not lifted a sword since you left. It feels strange to hold it without you there to tell me how to do it properly. But I promise I will practice so that when you return, I can show you how much I have improved.


    And you must return, Alaric. I will not accept anything else. I will not let war steal you from me as it has taken so many others. Come back, and when you do, I expect stories¡ªof your battles, of the foolishness of court, of everything in between. I will wait for you.


    Be safe.


    With all my heart,


    Aria


    She missed me.


    And I would return. No matter what it took.


    "We will take the walls of Lion''s Crest, no matter what!"


    -Duke Eadric of House Darien

 Chapter 11.The Drums of Thunder

    "Come and Let''s take the Walls of that damned Fort!"


    -Duke Eadric Darien at the Siege of Lion''s Crest


    My P.O.V - Lion''s Crest


    We arrived at Lion¡¯s Crest after two and a half grueling days of marching. The army was exhausted, our horses foamed at the mouth, and our supplies ran thin, but there was no time to rest. The fortress stood like a sentinel in the middle of the Drowning River, its towering walls rising from the stone like the fangs of some ancient beast.


    Despite its imposing presence, the fort was not ready for war.


    The walls bore scars from past battles, with cracks along the parapets and wooden watchtowers in dire need of repair. The gatehouse was sturdy, but the iron reinforcements were rusting, and some hinges showed signs of rot. If Eadric''s trebuchets pounded long enough, they could break through.


    The courtyard buzzed with activity as soldiers carried crates of arrows, set up defensive positions, and sharpened blades. Smoke curled from the forge as blacksmiths toiled over armor repairs.


    I strode toward the command post, the council tent pitched at the center of the yard. The banner of House Feldyn a golden lion over a crimson field, rippled above it in the cold morning breeze. Devran and the other commanders were already gathered.


    Inside, a long table was cluttered with maps, parchment, and half-eaten rations. The flickering torchlight danced against the hardened faces of the commanders¡ªmen who had seen war and knew what was coming.


    Devran leaned over the table, his golden pauldrons gleaming even in the dim light. "We have two days before Eadric arrives. We hold Lion¡¯s Crest or we die here," he said, his voice resolute.


    Leo scoffed. "If we had more knights instead of¡­ archers," he spat the word as if it disgusted him, "this wouldn¡¯t be an issue."


    I ignored him and addressed Devran. "The walls need fixing. The arrow slits need fresh quivers, and the main gate must be reinforced with wooden barricades to buy us time if they breach."


    Ser Midryn crossed his arms. "And what of the knights you stripped of their honor?" His sharp gaze bore into me.


    I met his glare without hesitation. "A knight''s honor won''t matter if he¡¯s dead. Cavalry is useless in a siege. An archer can kill a dozen men before they even reach the walls."


    Some of the knights murmured, uneasy with my decision, but Devran nodded. "He¡¯s right. We hold the walls first, not charge blindly into death."


    The grumbling died down, though Midryn and Leo exchanged a look of shared discontent.


    "The next issue is supplies," I continued. "Lion¡¯s Crest still holds a population of two thousand. If they stay, we¡¯ll run out of food in weeks. We need to evacuate the civilians."


    Devran drummed his fingers on the table. "That¡¯s a risk. If we send them out, Eadric might capture and use them as leverage."


    "Better that than starving with us inside these walls," I countered. "We send them North towardw Elria, under escort. That way, we lessen the mouths to feed and maintain morale."


    After a long pause, Devran sighed. "Fine. We¡¯ll send the civilians away at dawn."


    I pressed on. "One more thing. The keys to the gates must be changed daily. If there''s a traitor among us, we cannot afford a single mistake."


    Devran gave me a sharp nod, while Leo raised an eye brow. "You don''t trust your own men?"


    ¡°I trust them about as much as I trust the wind,¡± I said bluntly. ¡°Eadric has spies, and a single bribe could undo all of our defenses.¡±


    After a long silence, everyone agreed.


    The siege had not yet begun, but already, the weight of command pressed down on my shoulders. I only hoped we had done enough.


    Duke Eadric¡¯s POV ¨C Military Camp


    The banners of House Drakemont fluttered in the evening wind, their black dragons a stark contrast against the black falcon with outstretched wings, clutching a bloodied sword in its talons of my own house. At last, my reinforcements had arrived.


    The Drakemonts were late. Not unexpected. Duke Romulus had always been deliberate in his decisions, a man who measured every step twice before committing. But now, he had finally brought his 7,000 men¡ªhard-bitten veterans of past wars, not soft-bellied city guards. Combined with my 8,000, we had over 15,000 soldiers ready to take Lion¡¯s Crest. Enough to break them.


    I stood atop a rocky outcrop overlooking our encampment, watching as the siege preparations unfolded below. Smoke curled from countless cookfires. The rhythmic pounding of hammers echoed as soldiers reinforced rams and trebuchets. Engineers barked orders as they measured distances, setting up firing angles for the siege weapons.


    But **brute force alone wouldn¡¯t win this battle.**


    Alaric was inside those walls. He had spent his life fighting, learning, surviving. If I allowed him to dictate the terms, this siege would drag on for months. I could not afford that. I needed him **out** of the fortress, in the open, where I could crush him.


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    I turned to my gathered commanders¡ªmen of Auria and Drakemont, lords and seasoned warriors. A heavy wooden table had been placed atop barrels, a map of the region spread across its surface. Tokens marked Lion¡¯s Crest, the river, and our forces. The air smelled of sweat, horse, and damp earth.


    "We cannot afford a drawn-out siege," I said, my voice steady. "Alaric is resourceful, and the longer we wait, the more time he has to prepare."


    Duke Romulus crossed his arms. "Then how do we force his hand?"


    I smirked. "We cut him off from the world."


    I pointed at the map. "Duchess Irene of Montaklar is already dealing with a rebellion. She will not come to Alaric¡¯s aid. Duke Robert of Mandeville is fighting off Sami raiders¡ªthis is raiding season, and he won¡¯t risk leaving his borders unguarded. And Duke Francis of Marcel? That coward has already declared neutrality."


    "Which means," Ser Hector interjected, his voice rough and unpolished compared to the lords, "Alaric got nowhere to run and no one comin¡¯ to save him."


    I nodded. "Exactly. But we don¡¯t just wait for him to starve. We make him come to us."


    Hector scratched his unshaven jaw. "Ain¡¯t the boy stubborn, though? If we just sit ¡®round hopin¡¯ he gets desperate, we might be waitin¡¯ till our grandkids are fightin¡¯ this war."


    I chuckled. "That¡¯s why we give him a reason to leave those walls."


    I turned my gaze toward the fortress in the distance, its silhouette dark against the river.


    "Fire and fear," I said. "We raid every farm, every village in the region. We burn their fields, poison their wells, and take their people. If Alaric has any honor left in him, he won¡¯t sit idly by while the lands around Lion¡¯s Crest are destroyed. He will come to us."


    Duke Romulus exhaled through his nose. "That¡¯s a dangerous gamble. If you underestimate him¡ª"


    "I won¡¯t," I interrupted. "Alaric fights because he believes he has something to protect. If we take that away, he will be forced to act. And when he does, we will crush him."


    The commanders exchanged glances. No one objected. They knew the risks, but they also knew the rewards.


    Ser Hector snorted. "So we smoke ¡®im out like a fox in a burrow. Simple ¡®nough. Though I bet the lads¡¯ll have more fun pillagin¡¯ than sittin¡¯ in this muck waitin¡¯ for the walls to fall."


    "The men will get their fill soon enough," I assured him.


    Hector grinned, revealing a chipped tooth. "Well, can¡¯t say I ever liked farmers much anyway."


    Duke Romulus gave him a sharp look, but Hector ignored it. He was a common-born soldier, and he spoke like one, without the polished etiquette of the highborn. I valued that about him. He said what others were too polite to voice.


    Ser Aedwyn, my siege master, cleared his throat. "What of the civilians still inside Lion¡¯s Crest? There are thousands. Do we let them starve?"


    A slow smile spread across my face. "They will soon wish they were anywhere else."


    Ser Aedwyn chuckled darkly. "Aye. That they will."


    My P.O.V - Lion''s Crest


    The sun hung low in the sky, its dim light barely cutting through the thick morning mist that curled around Lion¡¯s Crest. A day had passed since our arrival, and I made sure not a single moment was wasted. The entire army drilled from sunrise to sunset, sweat soaking their tunics, muscles burning from ceaseless repetition. Some grumbled, others pushed through in silence, but they all knew the truth¡ªif they weren¡¯t ready when Eadric arrived, they would die.


    From the ramparts, I watched the ranks move. Spearmen locked shields and thrust forward in formation, swordsmen hacked at wooden dummies until their arms shook, and the archers fired volleys into makeshift targets, their arrows cutting through the mist like streaks of shadow. Every man, whether seasoned knight or fresh recruit, was forced to train. Even the city watch, barely more than glorified tax collectors, had to hold a spear steady and learn the discipline of war.


    Beyond the walls, I spotted movement along the dirt road. A thin column of riders¡ªour light cavalry. The foraging party had returned. I exhaled in relief. We needed every scrap of food, every bundle of supplies we could muster before Eadric¡¯s blockade cut us off from the world.


    A metallic clang echoed through the courtyard as swords met shields in sparring matches. From across the training grounds, I caught sight of Devran, Leo, Ser Lanselot, and Ser Midryn watching from a raised platform. Devran stood rigid, his expression dark, arms crossed over his chest. The golden lion on his armor seemed duller under the overcast sky. He looked different now¡ªgaunt, weary. The burden of war had taken its toll, carving deep lines into his once-proud features.


    For a moment, I felt something close to respect.


    I despised Devran. He had always been the shining son, the perfect heir, the golden lion who could do no wrong in our father¡¯s eyes. But here, on the battlefield, titles and birthright meant nothing. War did not care for nobility¡ªit only demanded sacrifice. And despite everything, he stood here, willing to die to defend our incompetent father¡¯s kingdom.


    I could respect that.


    Leo, on the other hand, looked unchanged¡ªstill draped in fine silk under his armor, still carrying himself like he belonged in a royal court rather than a battlefield. He whispered something to Midryn, who smirked in response.


    I turned away, unwilling to waste another thought on them.


    Instead, I strode toward the archery range. The wooden targets had been reinforced with fresh straw, the painted circles still visible through layers of old punctures. I grabbed a bow from the nearby rack and tested the string¡ªtaut, well-maintained.


    I nocked an arrow, pulled back the string, and aimed.


    The weight felt unfamiliar. It had been too long since I had last fought, too long since I had trained properly. My form felt stiff, unnatural.


    I loosed the arrow. It struck the target, but not where I intended.


    Damn it.


    I tried again. Another shot. Closer, but not perfect.


    I exhaled, lowering the bow. Something was missing. My mind wandered to Aria¡ªhow she used to train beside me, how she would scowl when I corrected her stance, only to master the technique days later. Without her here, the range felt emptier, colder.


    I pulled back the bowstring again, feeling the tension against my fingertips. My stance was firm, my breath steady. I exhaled slowly, then released.


    Thwack.


    The arrow struck just off-center. Not perfect, but good enough to kill.


    I rolled my shoulders, exhaling through my nose. The tension had never fully left my body since returning to Elria. My muscles still carried the memory of war¡ªthe instinct to react, to fight, to survive. But here, in the capital, war felt like a distant shadow. These walls had never known the horror of the battlefield. The men behind them had never heard the screams of the dying, never felt blood slick their hands, never watched their comrades die with a sword buried in their gut.


    The nobles on the platform above still watched. Ser Lanselot, Ser Midryn, Devran and Leo, dressed in their fine silks, speaking in low voices as if the war was already won. Devran¡¯s golden mane caught the light, his armor polished to perfection. Leo, the second son, ever in his brother¡¯s shadow, smirked as he whispered something to him. I ignored them.


    They had never fought in the mud, never waded through corpses, never been sent to die for a crown that didn¡¯t want them.


    I reached for another arrow, but the sound of hesitant footsteps made me pause.


    ¡°Milord?¡±


    I turned.


    Twosoldiers stood before me, all young, their faces uncertain. Their hands clutched bows, but their grips were clumsy, their stances stiff. I could see it in their eyes¡ªfear, uncertainty. These weren¡¯t veterans. They were farmers, blacksmiths, boys who had never held a weapon before this war had called them.


    One of them, a wiry youth with dark hair, swallowed hard before speaking.


    ¡°We saw you training, milord. We ain¡¯t much good with a bow, but if we¡¯re defendin¡¯ these walls¡­ we¡¯d rather know how to shoot straight.¡±


    I studied them. They weren¡¯t wrong to worry. If Eadric laid siege to Lion¡¯s Crest, it would not be swords and shields that decided the battle¡ªit would be arrows. A poorly aimed shot was as good as wasted.


    I nodded. ¡°Pick up your bows.¡±


    They scrambled into place, nervous but eager. I moved among them, adjusting their grips, correcting their stances. One of them¡ªa broad-shouldered boy with straw-colored hair¡ªheld his bowstring too loose. I pressed a hand to his shoulder, guiding him.


    ¡°Draw back. Hold steady. Breathe. Release on the exhale.¡±


    One by one, they fired. Some arrows found their mark, others wavered, but they adjusted quickly. I watched, correcting as needed.


    Two of the soldiers edged closer¡ªa dark-haired youth and another with sun-bleached curls.


    ¡°I¡¯m Aidan, milord,¡± the dark-haired one said with a grin. ¡°This here¡¯s Francis. We¡¯re from a village near Elria.¡±


    Francis nodded. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d be trained by Prince Alaric himself.¡±


    I frowned at the title.


    ¡°I am no prince,¡± I said flatly. ¡°I was sent to war because I was expendable.¡±


    Aidan tilted his head. ¡°Still, you was fightin¡¯ while the rest of the nobles sat in their castles. That ain¡¯t common.¡±


    Francis nodded. ¡°Most highborns only know war through books. But you? You bled for this kingdom. That¡¯s somethin¡¯.¡±


    I loosed my arrow. It struck the target cleanly.


    ¡°I am a bastard,¡± I said simply. ¡°Not a prince. Not a noble.¡±


    Aidan chuckled. ¡°Bastard or not, you¡¯re more a leader than half the lords we¡¯ve served under.¡±


    Francis added, ¡°Aye. And if we¡¯re to die fightin¡¯, at least we¡¯re fightin¡¯ for someone who knows what it¡¯s like to stand in the mud with the rest of us.¡±


    I said nothing.


    How many times had I heard similar words? In the Border Wars, in the frozen camps along the frontier, men had murmured of it in the dark¡ªhow they trusted me, how they followed me because I fought beside them, not above them. And yet, in the halls of the castle, I was nothing. A bastard. An outsider.


    These men, these commoners, saw me as something the nobles never had.


    Not a prince. Not a noble. But a warrior.


    And perhaps, when the battle came, that would be enough.


    I turned back to them. ¡°Again. Hold your stance. Breathe. Loose.¡±


    They fired. The arrows flew.


    And for the first time since returning, I felt something like purpose.


    "Without Aria, I don''t even know if I still have a purpose"


    -Alaric the Bastard

 Chapter 12.Death Drifts Ashore

    My P.O.V - Lion''s Crest


    Three days had passed.


    I dreamt of Alverton again. The screams echoed through my skull, as vivid as the day it happened. Soldiers writhed in the mud, clutching at wounds that would never heal. Friends, brothers-in-arms, trampled beneath hooves, their skulls cracked open like ripe fruit. The Sami warriors swept through the battlefield like a tide of death, their curved blades glinting in the fading light. The stench of rotting flesh, the copper tang of blood in the air¡ªI could feel it all as if I were still there.


    I was suffocating.


    I tried to move, to scream, but my body refused. My lungs burned, and my vision blurred.


    Why can¡¯t I just die?


    Why do I deserve to live when they don¡¯t?


    Why am I cursed to remember?


    I woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, my chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. My fingers trembled as I reached for the cup of water beside my bed, downing it in one gulp. The room was dark, save for the faint moonlight slipping through the narrow window slits. My hands clenched into fists.


    Enough.


    I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. Sleep would not come again¡ªnot tonight. I reached for my battle gear, pulling on my boots, buckling my sword belt. The cool leather against my skin was grounding, a familiar weight.


    The fortress felt alive, even in the stillness of night. The distant clang of a blacksmith¡¯s hammer echoed from the lower yards¡ªrepairs never ceased, even at this hour. I strode through the dim corridors, my footsteps light against the worn stone. Soldiers patrolled the halls, their armor clinking softly with each movement. Some straightened at my presence, offering respectful nods.


    I returned their gestures in kind and made my way toward the outer walls.


    Lion¡¯s Crest stood like a guardian amidst the Drowning River, its foundations rooted deep in the rock beneath the rushing waters. The fortress was a marvel of both nature and engineering¡ªa massive stronghold built atop a central island where the river forked. Thick stone walls rose high, wrapping around the stronghold like the coils of a serpent. The fort had endured countless battles, its scars evident in the jagged cracks along the parapets, the mismatched stone where repairs had been hastily made.


    The river surrounding it was both a blessing and a curse. While it made the fortress nearly impossible to assault without boats or siege towers, it also limited our access to outside reinforcements. The only way in or out was by the great bridge leading to the western gate, a formidable structure reinforced with heavy chains and thick oak beams. If Eadric wanted to take Lion¡¯s Crest, he would need to cross that bridge¡ªor find another way to breach our defenses.


    I ascended the ramparts, the night air crisp against my skin. From up here, I could see the surrounding landscape¡ªthe dark silhouettes of distant trees, the faint glow of torchlight flickering miles away.


    My stomach twisted.


    Eadric was out there. I knew it.


    But where?


    A sentry approached, bow in hand. "Milord," he said, saluting. "Still no sign of movement."


    I nodded. "That doesn''t mean they aren¡¯t watching."


    The soldier swallowed and turned back to his post, eyes scanning the darkness beyond the river.


    I leaned against the battlements, my fingers curling around the cold stone. The waiting was the worst part. Battle, I could handle. War, I understood. But the silence? The unknown? It gnawed at my mind like a festering wound.


    A gust of wind carried the scent of damp earth and steel. My gaze drifted to the river below. The waters rushed past the fortress in an endless current, their depths concealing whatever secrets lay beneath.


    Somewhere in the night, an owl hooted. A distant wolf howled.


    But no sign of Eadric¡¯s army.


    Not yet.


    I turned to the gatehouse. The iron reinforcements had been checked and rechecked. Wooden barricades were stacked inside the gates, ready to be set ablaze if the enemy broke through. Along the walls, barrels of oil and crates of arrows were stocked, ready for what was to come.


    It wouldn¡¯t be enough.


    I exhaled through my nose, my breath fogging in the chill air.


    He¡¯ s coming.


    And when he did, there would be no turning back.


    The cold night air settled over Lion¡¯s Crest, its towering walls standing defiant against the encroaching darkness. The fortress had been my home for weeks, yet sleep still eluded me. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in Alverton¡ªback among the dying. The screams, the scent of rotting flesh, the weight of failure pressing down on me like an iron gauntlet.


    I shook the thought away and focused on the present. Standing atop the ramparts, I gazed out over the Drowning River, its inky waters reflecting the torchlight in jagged, restless patterns. Somewhere beyond those trees, beyond that river, Eadric and his forces were waiting.


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    A sudden burst of hurried footsteps echoed behind me. I turned to see a guard approaching, breathless and tense. He saluted quickly, eyes shifting with unease.


    ¡°My lord,¡± he began, his voice hushed, as if afraid to disturb the night. ¡°A body has been found. The river dragged it to the western wall.¡±


    I frowned. A corpse? That meant someone had drowned upriver¡ªor been thrown in. But from where? And why?


    ¡°Show me.¡±


    The guard nodded and led the way down the stone steps. As I followed, a cold knot formed in my stomach. This could be anything¡ªa lost scout, a deserter, or something far worse.


    By the time we reached the western riverbank, a group of soldiers had already gathered, whispering among themselves. A small wooden boat was being prepared, its oars set in place, while two heavy knights stood watch, their massive steel-plated forms reflecting the firelight.


    The body floated near the rocks, caught in a tangle of reeds, its armor barely visible beneath the filth. The water had bloated the corpse, distorting its features, making it something grotesque and unfamiliar.


    I gestured toward the waiting soldiers. ¡°Retrieve it.


    They hesitated. One of the younger men, barely past twenty, shifted uncomfortably. His fingers tightened around the rope in his hands, but his feet remained planted where he stood. Another muttered a curse, eyeing the body like it might rise from the river at any moment.


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± I asked, my voice sharp.


    The younger soldier swallowed hard before stepping forward, gripping the hooked pole with hesitant hands. He extended it toward the corpse, the tip barely brushing the bloated flesh. A shudder ran through him, and he recoiled.


    ¡°It¡¯s... it¡¯s not right, my lord,¡± he stammered. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong with it.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have patience for fear¡ªnot now. **I strode forward, snatching the pole from his hands and hooking it beneath the body¡¯s arm, pulling it toward the shore.** The others flinched as the corpse lurched forward, waterlogged limbs dragging against the boat¡¯s edge.


    Then the stench hit us.


    A thick, suffocating wave of rot and sickness, far worse than simple decay. I clenched my jaw as the men behind me gagged, one turning away to retch into the grass. Even the knights, hardened as they were, shifted uncomfortably.


    We dragged the body aboard, the wooden planks creaking under the weight. In the flickering torchlight, I got my first proper look at the dead man¡¯s face. His skin was sallow, stretched thin over his bones, his lips cracked and blackened. His eyes¡ªthose that remained¡ªwere sunken deep, rimmed with dried blood. His chest, where his armor had been loosened, revealed dark, weeping sores.


    Realization hit me like a blade to the gut.


    Consumption.


    ¡°Gods,¡± one of the soldiers whispered. ¡°It¡¯s the wasting sickness.¡±


    I stood still, my thoughts racing. If this man had been sick before he died, how long had he been floating in the river? How far had the disease spread through the water?


    And worse¡ªwas this a coincidence, or had someone sent him here on purpose


    ¡°Burn it,¡± I ordered, my voice firm. ¡°Immediately. And get the men to wash their hands with whatever clean water we have left.¡±


    The knights hesitated. One of them, a grizzled veteran, spoke. ¡°And if it¡¯s already in the river, my lord?¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer. I didn¡¯t need to.


    The real battle had already begun¡ªand it wasn¡¯t one we could fight with swords.


    My P.O.V - Lion''s Crest


    The morning sun bathed Lion¡¯s Crest in a false sense of peace, its golden light glistening off the Drowning River. But I knew better. The weight of the night¡¯s discovery pressed against my chest like a vice.


    I made my way toward Devran¡¯s pavilion, my boots dragging slightly over the dirt. The guards outside nodded as I passed, though their gazes lingered on me with unease. News traveled fast in the fortress, and while I doubted they knew the full extent of the situation, they could sense something was wrong.


    Inside the pavilion, the council had already gathered.


    Devran sat at the head of the long table, his fingers drumming against the wood. His golden mane of hair, much like our father¡¯s in his youth, looked more unkempt than usual. A sign of sleepless nights. Ser Lanselot stood beside him, silent and alert as always, his hand resting near the pommel of his sword. Across from them sat Prince Leo, lounging in his chair with an air of indifference, his fine velvet tunic unblemished, his boots kicked up against the edge of the table. Standing beside him was Ser Midryn, his sworn sword, mirroring his arrogance.


    They turned as I entered. I took a steady breath.


    ¡°I found a body in the river last night,¡± I began, keeping my voice measured.


    Leo scoffed, rolling his eyes. ¡°And? Men die every day. We¡¯re at war, in case you¡¯ve forgotten.¡±


    Ser Midryn let out a quiet chuckle. ¡°Perhaps you want us to hold a funeral for the poor bastard? Shall we all weep for him?¡±


    I ignored them, keeping my gaze locked on Devran. He at least would listen. ¡°The body was infected.¡±


    That caught his attention. His fingers stopped drumming. ¡°Infected?¡± His brows furrowed. ¡°With what?¡±


    I swallowed. ¡°Consumption.¡±


    The room went deathly silent.


    Even Leo¡¯s smirk faltered. He sat up straighter, though he tried to mask his unease. ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡± He waved a hand dismissively, though I noticed the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. ¡°It could have been anything. You¡¯re not a healer.¡±


    Ser Lanselot, ever the pragmatist, spoke next. ¡°Are you certain?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°The body was pale, sunken. The lips blackened, the fingers stiff as stone. I¡¯ve seen it before¡­ in Alverton.¡± I clenched my fists as the memories clawed at me. ¡°The river brought it here. That means more could come. That means it¡¯s near.¡±


    Devran ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. ¡°Damn it.¡±


    Leo crossed his arms. ¡°So what? We burn the body and move on? This isn¡¯t our concern.¡±


    I turned to him, my voice calm but firm. ¡°Not our concern? Do you think sickness respects walls? It will creep into the fortress, into our men. And when it does, no amount of steel will save you.¡±


    Ser Midryn scoffed. ¡°Then we keep the sick locked away. We are knights, not old women frightened of a cough.¡±


    Ser Lanselot¡¯s voice was cold. ¡°You¡¯ve never seen what consumption does, have you?¡±


    Midryn hesitated for a half-second before sneering. ¡°I don¡¯t need to.¡±


    Leo exhaled sharply. ¡°So what do you suggest? That we flee the fortress over a single corpse?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Devran interjected before I could respond. ¡°But we take precautions. We burn the body immediately, and no one touches it directly. We make sure no one drinks from the river.¡±


    I folded my arms. ¡°I already burned the body.¡±


    Devran gave a small nod of approval, but Leo let out an exasperated breath. ¡°A little sickness won¡¯t win Eadric the war.¡±


    I turned to him, my voice low. ¡°You¡¯ll change your mind when your lungs start drowning you from the inside.¡±


    Silence hung between us for a long moment. Leo, for once, had no retort.


    Devran spoke next. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to take risks. What else?¡±


    I hesitated, then stepped forward. ¡°We need to send scouts. Not just any scouts¡ªlight and fast riders dressed as commoners. If this disease is spreading, we need to know how far it¡¯s reached.¡±


    Devran considered it. ¡°And where do you propose we send them?¡±


    ¡°To the villages along the Drowning River. If the sickness is there, we¡¯ll know soon enough.¡±


    Ser Lanselot nodded in agreement. ¡°A wise precaution. I¡¯ll select the riders myself.¡±


    Devran sighed. ¡°Make it quick. I want reports within three days.¡±


    I nodded, then another thought struck me¡ªone I couldn¡¯t ignore. Aria.


    She needed to know.


    But I wouldn¡¯t scare her. I wouldn¡¯t tell her the full details. Just enough to let her know something was wrong.


    That night, as the fortress settled into uneasy silence, I sat at my desk, quill in hand, and wrote to my sister.


    To My Dearest Sister,


    I pray this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. It has been too long since I last wrote, and for that, I must apologize. Time is not something I have had much of lately, and even now, I write this in haste. But do not think, even for a moment, that I have forgotten you.


    How are you, Aria? I trust you are safe within the walls of the capital, though I know how restless you must feel, kept away from all that unfolds beyond the city¡¯s gates. I wish I could tell you more, but I do not want to trouble you with the weight of it. Just know that I am well, or as well as one can be in these times.


    There is something I must tell you, though I do not wish to alarm you. A troubling matter has come to my attention, one not of swords and sieges but of something more insidious. I will not go into details¡ªnot yet¡ªbut I want you to be cautious. Take care of yourself, be mindful of those who fall ill, and, if you can, avoid those beyond the palace walls for the time being. I do not say this to frighten you, only to keep you aware.


    You know I would not say such things lightly.


    I hope Anna and the court is treating you well. I do not ask about her because I already know the answer. But you¡ªyou must keep your head high. Do not let her or anyone else dim the light in you.


    I will write again when I can. Until then, take care of yourself, Aria. And if you ever find yourself standing by your window, looking toward the east, know that I am looking toward the west, and in that moment, we are not so far apart.


    Your Brother,


    Alaric


    I then handed the letter to George, Aria¡¯s and my personal rider, trusting him to deliver my words safely. He took it with a firm nod, his weathered hands steady despite the long road ahead of him.


    ¡°Ride swiftly, George,¡± I said, meeting his gaze. ¡°But don¡¯t push the horse too hard. I need you to reach her, not fall dead on the road.¡±


    He smirked, tucking the letter into his satchel. ¡°You doubt me, my lord? I¡¯ve been riding these roads longer than you¡¯ve held a sword.¡±


    I chuckled, shaking my head. ¡°Then I trust this will be an easy task for you.¡±


    He bowed slightly, tightening the straps on his horse. ¡°I¡¯ll see it done. And if the princess sends a reply?¡±


    ¡°Bring it to me at once,¡± I said. ¡°No matter the hour.¡±


    George climbed onto his horse, adjusting his cloak before looking back at me. ¡°Then I take my leave, my lord. May the road be kind.¡±


    ¡°And may the gods watch over you,¡± I replied.


    With a final nod, he nudged his horse forward, disappearing into the morning mist beyond the gates. I stood there for a moment, watching until he was nothing but a distant figure on the road. Then, with a deep breath, I turned back toward the camp. There was still much to do.


    "A lion¡¯s roar is loudest when it stands alone."


    -Gulvian Proverbs

 Chapter 13.Where men Tremble

    "I would rather die than lost"


    -King Valero the Frail


    My P.O.V


    Two days had passed since we sent out our scouts, and when they returned, their faces told me everything before they even spoke. Oren, one of the more experienced scouts, dismounted his horse with unsteady legs, his usually sharp eyes dull with exhaustion. His clothes were dusted with dried mud, his lips cracked from days of travel.


    I was outside my tent, running a whetstone along my blade, when he approached. The look in his eyes made my stomach knot.


    ¡°My lord,¡± he rasped, his voice raw from lack of water. ¡°Norwick¡­ is gone.¡±


    I stopped sharpening my sword, staring at him. ¡°Gone?¡±


    He gave a slow, deliberate nod, as if saying it aloud made it more real. ¡°The sickness. It took them all. The streets are lined with corpses. No one dares bury them. Those who survived fled east, but most¡­¡± He hesitated, his fingers twitching as if he could still smell the decay. ¡°Most didn¡¯t make it.¡±


    A cold weight settled in my chest. The body we had found in the river was just the beginning. This sickness was spreading, fast and mercilessly.


    ¡°What of the other villages?¡± I asked, my voice quieter now.


    ¡°The elders of Highbrook and Redmere have begun evacuating their people,¡± Oren continued, wiping sweat from his brow. ¡°They¡¯re terrified it¡¯ll reach them next.¡±


    I exhaled sharply. This changed everything. Not only were we facing Eadric¡¯s siege, but now an invisible enemy crept toward us, one we couldn¡¯t fight with swords or shields.


    And the river¡ªour lifeline¡ªwas now a potential source of death.


    ¡°We can¡¯t take water from the Drowning River anymore,¡± I muttered, mostly to myself. ¡°Not unless we want to risk the same fate.¡±


    Oren shifted uneasily. ¡°There¡¯s something else, my lord. On our way back, we passed through a smaller hamlet¡ªRoth¡¯s Hollow. The people there were sick. Coughing, feverish, barely able to stand.¡±


    I clenched my jaw. It was already here.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done well,¡± I said at last. ¡°Get some rest.¡±


    He gave a weary nod before staggering away. I watched him go, my mind racing.


    We had to find a new water source, and soon. Otherwise, we¡¯d all die¡ªnot from swords, but from thirst or disease.


    But I had no time to dwell on that before another soldier came running toward me, his chainmail clinking with each hurried step.


    ¡°They¡¯re here, my lord,¡± he panted.


    I didn¡¯t need to ask who.


    I secured my sword and strode toward the ramparts, my heart hammering in my chest. The moment I reached the top, I saw them.


    Eadric had come.


    A vast sea of men stretched across the land, their banners fluttering in the cold morning air. Even from this distance, I could hear the clang of armor, the steady beat of war drums, the low murmur of thousands of voices. The sun gleamed off polished steel, an ocean of helmets and blades glinting in the light.


    And behind them, like sleeping giants waiting to awaken, stood the trebuchets.


    ¡°He brought siege weapons,¡± I muttered. ¡°That explains the delay.¡±


    Beside me, Ser Lanselot folded his arms across his chest, his gaze hard. ¡°Eadric is no fool. He means to take his time.¡±


    Ser Midryn, standing a few paces away, scoffed. ¡°Let him. Let him waste his stones and men on these walls. Lion¡¯s Crest has stood for centuries¡ªit won¡¯t fall to some disgruntled duke.¡±


    I ignored him, scanning the battlefield. Eadric¡¯s forces were vast, but well-organized. His siege engines were still being assembled, their crews working methodically under the watchful eyes of their commanders. His cavalry stood in disciplined formations, their horses restless beneath them.


    But something else caught my eye.


    A detachment of men stood near the riverbank. Too close to the water.


    I frowned. ¡°What are they doing?¡±


    Lanselot followed my gaze, his brow furrowing. ¡°Perhaps he means to ford the river?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°No. The Drowning River is too unpredictable. Even if he had rafts, he¡¯d lose too many men to the current.¡±


    Midryn chuckled, leaning lazily on the stone parapet. ¡°Then let them try. We¡¯ll pick them off like game birds.¡±


    But I wasn¡¯t convinced. Eadric wouldn¡¯t waste men on a pointless assault. If those soldiers were there, it meant they served a purpose.


    A distraction? A feint?


    Or something worse?


    Lanselot shifted, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. ¡°What do you think he¡¯s planning?¡±


    I exhaled slowly, never taking my eyes off the battlefield. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admitted.


    But whatever it was, it wouldn¡¯t be good.


    The first horn blew, deep and thunderous, shaking me to my core. A second later, a low, distant rumble filled the air.


    From the horizon, the trebuchets unleashed their payload. The whistling of massive stones cutting through the sky was followed by a deafening crash as they smashed against Lion¡¯s Crest. The impact sent cracks splintering across the old stone walls, chunks of rubble plummeting into the courtyards below. Soldiers scrambled for cover, some too slow¡ªone man was crushed instantly, his scream cut short.


    A second volley followed. More stones. More destruction. Dust and debris filled the air, making it hard to see. The men panicked, shouts of fear echoing across the fortress.


    ¡°This is hopeless,¡± someone muttered near me.


    This was just the beginning.


    I gritted my teeth, forcing my voice to steady. ¡°Get the wounded away from the walls! Archers, hold your fire until my command!¡±


    Another horn blasted through the chaos. A second attack.


    I turned my gaze to the battlefield, and there it was¡ªEadric¡¯s main force was advancing. A disciplined wave of soldiers marched toward the stone bridge, shields raised, moving with purpose. At their center, a great battering ram rolled forward, its wooden frame slick with water.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Water.


    I narrowed my eyes. They had soaked the ram. They knew we¡¯d try to burn it.


    Clever. Damn it.


    The archers were already taking position, lining the towers and ramparts, bows drawn. But just as I was about to give the command, another movement caught my eye.


    Down by the riverbank, the soldiers Eadric had stationed there suddenly sprang into action. From a distance, I saw them pushing something into the water. A raft¡ªno, not just any raft.


    A raft big enough to carry a siege tower.


    I stiffened. So that¡¯s what they were waiting for.


    I bellowed, ¡°Ser Lanselot! Move some men and head to the western walls! They will assault it!¡±


    Lanselot gave a firm nod, already in motion before I finished speaking. His heavy boots pounded against the stone as he disappeared into the stairwell below.


    I turned back to the archers. ¡°Fire!¡±


    The sky darkened with arrows. The first volley rained down on Eadric¡¯s soldiers, cutting through flesh and armor alike. Screams filled the battlefield as men fell, some clutching at their throats, others collapsing in heaps of bloodied steel.


    More arrows followed. Another wave of bodies crumpled, but Eadric¡¯s forces did not slow. The battering ram surged forward, pushed by relentless hands.


    A loud crack echoed through the fortress as the ram struck the gate for the first time.


    The stone bridge was fully under Eadric¡¯s control now. The battle had begun in earnest.


    I clenched my jaw. This was going to be a long day.


    ### **Chapter 13 (Continued): The Breaking Point**


    *Alaric¡¯s Point of View*


    The first battle erupted on the western walls. A raft, laden with men, crashed against the stone, and Eadric¡¯s soldiers poured onto our ramparts like a tide of steel. The defenders fought desperately, swords clashing in the cold morning air, but they were outnumbered. Blood painted the stones, bodies collapsing into the river below.


    Then, the second raft was pushed into the water. More men. More ladders. They were flooding the western defenses faster than we could hold them back.


    ¡°This is bad,¡± I muttered under my breath.


    I turned to a nearby soldier, gripping his shoulder. ¡°Find Midryn!! Tell him to send more men to the western walls!¡±


    The young man hesitated, eyes darting between me and the chaos unfolding behind him. He was scared. We all were. But hesitation meant death.


    ¡°Go!¡± I barked.


    He ran, disappearing into the fortress.


    And then came the real horror.


    A deafening crash. A splintering groan.


    The gates fell.


    The iron-bound doors burst inward, sending splinters flying like daggers. Dust and debris clouded the entrance as Eadric¡¯s forces surged through the breach. The defenders braced, but we were barely holding the western walls¡ªnow we had to fight at the gate, too.


    Steel met steel. Spears thrust. Shields shattered. The ground beneath us became slick with blood as men died screaming.


    I moved. I had to.


    Dodging falling rubble from another trebuchet strike, I barreled down the stairs, gripping the hilt of my sword so tightly my knuckles turned white.


    Damn it!


    I hit the ground running, shoving past soldiers as I reached the main gate. It was chaos. Dozens of bodies lay sprawled across the courtyard, blood pooling in the cracks of the stone. Our men were fighting with everything they had, but Eadric¡¯s warriors were disciplined, unrelenting.


    I unsheathed my sword.


    And then I joined the slaughter.


    The screams of the dying, the relentless clash of steel, the scent of blood thick in the air¡ªthis was Alverton all over again. Soldiers were cut down where they stood, crushed under the weight of falling rubble, or sent flying by trebuchet stones that shattered upon impact. No matter how many enemy soldiers we killed, more came to take their place.


    Ser Lanselot fought like a demon at the Western wall , cutting through men with terrifying ease, but even he was forced to give ground.Ser Midryn, despite his arrogance, was proving to be nothing more than another sword in the chaos.


    The western walls were nearly lost, with Eadric¡¯s men flooding in. The trebuchets pounded our defenses relentlessly. We couldn¡¯t hold this position any longer.


    I seized a warhorn from a fallen soldier and blew a long, commanding note.


    The order was clear¡ªretreat to the inner walls.


    I turned to the nearest commander, barely dodging an enemy spear as I barked out orders. ¡°Hold the gate for as long as possible! We need to cover Lanselot¡¯s retreat!¡±


    The men, already battered and exhausted, hesitated, They knew what I was asking. It wasn¡¯t just holding the line¡ªit was buying time at the cost of their own lives.


    One of the captains swallowed hard, gripping his sword with shaking hands. ¡°We won¡¯t last long.¡±


    ¡°Then make them bleed for every step,¡± I said coldly.


    We formed a desperate shield wall, shoulder to shoulder, holding back the surge of enemies. Spears jabbed forward, cutting down those who dared to rush us. Arrows rained down from the ramparts, striking our foes, but it wasn¡¯t enough.


    Men screamed as they were dragged into the enemy ranks, their throats slit before they could even raise a sword. Blood pooled at our feet. The line was breaking.


    I looked over my shoulder¡ªwhere the hell was Lanselot?


    Through the smoke and chaos, I finally saw him¡ªSer Lanselot, his armor drenched in blood, leading the remaining forces from the western wall, cutting down enemies as he moved. But they were too slow.


    Eadric¡¯s men, sensing weakness, pushed harder.


    A trebuchet stone crashed near the gate, sending a dozen men flying. The enemy roared, surging forward. They would trap Lanselot¡¯s Forces if we don''t hold the gate and let them retreat first.


    I had no choice.


    I threw my shield aside and charged straight into the fray, hacking through enemy ranks like a madman.


    ¡°Lanselot! MOVE!¡± I bellowed, cutting down a soldier in my way.


    Lanselot saw me, nodding grimly, and redoubled his efforts. His sword flashed like lightning, carving a path toward the inner gate. Our men followed, but not all made it.


    I saw one of our captains get pulled down, his face bashed in by a mailed fist. Another man took an axe to the back, his body crumpling instantly.


    I clenched my jaw. We couldn¡¯t save them.


    Finally, as Lanselot and the last of our men reached the inner gate, I gave the final order.


    ¡°Shut the gates!¡±


    The great iron doors groaned as they closed. Men on the other side screamed as Eadric¡¯s forces overran them. The sounds of slaughter followed.


    We had lost the outer defenses.


    I turned, panting, blood dripping from my sword. The inner walls were our last defense. The fortress burned around us, but as long as these walls held, we still had a chance.


    My P.O.V - Inner walls, Lion''s Crest


    The battle was lost.


    Lion¡¯s Crest, the fortress that had stood defiant amidst the Drowning River for generations, had fallen.


    The once-mighty walls were shattered, the gates splintered. Smoke filled the air, mixing with the iron scent of blood. The cries of dying men echoed between the stones, drowned only by the relentless crash of trebuchet fire.


    And yet, we still fought.


    I stood among the chaos, sword in hand, my breath ragged. We couldn¡¯t hold any longer. We were cut down by the dozens, and for every enemy we killed, two more took their place.


    Through the haze of war, I saw Ser Lanselot, his face streaked with blood, carving through enemies like a force of nature. But even the greatest warrior in the realm couldn¡¯t fight forever.


    "What do you think we should do?" I asked Lanselot.


    "Well, killing them is the only best option," The Greatest Warrior said.


    I turned to him, voice hoarse. ¡°No! We have to go.¡±


    Lanselot barely spared me a glance. ¡°Then go.¡±


    I shook my head, gripping his shoulder. ¡°All of us, Lanselot. We leave together.¡±


    His eyes, sharp even in the chaos, met mine. For the first time, I saw it¡ªhe wasn¡¯t leaving.


    ¡°Take Devran and Leo. Get whoever you can and run.¡± His voice was steady, even as another enemy lunged at him. He cut the man down without blinking.


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°I won¡¯t leave you.¡±


    ¡°This is not your choice, boy.¡± He grabbed my arm, squeezing hard. ¡°It was never your choice.¡±


    I wanted to argue, but the walls behind us groaned and collapsed, sending rubble crashing onto both friend and foe alike. The inner keep was overrun. We had no choice.


    I sprinted toward Devran¡¯s pavilion, pushing past soldiers locked in desperate battle. My legs burned, but I didn¡¯t stop.


    When I reached the tent, I found Leo already mounted, his horse restless beneath him. Devran stood beside him, pale-faced, armor barely fastened.


    ¡°We need to go!¡± I shouted, grabbing Devran¡¯s arm. ¡°Now!¡±


    Leo scoffed. ¡°And where exactly are we running, Alaric? Have you forgotten we are surrounded?¡±


    ¡°We are dead if we stay!¡± I snapped.


    Ser Midryn, ever loyal to Leo, sneered. ¡°Cowards run, bastards kneel.¡±


    I ignored him. ¡°Where¡¯s Lanselot?¡± Devran asked, voice shaking.


    I hesitated before answering. ¡°Holding the inner gate.¡±


    Devran¡¯s face hardened. ¡°He won¡¯t last.¡±


    ¡°No, he won¡¯t.¡± I forced him toward a horse. ¡°That¡¯s why we need to go.¡±


    The ground trembled as another trebuchet stone crashed into the keep. Outside, I could hear the clash of swords, the screams of dying men.


    Lanselot had given us this chance. I wouldn¡¯t waste it.


    ¡°Go, now!¡± I ordered.


    Midryn grabbed Leo¡¯s reins, spurring his horse forward. Devran hesitated, looking back at the keep. Then, with a sharp breath, he mounted.


    I turned for one last look at the battlefield. Through the smoke, I saw Lanselot still fighting, surrounded, bloodied¡ªbut unyielding.


    Then I saw Devran¡¯s mistake.


    He turned too late. A blade flashed.


    A scream.


    Blood.


    I watched, frozen, as Devran collapsed from his horse. His lifeless eyes stared back at me, empty.


    Lanselot bellowed in fury, fighting like a madman. I wanted to run to Devran, to fight, but strong hands grabbed me¡ªAidan and Francis, dragging me away.


    ¡°Alaric! You need to leave!¡± Lanselot shouted through the chaos. ¡°You¡¯re the last hope Gulvia has! Go!¡±


    I stumbled back, my heart pounding. Devran was dead. Lanselot was lost. The battle was over.


    We turned and fled.


    We rode through the night, the fires of Lion¡¯s Crest burning behind us. Of the thousands who once stood at these walls, only a few hundred remained. They were young, inexperienced, surviving only by desperation.


    We retreated toward Elria with haste.


    Lion¡¯s Crest had fallen.


    Gulvia would never be the same.


    Duke Eadric''s P.O.V


    The battle was over.


    Lion¡¯s Crest, once an unbreakable fortress, was now a graveyard. The scent of blood, charred wood, and death lingered in the air. Bodies lay strewn across the courtyard, royal soldiers and my own men alike. Crows had already begun to gather, eager for their feast.


    I dismounted near the shattered main gate, my boots crunching against the rubble and broken weapons. My victory had come at a great cost. Weeks of siege, thousands of lives lost, and yet¡ªthis was only the beginning.


    As I walked through the ruins, a question gnawed at my mind. *Did Alaric survive?*


    Something deep inside me wished that he had. A foolish thought, perhaps, but even now, after all these years, I could not completely erase our past. Once, we had been brothers-in-arms. Once, we had bled together on the battlefields of the Border War.


    But sentiment was a luxury I could not afford. If Alaric still lived, he would be a threat to everything I had fought for.


    I pushed the thought aside and stepped through the remains of the inner gate. My men were already securing what little remained of the defenders¡ªwounded soldiers too weak to flee, servants who had surrendered, and a few stubborn knights who refused to die on their knees.


    Then, near the northern gate, I saw him.


    Ser Lanselot Hamilton.


    He knelt on one knee, his greatsword planted into the ground, his armor battered and bloodied. Dead men surrounded him, a testament to his final stand. His breathing was ragged, but his grip on the sword remained unbroken, even in death.


    A shame.


    Few men in this realm could match Lanselot in skill. Had he been on my side, he would have been a great asset. But he had chosen his loyalties, and now he would be remembered as a fallen legend.


    ¡°Burn the bodies,¡± I ordered. ¡°Including his.¡±


    The soldiers nodded, already gathering oil and torches.


    Then my eyes fell upon another body, lying a short distance away. This one did not carry the aura of a warrior. His armor was barely worn, his sword still sheathed.


    Prince Devran.


    I frowned. ¡°How the hell did he die?¡±


    No honor in this death. No glory. Just another corpse in the mud. The man who would have been king had fallen like a common soldier. His golden cloak was stained with blood, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky.


    I crouched beside him, studying his wounds. A clean cut¡ªlikely from a trained swordsman.


    My gut twisted.


    I scanned the battlefield once more, searching for a familiar face among the dead. But I did not see Alaric¡¯s body.


    He was alive.


    I knew it.


    A slow breath escaped me as I rose to my feet. This victory, no matter how great, was not complete. As long as Alaric breathed, he would be a danger to me. He had the respect of soldiers, the experience of war, and more importantly, the will to fight.


    And I had just given him a reason to hate me.


    I turned to one of my captains. ¡°Send riders. They¡¯re heading for Elria.¡±


    The man hesitated. ¡°Should we pursue?¡±


    I thought for a moment. The army needed rest. My men were exhausted. Chasing Alaric now would only lead to more losses.


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°Let them run. They will have no choice but to make a stand at Elria.¡±


    The war was far from over.


    And next time, I would make sure there were no survivors.


    "Even the greatest warriors have their tales of disaster."


    -Gulvian Proverbs

 Chapter 14.The Price of Defeat

    "I am the King now, and you will do what I told you,"


    -Prince Leo to Alaric


    My P.O.V


    Two days of relentless marching. Two days of dragging our broken bodies across the land, haunted by the screams of the fallen. Lion¡¯s Crest was lost, Devran was dead, and Lanselot¡ªthe greatest knight in the realm¡ªhad perished buying us time.


    By the time we reached Elria, we were barely more than shadows of the soldiers we once were. Eight hundred weary, bloodstained men, stumbling into the capital like ghosts. The walls of Elria had never seemed so distant, nor had its people seemed so untouched by war.


    As we entered the gates, healers rushed forward, their hands searching for wounds to mend. Commoners lined the streets, whispering amongst themselves, confused and frightened. News of our disaster had not yet spread.


    And then I saw her.


    Aria.


    She stood there, waiting for me at the city gates, with Ser Gildas at her side. For a moment, I felt like I couldn¡¯t move. My armor was still slick with the blood of my enemies, my face smeared with sweat and grime. I smelled of death and fire, and yet, she ran to me.


    Leo, however, had no hesitation.


    The moment he saw our mother, he broke into a run. He collapsed into her arms, sobbing like a child. Queen Dowager Anna, usually composed and regal, wrapped him in an embrace, whispering soothing words into his ear.


    I turned away. I couldn¡¯t watch.


    This wasn¡¯t just a lost battle. It was the loss of two kings.


    Lion¡¯s Crest had fallen, Devran was gone, and Lanselot was dead. Our greatest warrior had perished. Our prince¡ªour king¡ªwas slaughtered like a common soldier.


    I felt my body sway. The weight of my exhaustion, my guilt, and my wounds all caught up to me at once.


    The world tilted.


    And then, there was nothing.


    When I opened my eyes, I wasn¡¯t in Elria anymore.


    I was in Alverton.


    The screams of the dying filled my ears. The scent of burning flesh stung my nose. I saw the battlefield, the bodies of my friends crushed beneath warhorses, their blood soaking the earth.


    And then, I saw Lion¡¯s Crest¡ªthe walls crumbling, the gates splintering, Devran falling with a sword through his gut. Lanselot, covered in the blood of our enemies, fighting like a madman until he was overwhelmed.


    I saw Aidan and Francis¡ªmy men, my brothers¡ªpulling me from the chaos, forcing me to live when I should have died with them.


    Why?


    Why am I still here?


    I let them die.


    I let Devran die.


    I let Lanselot die.


    I should be dead.


    I deserve to be dead.


    I woke up gasping.


    The pain in my body was sharp, a cruel reminder that I was still alive. I groaned, trying to sit up, but my wounds made even the slightest movement agony.


    And then I felt something warm beside me.


    I turned my head and saw Aria¡ªasleep in a chair, her face resting against my bedside. Her hands were folded, as if she had been waiting for me to wake up.


    She must have watched over me all night.


    I shifted, and the slight movement caused her to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, and the moment she saw me awake, she didn¡¯t speak.


    She just hugged me.


    It wasn¡¯t a gentle embrace¡ªit was tight, desperate, as if she had been afraid I would disappear if she let go.


    I closed my eyes.


    For the first time in days, I felt something other than anger and grief.


    It was good to be back in Elria.


    ¡°Devran is¡ª¡±


    She cut me off before I could finish.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Her voice was quiet, but firm. There was no trembling, no breaking.


    She wasn¡¯t crying.


    She wasn¡¯t a child like Leo.


    She had always been stronger than him. Stronger than any of us.


    ¡°The Church gave him a funeral,¡± she continued, ¡°but his body was never returned.¡±


    I looked away. I didn¡¯t know how to comfort her. I was never good at this.


    Before I could say anything else, the door creaked open.


    Ser Gildas stepped inside. His old, weathered face was unreadable, but there was hesitation in his voice.


    ¡°King Leo has called for a council.¡±


    I frowned.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°King Leo?¡±


    Aria and I exchanged glances.


    I saw it in her eyes¡ªthe same doubt, the same disbelief.


    Leo? King?


    It hadn¡¯t even been three days since Devran died.


    And already, the crown had shifted.


    My P.O.V ¨C The Throne Room


    The air in the chamber was thick with tension as I stepped inside, flanked by Aria and Ser Gildas. The others were already seated¡ªQueen Mother Anna, Ser Midryn, Ser Daudalus, and Lord Varus, their faces a mixture of impatience and exhaustion. But my attention was immediately drawn to the throne.


    Leo sat upon it.


    My stomach twisted at the sight. It wasn¡¯t anger or even disappointment¡ªit was something far worse.


    Disbelief.


    I took a step forward, my boots echoing in the vast chamber.


    ¡°Why are you sitting on that throne?¡± My voice cut through the room.


    Leo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the armrests like he belonged there. ¡°Because I¡¯m the king now.¡±


    I scoffed, crossing my arms. ¡°Since when?¡±


    Queen Anna lifted her chin, her tone laced with authority. ¡°Since Devran left no heir. His title passes to his brother, as it should.¡±


    I exhaled sharply, running a hand down my face. ¡°Devran¡¯s body isn¡¯t even cold yet, and you¡¯ve already seized his seat?¡±


    Ser Midryn bristled at my words. ¡°You will watch your tongue, bastard.¡±


    I opened my mouth to respond, but Aria stepped forward before I could. Her voice was firm, unwavering.


    ¡°Enough, Midryn.¡± She turned to our mother, her expression filled with frustration. ¡°And you¡ªwhy do you always speak of Alaric like he¡¯s filth? After everything he¡¯s done, you still refuse to acknowledge him.¡±


    Queen Anna¡¯s gaze was ice. ¡°Because he is not one of us.¡±


    Aria clenched her fists. ¡°That¡¯s a lie, and you know it.¡±


    Queen Anna let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t act so na?ve, Aria. He is a stain on your father¡¯s legacy, standing here pretending he belongs. I will never call him my son.¡±


    Aria¡¯s voice was a quiet, simmering rage. ¡°Then you are a fool.¡±


    The room fell into a dead silence.


    Queen Anna¡¯s nostrils flared. ¡°You have always defended him. Always sided with him. Why?¡±


    Aria didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Because someone in this family needs to see reason.¡±


    For the first time, the Queen Mother was speechless.


    Leo, visibly uncomfortable, cleared his throat. ¡°Enough of this. We have more important matters to discuss.¡± He straightened on the throne, as if that would make him look more like a king. ¡°Eadric will march on Elria soon. We must defend it.¡±


    I exhaled, shaking my head. ¡°No, we aren¡¯t defending Elria.¡±


    Leo frowned. ¡°What?¡±


    I met his gaze. ¡°We¡¯re leaving.¡±


    The room erupted.


    Ser Midryn slammed his hand on the table. ¡°Abandon the capital? Are you mad?¡±


    Queen Anna glared daggers at me. ¡°Feldyns do not flee.¡±


    Leo shot up from the throne, his face twisted in outrage. ¡°If we abandon Elria, I have no claim to the throne!¡±


    I deadpanned. ¡°You don¡¯t.¡±


    The silence that followed was suffocating.


    Leo¡¯s face burned red with fury. ¡°How dare you¡ª¡±


    I cut him off, stepping forward. ¡°This isn¡¯t about you. It isn¡¯t about your throne. It¡¯s about survival.¡±


    Ser Midryn still looked furious. ¡°We can defend Elria! The city walls¡ª¡±


    ¡°With what army?¡± I snapped. ¡°We have eight hundred men. Wounded, starving, demoralized. Eadric¡¯s forces are at full strength. He crushed us at Lion¡¯s Crest. What makes you think he won¡¯t do the same here?¡±


    Queen Anna¡¯s lips curled in disdain. ¡°You underestimate our defenses.¡±


    I turned to her sharply. ¡°No, you overestimate them.¡±


    She had no response.


    I exhaled and spoke more evenly. ¡°We have one chance. We must regroup, secure reinforcements, and forge alliances. That means heading to Iza.¡±


    Lord Varus, who had remained quiet, finally spoke. ¡°Duchess Irene.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Her Duchy is the closest neutral ground. But she¡¯s struggling with rebelling vassals. If we help her, we can earn her trust. And if we persuade her to back us, we might actually stand a chance.¡±


    Queen Anna scoffed. ¡°You would have us beg for her aid?¡±


    I turned my glare onto her. ¡°Enough with your pride.¡± My voice was sharp, cutting through the room. ¡°You lost two kings in the span of a year. You¡¯re losing this war. It¡¯s time to listen to your vassals.¡±


    Ser Gildas, who had remained silent, finally spoke. His deep voice carried authority.


    ¡°The boy is right.¡±


    All heads turned to him.


    Ser Gildas exhaled, crossing his arms. ¡°I fought in many battles, many wars. And I have seen pride lead men to ruin.¡± He looked directly at Leo. ¡°Your brother gave Alaric command of the army for a reason. Do not ignore his final decision.¡±


    Leo hesitated. ¡°But¡ª¡±


    Ser Gildas continued, unwavering. ¡°If we stay in Elria, we will die. Every last one of us. Alaric¡¯s plan is sound. Our only option is to retreat and secure allies.¡±


    The chamber remained silent.


    For once, Leo had nothing to say.


    I took a step forward. ¡°We leave in three days.¡±


    Queen Anna stiffened. ¡°You do not command here, bastard.¡±


    I met her gaze, unflinching. ¡°Then command your own army.¡±


    She fell silent.


    Leo swallowed hard but didn¡¯t object.


    The decision had already been made.


    Lord Varus P.O.V


    The bastard was the only man with a shred of sense in the chamber.


    Queen Anna, blind with arrogance. Leo, too obsessed with his throne to see reality. Ser Midryn, too proud to admit the truth.


    And yet, Alaric¡ªthe boy they scorned, the one they refused to acknowledge¡ªwas the only one who understood what needed to be done.


    It was no wonder Devran gave him command.


    It was no wonder he survived Lion¡¯s Crest.


    Leo was not his brother. Devran had been a cautious leader, a man who knew when to fight and when to cut his losses. He had chosen Alaric to command his forces for a reason.


    And yet, the fool now sitting on the throne was about to throw it all away.


    I could see it clearly¡ªthe entire kingdom teetering on the edge of collapse.


    If they stayed in Elria, they were finished.


    The Queen Mother refused to see it. Leo refused to see it.


    But Alaric?


    Alaric understood.


    And as I watched him stand against the Queen, against the so-called king, against an entire council of men unwilling to accept reality¡ªone truth became abundantly clear.


    The future of this kingdom did not rest on Leo¡¯s shoulders.


    It rested on Alaric¡¯s.


    My P.O.V ¨C The Courtyard


    Preparations had begun for our retreat, but there was little for me to prepare. **My armor. My sword. That was all I needed.


    I stepped into the courtyard, and the sight before me was grim.


    Wounded soldiers lay sprawled across the ground, their bodies too weak to move. The hospital tents were already overflowing, the Royal Church had been converted into a makeshift infirmary, and even the Weeping Soldier¡ªonce a lively tavern filled with the laughter of veterans¡ªhad become a sanctuary for those too broken to stand.


    I remembered that place well. It was where Ser Hector and I would drink after long campaigns, drowning our regrets in ale and old war stories.


    Ser Hector¡­


    I hadn¡¯t seen him at Lion¡¯s Crest. He had retired from my service before the war turned bitter, but I had heard nothing of him since. Had he joined Eadric? Had he chosen to fight against us?


    I didn¡¯t know.


    I pushed the thought aside and focused on the reality before me.


    This was a disaster.


    How could we retreat with so many wounded? How could we move with soldiers barely able to stand?


    And worse¡ªthe path ahead would be brutal.


    With Lion¡¯s Crest lost, our best route to Iza was gone. The Drowning River was out of the question; its currents were too wild, too unpredictable this time of year. That left only one path¡ªnorth, then west, then south. A long, grueling journey, nearly twenty days of marching through unfamiliar terrain.


    I exhaled a weary sigh.


    Damn it.


    My wounds throbbed with fresh pain, a sharp reminder of the battle I barely survived. I pressed a hand to my side, breathing through the ache. Damn it all. This would slow me down.


    Then, I heard her voice.


    Aria.


    She stepped beside me, her eyes scanning the courtyard, taking in the suffering around us.


    I frowned. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here. This sight¡­ it¡¯s not for royalty.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve seen you **covered in blood** more times than I can count, Alaric.¡± Her voice was steady, but there was a shadow in her gaze. ¡°This¡­ is horrifying. But I need to see it.¡±


    I turned to her, unsure of what to say.


    She continued, her voice quiet. ¡°War is pointless.¡± She glanced at a soldier groaning in pain, a healer desperately trying to stop the bleeding. ¡°Especially a civil war. Brothers against brothers.¡±


    I followed her gaze and let out a slow breath.


    ¡°¡­I couldn¡¯t agree more.¡±


    For a moment, we stood in silence, the weight of everything pressing down on us. Then, Aria suddenly smirked.


    ¡°I prepared some clothes for you,¡± she said lightly, tilting her head at me.


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why?¡±


    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Because you¡¯re filthy, Alaric. You still have dried blood on you.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I rarely bathe.¡±


    Aria¡¯s smirk vanished, replaced by pure frustration.


    ¡°Alaric!¡± she scolded. ¡°That¡¯s exactly why I did it! You¡¯re disgusting! No wonder you still haven¡¯t found a woman¡ªwho would even want you like this?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help it¡ªI laughed.


    Or, I tried to. The moment the chuckle left my lips, a **sharp pain** tore through my side. I gritted my teeth, groaning as I pressed a hand to my wound.


    Aria¡¯s frustration immediately turned to concern. ¡°Alaric!¡± She reached for me, steadying me before I could stumble. ¡°See? This is why you should take care of yourself!¡±


    I sighed. Damn it.


    She shook her head, still scowling. ¡°Come on. You¡¯re getting cleaned up, whether you like it or not.¡±


    I groaned again¡ªbut this time, not from pain.


    Eadric¡¯s P.O.V. - Lion''s Crest


    Two days had passed since my grand victory, but it hardly felt like one. The bodies still rotted in the streets of Lion¡¯s Crest, the stench of death mixing with the foul scent of sickness. Consumption had begun to spread after some of my men foolishly drank from the river. Now, we had no proper water supply. There were a few barrels left in the fort¡¯s reserves, but with over 12,000 men occupying this fortress, they wouldn¡¯t last long.


    My supply lines were stretched thin. I had pushed my army to the limit marching this far, and now I questioned whether we could even hold this damned place. If Alaric¡¯s retreat had been intentional¡ªto leave us to rot in a diseased stronghold¡ªthen I had underestimated him.


    A loud knock on my chamber door pulled me from my thoughts.


    "Enter," I said.


    Ser Hector stepped inside, his face grim. I had kept him from the battle, not fully trusting his loyalty. He had served Alaric, after all. I needed to be sure he wouldn''t hesitate if it came down to killing his former liege.


    "The disease worsens," Hector reported. "Healers have confirmed 127 men showing signs of Consumption today alone. Seventy-seven are already dead."


    "Damn it," I muttered, clenching my jaw.


    Before I could say anything else, another voice cut in.


    "So much for a grand victory," Edward said as he entered the chamber. My son was tall, with his mother¡¯s sharp features but my steel-gray eyes. He was young, but he had the mind of a seasoned commander.


    "Watch your tone," I warned him, though I couldn¡¯t deny the truth of his words.


    Edward crossed his arms. "I told you we should¡¯ve bypassed Lion¡¯s Crest and gone straight for Elria. Now we sit in a fortress with no clean water and dwindling supplies while Alaric regroups elsewhere."


    "Bypassing the fort would have left a stronghold behind us," I countered. "Alaric could have used it to harass our supply lines."


    "And now we''re trapped in it, barely able to sustain ourselves," Edward shot back. "This was his plan, wasn¡¯t it? He knew we¡¯d take Lion¡¯s Crest. He knew we¡¯d bleed for it. Now, he''s out there rallying support while we''re stuck in this godsforsaken ruin."


    I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I cannot march yet. Not with my men sick and exhausted."


    Edward frowned. "If we don¡¯t move soon, Alaric will turn the tide. You need to make a decision, Father. Either we hold and die here, or we march and take Elria before he gathers strength."


    He was right. If Alaric convinced one of the Crown¡¯s vassals to join him, the balance of power would shift. This war wasn¡¯t won yet, and I was beginning to realize that my greatest challenge wasn¡¯t the battlefield¡ªit was outmaneuvering Alaric before he outmaneuvered me.


    "You lost at the Siege of Lion''s Crest and now you want my Support?"


    -Duchess Irene to Alaric

 Chapter 15.The Long Road to Iza

    "Men speak of war as if it is theirs to fight. But tell me, who secures their alliances, whispers in their ears, and turns the tide without lifting a sword?"


    -Duchess Irene


    My P.O.V - Military Camp


    We finally began our march north. The lands beyond Elria were little more than scattered villages, dense forests, and vast open plains. We had 800 men with us¡ªmen who had fought and bled at Lion¡¯s Crest. But they were in no condition to fight again, and what was worse, we had left behind the people of Elria, abandoning them to the mercy of Duke Eadric. I knew Eadric wasn¡¯t the kind of man to senselessly slaughter civilians¡ªthat would only turn more of the realm against him¡ªbut even so, it left a bitter taste in my mouth.


    That first night, we set up camp. Our wounded filled every spare tent, and the air carried the heavy scent of sweat, blood, and desperation. As I moved through the camp, Aria approached me, her expression grim.


    ¡°There are rumors spreading,¡± she said quietly.


    I raised a brow. ¡°Rumors?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°That you¡¯re the one truly leading this army now. That you¡¯re the real commander, not Leo.¡±


    I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. ¡°Let them believe what they want. It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°It does,¡± she insisted. ¡°If Leo hears this, it will only widen the rift between you two.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°That rift was there long before Lion¡¯s Crest fell.¡±


    She frowned but didn¡¯t press further.


    Later that night, the council convened in the Queen¡¯s pavilion. It was larger and more extravagant than the rest of our tents¡ªfar more than we needed given our situation¡ªbut we had little choice. Queen Anna, Leo, Ser Midryn, Ser Gildas, and Lord Varus were already seated when I entered. The Queen shot me a cold glance, but I ignored her.


    ¡°I need opinions on our next course of action,¡± I stated.


    Leo and Midryn exchanged confused glances. Of course they were confused. They still didn¡¯t understand the position we were in.


    Ser Gildas was the first to speak. ¡°As you know, we are taking a longer path north to avoid Eadric¡¯s forces. The villages along the way may provide us with supplies, or even volunteers willing to fight.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an option,¡± I admitted. ¡°But we have to be careful. We don¡¯t have the coin to pay for supplies, and I refuse to steal from the people.¡±


    Aria nodded in agreement.


    Lord Varus then spoke, his voice calm and measured. ¡°I have sent word to Duchess Irene, informing her that we seek sanctuary in Iza. I will report back once I receive her response.¡±


    I gave him a small nod. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Leo exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists. ¡°I still cannot believe we abandoned Elria.¡±


    Ser Gildas sighed, and even Aria rubbed her temple in frustration. How was he still not grasping the situation?


    ¡°Elria is too large to defend,¡± I said plainly. ¡°You think 800 wounded men could hold against Eadric¡¯s entire army? He would have slaughtered us, Leo.¡±


    Leo scowled. ¡°I refuse to be known as the king who ran.¡±


    I leaned back in my chair, unimpressed. ¡°You are not a king, Leo. Not yet.¡±


    Queen Anna stood abruptly, her face twisted with anger. ¡°How dare you speak to your king that way, bastard?¡±


    Aria immediately stepped in. ¡°Enough, Mother! Must you insult him every time he speaks? Alaric is the only one thinking clearly right now!¡±


    Queen Anna turned sharply toward her. ¡°And why do you always defend him, Aria? Why do you stand by this bastard when he is not your blood?¡±


    Aria¡¯s eyes burned with fury. ¡°Because he is my brother, whether you like it or not! And unlike you, I value those who have actually fought for this family instead of sitting in court, clinging to a throne that is slipping through your fingers!¡±


    The Queen scoffed, but she had no response.


    Ser Midryn cleared his throat. ¡°We can defend Elria,¡± he insisted. ¡°It has high walls and strong gates. A well-fortified city can hold even against larger numbers.¡±


    I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temple. ¡°And how do you plan to defend a massive city with 800 men, Midryn? Half of them can barely hold a sword. You think city walls will stop Eadric forever? His army outnumbers us fifteen to one. He has siege weapons. He has supplies. He has momentum.¡± I narrowed my eyes. ¡°You¡¯re a knight, not an idiot. Think.¡±


    Midryn hesitated but didn¡¯t argue further.


    Ser Gildas leaned forward, folding his arms. ¡°Alaric is right. If we had stayed, we would have been wiped out within a week. Our only chance is to seek allies. And the closest possible ally is Duchess Irene.¡±


    Leo gritted his teeth. ¡°And what if she refuses us?¡±


    ¡°Then we find another way,¡± I said. ¡°But sitting here arguing won¡¯t change the fact that Eadric is coming.¡±


    I turned to the Queen, my patience long gone. ¡°Enough with the pride, Your Grace. It will only lead to death and suffering.¡±


    She glared, but this time, she didn¡¯t speak.


    Silence settled over the council. No one wanted to admit it, but they all knew the truth¡ªwe had no other choice.


    Duchess Irene¡¯s P.O.V - The Castle of Divina


    The great hall of Divina was stifling, despite the cool spring air that seeped through the high arched windows. I had spent the entire afternoon presiding over court, listening to merchants complain of rising tolls, minor lords bicker over border disputes, and commoners plead for grain after a poor harvest.


    It was exhausting.


    So when the last petitioner finally left and my steward, Edric, moved to close the great doors, I let out a sigh of relief. Finally, a moment of peace.


    Then the doors creaked open again.


    "My lady," Edric announced, a note of urgency in his voice. "A messenger from Lord Varus has arrived."


    That caught my attention.


    Varus was the Kingdom¡¯s Master of Gossips, a man who thrived on secrets and wielded knowledge like a dagger. If he had sent a messenger, it meant something important had happened.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Enter," I commanded, sitting upright.


    The doors parted, and a man stepped forward. He was road-worn, his cloak covered in dust, but his posture was firm. He carried himself like a soldier¡ªproud, disciplined, and accustomed to duty. He bowed deeply.


    "My lady, I am Henry, a messenger of Lord Varus. I bring a personal letter, written by my lord himself."


    I extended my hand, and he placed the sealed parchment into my grasp. The wax bore the sigil of House Alford¡ªVarus¡¯s house. I broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and began reading.


    To the Most Esteemed and Wise Duchess Irene, Lady of Divina and Guardian of Iza,


    I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits, though I suspect neither is truly possible in these troubled times. By now, I imagine you have heard whispers of what transpired at Lion¡¯s Crest, but let me spare you the speculation and provide you with the truth.


    The fortress has fallen. Prince Devran is dead, and so is Ser Lanselot. The Royal Army is shattered, and the Lion¡¯s banner lies in the mud.


    But the war is not yet lost.


    Alaric, the Bastard of Feldyn, led the remnants of our forces out of the slaughter and now marches north, toward Divina. We have no illusions of our position¡ªwe are weakened, we are wounded, and we are few. But there is still a fight to be had, and it is not yet time to kneel.


    I do not come to you with empty hands, nor do I come begging. Instead, I extend an opportunity. The war will not be won by swords alone, but by alliances forged in fire. The Crown needs allies, and there is no house greater nor wiser than House Stiedry to see where this war must turn.


    Elria is lost. The heart of the kingdom is now in the hands of a man who believes himself King before he has even secured a throne. Leo and his mother grasp at a power they do not yet truly hold. But you, my lady, have something they do not¡ªforesight.


    Alaric and his men will reach your lands in due time. Whether they arrive as welcome guests or desperate fugitives remains in your hands.


    Choose well, my lady. History does not often give second chances.


    Lord Varus of House Alford


    Master of Gossips, Keeper of Secrets


    I read the letter once. Then again, slower.


    So, it was true. Lion¡¯s Crest had fallen. The prince was dead. Leo had crowned himself. And Alaric¡ªthe bastard prince, the soldier, the survivor¡ªwas marching here.


    I let out a slow breath, placing the letter down on the table.


    "My lady?" Edric prompted.


    I turned my gaze to Henry, the messenger, who remained standing with quiet patience. "How long did it take you to reach Divina?" I asked.


    "Seven days, my lady," he replied promptly. "I rode hard, bypassing the usual roads. I stopped only when necessary."


    Seven days. That meant Alaric and his forces were still at least two weeks away¡ªperhaps longer, given their wounded. That gave me time to think.


    I turned to Edric. "Summon my council. I want to hear their thoughts on this."


    Henry cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "If I may, my lady¡­ Lord Varus urged a swift response."


    I gave him a knowing smile. "And Lord Varus should know that I do not rush into decisions, no matter how urgent they may seem."


    Henry hesitated but then lowered his head. "Of course, my lady."


    I dismissed him with a nod, then picked up the letter once more, tapping my fingers against the parchment.


    Alaric was coming.


    The bastard son of King Valero, the man who had kept what remained of the royal forces alive. The man the Queen despised.


    Perhaps it was time I met him.


    Duchess Irene¡¯s POV - The Council Hall


    The chamber was filled with murmurs and tension, the air thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Seated at the head of the long oak table, I swept my gaze over those gathered¡ªmen who had served me loyally, who had advised my father before me.


    At my right sat Edric, my steward, the man responsible for the day-to-day affairs of Divina. Beside him was Ser Rodirik, my Marshal and a battle-hardened knight who had fought in more campaigns than I could count. Gendry, my Diplomat, a man skilled with words and courtly maneuvering, observed quietly, his sharp eyes studying everyone present. At my left, Solomon, my Minister of Finance and Trade, adjusted his rings, his concern already evident on his lined face. Other key ministers and officers filled the remaining seats, each awaiting the inevitable discussion.


    Edric cleared his throat and addressed the room. "The remnants of the Royal Army are marching toward Divina. They seek sanctuary under your banner, my lady."


    There was a pause. A few exchanged glances before Ser Rodirik let out a scoff. "Sanctuary?" He leaned forward, his fingers drumming against the table. "No, my lady, they are not coming here merely for shelter. They are coming to drag us into their war."


    A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.


    "They were crushed at Lion¡¯s Crest," Rodirik continued. "The Crown lost its best men, its finest knights, and its strongest position. And now they come here¡ªweak, battered, and desperate¡ªbecause they know we are their only hope." His eyes flickered toward me. "You know this, my lady. The bastard prince and his so-called army do not come as guests. They come as beggars with swords, asking us to fight for a war we cannot afford."


    Edric shifted in his seat. "Regardless of what they want, we cannot simply turn them away. To do so would be a declaration of where we stand in this war. And right now, neutrality is our greatest advantage."


    Gendry folded his hands together. "The Royal Family still holds legitimacy, even if their power has waned. If we refuse them, we risk turning them into enemies. But if we accept them, we risk war with Eadric."


    "That war has already come to our doorstep," Rodirik countered. "Or have you forgotten Count Magerius? We are already fighting our own vassal, and he is no small lord. He holds vast lands and commands a sizeable force. We cannot afford to open another front while Magerius still defies us."


    Solomon, who had been quiet until now, let out a sigh. "And what of trade? We rely on stability to keep our coffers full. War means instability. If we involve ourselves, we risk losing vital trade routes. Montaklar will not remain neutral forever, and if they choose to side against us, our markets will suffer."


    The room fell silent for a moment, as everyone weighed the risks.


    I leaned back in my chair, tapping my fingers against the armrest. "So, what is our best course of action?"


    Rodirik was the first to speak. "Turn them away. We offer them provisions for their wounded and a safe passage west, but we do not involve ourselves in their war."


    Gendry shook his head. "That is not a wise choice. If Eadric wins this war, he will remember that we did not support him. If the Crown somehow prevails, they will remember we denied them aid. Either way, we are left vulnerable."


    Edric nodded. "We must handle this delicately. Accepting them does not mean immediate war, but rejecting them does mean immediate consequences."


    Solomon frowned. "We need to know what they offer. Alaric is no fool. He would not come here empty-handed. We must hear their terms before deciding anything."


    Rodirik turned his sharp gaze to me. "And what if they offer nothing? What if they come with nothing but swords and empty promises?"


    I exhaled slowly. "Then I will decide what must be done."


    The chamber fell into silence once more.


    Gendry cleared his throat. "My lady, you do understand that whatever choice we make, we must be prepared to stand by it? There is no turning back once we make our decision."


    I knew that. And that was the problem.


    Turning away the Royal Family meant declaring our neutrality in the war¡ªbut it also meant leaving them with no choice but to seek aid elsewhere. And if Alaric found another ally and emerged victorious, Divina would be seen as weak, unworthy of its duchy.


    Accepting them meant an inevitable clash with Eadric. We could not afford to sit in the middle forever.


    I looked down at Varus¡¯s letter, still sitting on the table before me. His words echoed in my mind:


    "Choose well, my lady. History does not often give second chances."


    I straightened my posture, meeting the gazes of those gathered.


    "Send word to Alaric," I said. "I will grant him an audience when he arrives. Then, and only then, will I decide where House Stiedry stands.


    My P.O.V


    Seven grueling days.


    The march had been slow, each step dictated by the condition of our men. Some had begun to recover, their wounds scarring over, their strength returning. Others were not so lucky. Their injuries were too severe, their bodies broken beyond repair. And then there were those caught between the two extremes¡ªmen whose fates remained uncertain, lingering in pain and fever, waiting to see whether death or survival would claim them.


    I knew war would take its toll, but seeing it firsthand was different. The wounded were exhausted, their spirits fraying with each mile. Some tried to hide their pain, gritting their teeth through the agony, but I could see the despair in their eyes. We left Elria behind, but the burden of defeat followed us like a shadow.


    Aria and I trained in what little free time we had. It had become a routine¡ªone of the few things that felt normal amidst all the chaos. Despite her improvements, I still bested her every time.


    "You never let me win, do you?" Aria huffed, wiping sweat from her forehead.


    I smirked, lowering my practice blade. "You want me to lie or be honest?"


    "You could at least pretend to struggle."


    "That would be an insult to your skill," I teased.


    Aria shot me a glare before sheathing her wooden sword. "Flattery won¡¯t make up for all the bruises you¡¯ve given me."


    I chuckled, setting my own sword aside. "You¡¯re getting better. Faster. You almost had me that time."


    "Almost," she muttered. "That word again."


    She crossed her arms, clearly displeased with my unwillingness to let her win. I was about to tease her again when her expression shifted, turning more contemplative.


    "Do you think¡­ if Father hadn¡¯t died, any of this would¡¯ve happened?" she asked suddenly.


    I stilled for a moment, considering her words.


    "I don¡¯t know," I admitted. "But I think it was fated."


    Aria frowned. "Fated?"


    I leaned against a nearby tree, crossing my arms. "Devran was always going to be king. Leo was always going to challenge his authority in some way. And Duke Eadric¡­ well, his ambitions were never a secret." I exhaled. "Maybe Father¡¯s death accelerated things, but war was inevitable."


    She sighed. "I hate war, Alaric. I always have."


    I glanced at her. "You grew up in a palace. You never had to fight in one."


    She gave me a pointed look. "I did lose something to war," she countered. "You."


    I said nothing, waiting for her to continue.


    "When Father sent you off to the Third Border War, I thought I¡¯d never see you again," she confessed. "I was only seven, but even then, I knew war was cruel. I used to cry at night, thinking you were dead. That you¡¯d never come back."


    I had no idea she felt that way.


    "You know," I said after a moment, "I¡¯m still grateful for it."


    Her brows furrowed. "For what?"


    "The war," I said simply.


    She stared at me in disbelief. "You can¡¯t be serious."


    I shrugged. "It made me a man."


    Aria shook her head. "That¡¯s a terrible thing to be grateful for."


    "I didn¡¯t have a choice," I said. "War made me strong. It taught me how to survive."


    She let out a quiet breath, then hesitated before asking, "Did it make you happy?"


    That question caught me off guard.


    I thought about it for a moment. The years I spent fighting, bleeding, and killing had hardened me. It had given me purpose, but happiness? No. That was something war never gave me.


    But instead of answering, I turned the question back on her. "Are you happy?"


    She didn¡¯t answer right away. Then, after a pause, she said, "I don¡¯t know."


    Silence settled between us. The distant sounds of the camp¡ªsoldiers murmuring, fires crackling, the wind rustling through the trees¡ªfilled the void.


    Then, Aria spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "I never asked you this before, but¡­ do you have any idea who your mother was?"


    I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "What do you mean?"


    "I mean, did Father ever tell you about her?" She hesitated before adding, "You can¡¯t just appear in the world out of nowhere, right?"


    She let out a small chuckle, but I could tell she was genuinely curious.


    I exhaled, looking away. "No," I admitted. "He never told me."


    Her brows knitted together. "That¡¯s¡­ strange. Didn¡¯t you ever ask?"


    I shook my head. "What would be the point?"


    "It¡¯s your birthright, Alaric," she insisted. "Even if you¡¯re a bastard, you still have a mother somewhere. Doesn¡¯t it bother you, not knowing where you came from?"


    I considered her words, but the truth was, I had long buried that question. When I was younger, I had wondered¡ªfantasized, even¡ªabout who she was. A noblewoman, maybe. Someone beautiful. Someone who loved me. But years of war and hardship had hardened me to those thoughts.


    "It doesn¡¯t matter," I finally said.


    "But¡ª"


    "It doesn¡¯t change anything," I cut her off. "Whether she was a noble or a peasant, she abandoned me. That¡¯s all I need to know."


    Aria fell silent, watching me carefully.


    Then, after a moment, she sighed. "You really are stubborn."


    I smirked. "You just figured that out?"


    She rolled her eyes but didn¡¯t push the topic further.


    Instead, she reached for her sword again. "One more round?"


    I raised a brow. "Still want another loss?"


    She grinned. "You never know. I might surprise you."


    I chuckled, picking up my blade. "We¡¯ll see about that."


    And with that, we returned to our training, letting the weight of unspoken thoughts fade into the clash of steel.


    "There''s still a war to fight,"


    -Alaric the Bastard

 Chapter 16.Weight of the March

    "A bastard''s birth is a father''s shame, but a mother''s curse."


    -Gulvian Proverbs


    My P.O.V - Military Camp


    The road had been unforgiving. Each step forward felt heavier than the last, dragging through the dirt and mud that had become far too familiar. The path westward had finally brought us into the embrace of the vast forests, where towering trees loomed overhead, their branches stretching like skeletal hands across the night sky. The air smelled of damp earth and rotting leaves, a reminder that the seasons would soon change¡ªand with them, the conditions of our march.


    The men were growing weaker. Seven days of relentless travel had left them hollow-eyed and sluggish, yet they pressed on, driven by duty or desperation. Some, I knew, simply marched because standing still meant giving in to death.


    That night, we made camp beneath the thick canopy of trees. The grand pavilion of the royal family stood in stark contrast to the tattered tents of the common soldiers, though none dared to complain. We were in no position to demand luxury¡ªnot when our future was as uncertain as the road ahead.


    I sat by the fire, sharpening my sword, the rhythmic sound of steel against whetstone the only thing keeping my mind from wandering too far into dark thoughts. Then a steward approached, his face grim.


    ¡°My lord,¡± he said, his voice hushed, as if not wanting the others to overhear. ¡°Since the march began, nearly one hundred and fifty men have perished. Some succumbed to their wounds, others to sickness.¡± He hesitated before adding, ¡°Thankfully, none of the illnesses appear to be contagious.¡±


    I nodded slowly, my grip tightening on the sword hilt. One hundred and fifty men. Gone. And not in the heat of battle, not with their swords raised in defiance, but in the quiet suffering of the road. Their deaths weighed on me like stones. How many more would we lose before reaching Iza?


    The steward lingered, perhaps waiting for me to say something, but I had no words to offer. Just another number to add to the growing list of casualties in this war. I dismissed him with a nod, and he left without another word.


    The night was cold, the wind creeping into my bones despite the fire that burned before me. Then I heard the sound of footsteps, heavy and measured. Ser Gildas.


    The old knight settled beside me with a quiet grunt, pulling his thick cloak tighter around himself. For a while, he said nothing, staring into the fire as if lost in its flickering depths. Then he spoke.


    ¡°I never had the chance to thank you, Alaric.¡±


    I exhaled through my nose. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to thank me for, Ser Gildas.¡±


    The old knight chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Not everyone might see it. Some are too proud to admit it. But without you, House Feldyn would have been wiped out in Elria. Without your efforts, I would have died dealing with the Queen and her son.¡±


    A small, tired smile tugged at my lips. ¡°I think I nearly died too.¡±


    Then the smile faded, and my voice grew quieter. ¡°I¡¯m tired, Ser Gildas. Tired of always being the one responsible. And now, more men are dying in this lost cause.¡±


    The old knight let out a long sigh. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told you I understand.¡±


    I glanced at him. ¡°You fought in the First and Second Border Wars, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± he nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. ¡°And that¡¯s why I refused to fight in the Third.¡±


    I shifted slightly, intrigued despite my exhaustion. ¡°I read about those wars in a book. They were brutal.¡±


    Ser Gildas let out a dry laugh. ¡°A book?¡± He scoffed. ¡°That book did not give us justice, Alaric. Nor did the man who wrote it. They gave all the honor to the king, to the lords who sat on their thrones while young men fought and bled in their wars.¡±


    I stared into the fire. ¡°That hasn¡¯t changed.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Gildas murmured, voice heavy with age and experience. ¡°It hasn¡¯t.¡±


    The silence between us was comfortable, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the still night. Then, after a moment, Ser Gildas spoke again.


    ¡°I know this is a different topic, but I have a bastard grandson,¡± he said, his voice softer now. ¡°We love him dearly. I do not understand how a man like you¡ªa hero, a man who fought in one of the most brutal conflicts in our history¡ªis so mistreated, so cast aside.¡±


    I exhaled slowly. ¡°Because I am a stain on the king¡¯s name, Ser Gildas. The Gulvians see bastards as unlucky, unfortunate.¡±


    ¡°Not in my family,¡± he said simply.


    I turned to look at him then, the firelight casting deep shadows across his face. His expression was firm, unwavering. There was no pity in his eyes, only conviction.


    For a moment, I let myself believe in those words. Let myself believe that not all saw me as a stain, as a mistake.


    The fire crackled between us, warm and steady, and for once, the weight on my shoulders felt just a little lighter.


    Duke Eadric¡¯s P.O.V - Lion''s Crest


    The situation was worsening by the hour.


    Consumption had turned Lion¡¯s Crest from a stronghold of triumph into a tomb of the living. The disease slithered through the ranks like an invisible reaper, striking down men indiscriminately. The fortress reeked of death¡ªrotting flesh, soiled straw, and the acrid scent of burning herbs that did little to cleanse the air. My men feared the disease more than the Crown¡¯s army, and I could hardly blame them. Every morning, the bodies of the fallen were carried beyond the walls and burned in great pyres, their smoke rising like dark omens into the sky.


    The fortress was becoming untenable. I needed to leave before my men lost all confidence in our cause.


    As I sat in my war chamber, brooding over maps and supply reports, the heavy doors swung open with a creak. Duke Romulus Drakemont strode inside, his fur-lined cloak trailing behind him like the shadow of a stalking wolf.


    It had been some time since we last spoke face to face. He had left the bulk of his army under my command while he returned to Emberhold to tend to affairs in Montaklar. Now, he was back, his gaze sharp and searching as he studied me.


    ¡°I have heard of your great victory,¡± he said smoothly, his voice carrying an air of amusement.


    I could not tell if he meant it as praise or mockery.


    ¡°Why have you come?¡± I asked, my tone clipped.


    Romulus settled into the chair across from me, stretching out his legs as if he owned the place. ¡°Victoria grows impatient,¡± he said. ¡°She wishes to proceed with the marriage. But I told her we are still at war.¡±


    Victoria. His daughter. My son¡¯s betrothed.


    Edward, who had been standing to my right, straightened at the mention of her name. ¡°Do not worry, my lord,¡± he said. ¡°I will honor the promise I made to Lady Victoria.¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Romulus gave a satisfied nod before his expression turned more serious. ¡°Good. Now tell me¡ªwhy have you not marched on Elria yet? I hear the bastard has abandoned it.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I admitted. ¡°He left it undefended.¡±


    Romulus frowned. ¡°Then why have you not taken it? The city is the heart of the kingdom. Seizing it would cement your claim.¡±


    I exhaled slowly, pressing my fingers together. ¡°Elria has no glory, Romulus. It is a relic of the old regime. A decaying city, filled with ghosts of past kings. If I am to win this rebellion, I will not rule from the corpse of a fallen kingdom. I will forge a new empire, and its heart will be Darienport.¡±


    Romulus raised an eyebrow. ¡°A bold vision,¡± he admitted. ¡°But you cannot ignore the historical significance of Elria, nor its wealth. If you do not take it, you risk appearing weak.¡±


    ¡°I do not care for appearances. I care for victory,¡± I snapped. ¡°And victory will not come from marching my already depleted forces into a city that offers no tactical advantage. Alaric is the real threat. If we allow him to reach Iza unchallenged, he may rally support. He may gather an army strong enough to stand against us.¡±


    Romulus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. ¡°So what do you intend to do?¡±


    I glanced at Edward, who met my gaze with quiet understanding.


    ¡°I am torn,¡± I admitted. ¡°Do I send an army to block Alaric¡¯s path? Or do I consolidate my forces and let him come to me, where I can crush him at my choosing?¡±


    Romulus drummed his fingers against the table. ¡°If you allow him to reach Iza, you risk Duchess Irene throwing her support behind him. She is unpredictable, but if she deems him worthy, she may rally forces in his name.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± My voice was tight. ¡°But if I send men to intercept him, I risk stretching my forces too thin. We are already struggling with supplies. The longer we linger here, the worse it becomes.¡±


    Romulus studied me for a long moment, then inclined his head slightly. ¡°Very well. Just ensure that when the time comes, Montaklar is rewarded accordingly.¡±


    ¡°You will have your reward,¡± I assured him. ¡°But more importantly, I need to know that your house will stand with me, no matter what happens.¡±


    Romulus smirked, though there was a weight behind it this time. ¡°Of course. Soon, our houses will be bound by blood. I will stand behind you, Lord Eadric.¡± He paused before adding, ¡°For now.¡±


    I let his words linger in the air. I knew what they meant. Alliances in war were as fragile as glass, and Romulus was not a man who would blindly follow if he sensed weakness. He would stand behind me¡ªuntil he saw an opportunity elsewhere.


    ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to in Emberhold,¡± Romulus said, rising from his chair. ¡°I will visit you again soon. May the gods bless you in your future battles.¡±


    Edward stepped forward to escort him out, but I remained seated, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table.


    I had won the battle for Lion¡¯s Crest. But the war was far from over.


    And somewhere, out there, Alaric was still marching.


    Damn him.


    I had known from the start that he would be a problem. He was too skilled, too resilient, too dangerous to be ignored.


    But at least it was just him.


    For now.


    Duchess Irene¡¯s P.O.V - City of Divina


    Alaric.


    A name that carried weight despite the stain of illegitimacy.


    All I truly knew of him was that he was the bastard son of the late King Valero¡ªa man whose death had shattered the fragile peace of the realm. But there was something more. My father, the late Duke Aldrick, had once told me that Alaric was not merely a king¡¯s mistake. He was the child of someone important. Someone whose name had been buried, whose legacy had been erased from history.


    That conversation had taken place six years ago, and the details had faded in my mind. I couldn¡¯t recall which figure my father had spoken of, but the mystery lingered like an itch at the back of my thoughts.


    And now, this same man¡ªthis forgotten son¡ªwas marching toward Iza, seeking my aid.


    Why am I entertaining this?


    He lost a significant battle, yet here I am, considering his plea for sanctuary. It is not logic that moves me but something else. Perhaps respect for Princess Aria, a woman I know to be kind and just despite the vipers that surround her.


    Or perhaps it is hatred.


    I despise the Queen. She has undermined my house for too long, dismissing us as nothing more than pawns in her political games. House Feldyn has treated Iza with indifference, favoring the wealth of Montaklar or the strategic strength of Auria.


    But they forget.


    Iza is not weak.


    Iza has survived wars, famines, and betrayals. We do not bend easily.


    I turned to Edric, my steward, who stood patiently beside me. ¡°Summon the council,¡± I commanded. ¡°We have much to discuss.¡±


    If Alaric sought my aid, then he would have to prove himself worthy of it.


    The council chamber was alight with the glow of the midday sun filtering through tall stained-glass windows, casting streaks of color across the polished stone floor. The air carried the scent of wax and parchment, the room filled with my most trusted advisors¡ªmen who had served my father and now served me.


    Ser Rodirik, my Marshal, was the first to break the silence. "Count Magerius has made his move. His men raided several villages near Talbeck Castle."


    I clenched my jaw. "How severe are the losses?"


    "Not as devastating as they could have been, but they are deliberate," Rodirik said. "Magerius isn''t just pillaging¡ªhe''s testing us. If we do nothing, he will escalate. And if he gathers enough strength, he may lay siege to Talbeck itself."


    Solomon, my Finance and Trade Minister, let out a weary sigh. "Not just any villages, my lady. Those were some of the wealthiest in the region. Merchants are already sending word of losses, and tax revenues will suffer if this continues."


    Gendry, my diplomat, frowned. "Magerius senses weakness. With the kingdom in turmoil, he believes he can seize what he pleases. If he succeeds, others may follow."


    I drummed my fingers against the table, deep in thought. "How many men does he command?"


    Rodirik folded his arms. "A standing force of around two thousand, with more levies he can call upon. If he marches in full force, Talbeck¡¯s garrison will struggle to hold."


    "Then we must respond," I said. "We cannot afford to let Magerius gain ground."


    Rodirik nodded. "Agreed, but we must also consider the Royal Army approaching our borders."


    The room fell into a brief silence.


    Edric, my steward, cleared his throat. "That brings us to the other matter, my lady. Alaric and his host are drawing near¡ªfifteen days at most."


    Ser Rodirik leaned forward. "Are you truly sure about this? Giving them sanctuary is one thing, but entertaining them means aligning with them. Once we open our gates to Alaric, Eadric will count us as his enemy."


    I looked around the table, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "I am certain."


    Gendry sighed, rubbing his temples. "My lady, I understand your reasoning. Alaric is a capable commander¡ªperhaps the only real leader left in that damned royal family¡ªbut aiding him means war."


    Rodirik''s voice was firm. "We are already dealing with Magerius. If we allow Alaric into our lands, we risk fighting on two fronts. Iza does not have the luxury of endless resources."


    Solomon added, "War is expensive. Even if we do not commit troops, feeding and housing thousands of men will strain our coffers."


    I held up a hand, silencing them. "I am not blind to these risks. But listen well¡ªIza will not sit idle while the kingdom burns. Eadric''s rebellion is not a storm we can simply wait out. It will reach us, whether we choose to act or not. I would rather make a calculated move than wait for our enemies to force our hand."


    Rodirik narrowed his eyes. "And if Alaric loses? If the royal cause collapses?"


    "Then we will adapt," I said without hesitation. "But we will not be caught unprepared."


    The table fell silent for a moment.


    Edric finally spoke. "Then we prepare to receive them. Alaric will be here soon."


    I nodded. "Good. When he arrives, he will learn that Iza is not a land of beggars nor cowards. If he wants our aid, he must prove he is worth it."


    With that, the council was adjourned.


    My P.O.V - The North Western Region of Gulvia


    The sun blazed overhead, beating down upon us like an unrelenting hammer. The cold of the previous nights was a distant memory, replaced by a suffocating heat that drained the strength from our bones. Sweat drenched my tunic beneath my armor, and I could see the same exhaustion reflected in the men trudging ahead of me. The march had been cruel before, but today, it felt like we were being punished by the gods themselves.


    I rode at the rear of the column, watching the lines stretch out before me. Some men stumbled from exhaustion, and others slumped against their weapons, barely able to push forward. We had suffered worse, but morale was already fragile. Another few days of this and we¡¯d start losing men¡ªnot to wounds, but to sheer exhaustion.


    Then came the attack.


    It started with a scream from the front. Then another.


    The next moment, a rain of arrows fell upon us. Chaos erupted.


    I spurred my horse forward, drawing my sword as I charged toward the front lines. Dust and blood filled the air as bandits surged from the tree line, slashing into our weary soldiers with wild abandon. The front of our column was in disarray, struggling to form a proper defense against the ambush.


    The enemy wore ragged cloaks and leather armor, moving with the desperate frenzy of men who knew nothing but hunger and bloodshed. Forest bandits¡ªlawless men who preyed upon the weak and weary.


    I reached the thick of the battle just as one of our knights was dragged from his horse, his throat cut open before he could even scream. Another soldier fell beside him, a spear jutting from his back. I urged my horse forward and swung my blade, cleaving through a bandit¡¯s shoulder. Blood sprayed across my arm, but I ignored it.


    Ahead of me, I caught sight of Ser Gildas. The old knight moved with terrifying precision¡ªeach strike of his sword cut a man down, each step he took brought him closer to another kill. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. Even at his age, he fought as if he had decades of war left in him.


    For every bandit we cut down, another took his place. The attack had been well-planned¡ªhit us when we were weak, force us into chaos, then take what they could before vanishing into the trees. But they had made a mistake.


    We were not broken men.


    "Push them back!" I roared, slashing my sword through the throat of another bandit.


    The soldiers around me, emboldened by the command, fought harder. Shields locked, spears jabbed forward, and swords carved a path through the enemy ranks. The bandits faltered, realizing too late that they had underestimated us.


    One by one, they began to retreat. Some fled into the forest, while others were cut down before they could escape. The battle ended almost as quickly as it had begun.


    I exhaled heavily, wiping the sweat and blood from my face.


    Then, pain.


    I looked down to see a thin line of crimson across my side. A wound¡ªshallow, but deep enough to burn. The last bandit I had killed had managed to land a strike before I cut him down. Damn it.


    Ser Gildas approached, his blade still slick with blood. He looked me over and frowned. "You''re wounded."


    "It¡¯s nothing," I muttered.


    "Nothing can turn to something if left unattended," he said. "Let Aria tend to it before infection sets in."


    I sighed, but nodded.


    The battle had cost us men, and the delay would cost us time. We had no choice but to encamp once more, forced to lick our wounds before pressing on.


    And I knew one thing for certain¡ªif this was just the beginning, the road ahead would only grow bloodier.


    "Arthur¡¯s sword carved the realm, but his will forged the crown."


    -Gulvian Proverbs

 Chapter 17.Shadows of Loyalty

    "An army without food is an army without swords."


    -Gulvian Proverbs


    My P.O.V


    Pain flared through my side as Aria pressed a damp cloth against the wound. I clenched my teeth, but a groan escaped before I could stop it. She raised an eyebrow, amused despite the situation.


    "This is the first time I''ve heard you make a sound when wounded," she said, a slight smirk playing at her lips.


    I forced a breath through my nose. "Maybe because this is the first time you¡¯ve been the one patching me up."


    "Or maybe because the wound is deeper than you let on," she countered, pressing a little harder. I sucked in a breath, refusing to give her the satisfaction of another reaction.


    Her hands worked quickly, securing the bandage with practiced ease. "You''re reckless," she muttered. "Running into the thick of battle like a madman."


    I exhaled sharply. "And if I hadn¡¯t? How many more men would¡¯ve died?"


    Aria paused, her expression shifting to something more serious. "I know," she admitted. "But that doesn¡¯t mean you have to shoulder everything alone."


    She tied off the last knot and sat back, studying me with that same concern she always carried. "There. Try not to get stabbed again anytime soon."


    "No promises." I pushed myself up, ignoring the dull ache in my ribs.


    Aria sighed. "You should rest."


    "I need to check on the others," I said, voice firm. The moment I was upright, the world spun slightly, and I had to steady myself against the edge of the makeshift cot.


    She caught my arm. "You¡¯re impossible," she muttered, shaking her head. But instead of arguing, she slipped an arm under mine, helping me stand. "Fine. But don¡¯t blame me when you collapse halfway through camp."


    The night air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and blood, the dim glow of campfires flickering across weary faces. Our men moved sluggishly, exhaustion weighing on them like an iron chain. Some sat hunched over their weapons, silently cleaning blood from their blades. Others lay on thin bedrolls, whispering prayers or staring blankly at the dark sky.


    "Leo? The Queen?" I asked as we walked.


    "Fine," Aria replied. "Ser Midryn, too. They were at the center of the column, away from the worst of the fight."


    Of course, they were.


    I glanced around, noting the gaps in our ranks. Some men were missing¡ªsome had been left behind, buried hastily in shallow graves along the road. Others clung to life, wrapped in bloodied bandages, their fates uncertain.


    A steward approached, his face pale in the firelight. "My lord," he said hesitantly. "I bring the latest count."


    I braced myself. "Go on."


    "Seventy dead from today¡¯s ambush," he reported. "Fifty more wounded¡ªsome won¡¯t last the night. That brings the total losses since we left Elria to nearly two hundred."


    I inhaled slowly, pushing down the weight in my chest. "And the bandits?"


    "We killed most of them, but a few got away." The steward hesitated. "Some men think they¡¯ll return."


    "They''re not wrong," I muttered. "We need to be ready."


    The steward nodded and left, disappearing into the gloom.


    "Two hundred," Aria murmured beside me. "We¡¯ve lost too many."


    "And we¡¯ll lose more," I said grimly. "Tomorrow, we need to be vigilant. I didn¡¯t expect forest bandits to be this organized."


    She frowned. "Or someone is using them."


    I turned to her. "What do you mean?"


    "Bandits don¡¯t just grow bold overnight," she said. "They knew when and where to strike. What if they weren¡¯t just desperate criminals?"


    The thought unsettled me. If someone was controlling them¡ªif Eadric had a hand in this¡ªthen we were in even more danger than I realized.


    But right now, our men needed rest. Tomorrow would be another fight, whether by steel or survival.


    "Come on," Aria said, pulling me gently toward my tent. "You¡¯ve done enough for today."


    I hesitated but let her lead me.


    Tomorrow, we¡¯d face whatever came


    next.


    And I¡¯d be ready.


    <h3 style="text-align: justify">


    Duke Eadric''s P.O.V - Somewhere neae Lion''s Crest


    The fortress of Lion¡¯s Crest faded into the distance, and I did not look back. It had served its purpose, but I had no desire to rot within its walls any longer. The damp stone, the thick air of sickness, and the cries of dying men were things I would not miss. My path led forward, and every mile that passed under my horse¡¯s hooves was a step toward claiming what was rightfully mine.


    Iza was my destination.


    If Alaric reached Duchess Irene first, she might grant him sanctuary¡ªand worse, her army. That could turn this war into something far more complicated. But if I arrived before him, I could force her hand, convince her to stand with me. Irene was no fool¡ªshe knew where true power lay. If she refused?


    Then Iza would be mine, by force if necessary.


    It was a risk, I knew. Opening another front when I had yet to secure the Crownlands could stretch my forces thin. Some urged me to take Elria instead, claiming that seizing the royal stronghold would break the morale of my enemies. But Elria was a symbol, and symbols did not win wars¡ªarmies did. My goal was not to sit in the empty halls of a fortress while the remnants of House Feldyn gathered strength elsewhere. No, I would strike where it mattered.


    But war was a game of numbers, and I did not like mine. I rode at the head of eleven thousand men¡ªenough to win battles, perhaps, but not enough to crush the royal army entirely. Reports placed their numbers at eleven thousand, though many were wounded and weary.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    It should have reassured me. It didn¡¯t.


    Because Alaric had survived worse.


    I had fought alongside him once, long ago, in the Third Border War. I had seen firsthand how he endured, how he fought like a man who had nothing to lose. He was not invincible, but he was dangerous. I had underestimated him at the Lion¡¯s Crest, and that mistake had cost me time and men. I would not make it again.


    That was why I had sent Edward back to Auria. My son would raise another host, another army to crush the last remnants of House Feldyn. With fresh troops, I would have the strength to end this war.


    A movement in the corner of my vision pulled me from my thoughts. A rider approached through the ranks, his armor marked by dust and travel. Ser Hector.


    I watched him as he neared, his expression calm, unreadable. He was a mystery to me. A bastard knight, once sworn to Alaric, now sworn to me. He had yet to swing his sword in this war, yet his reputation preceded him. Alaric had trusted him once¡ªthat alone made me wary.


    When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. "I want to fight in the next battle."


    I arched a brow. "Do you doubt my protection, Ser Hector? Are you restless?"


    "I want to prove my loyalty," he said plainly. "To you. To the men."


    His words were carefully chosen, but I could hear what was left unsaid. He knew that some in my camp doubted him, that they still saw him as Alaric¡¯s man. He wanted to erase that doubt in blood.


    I considered him for a long moment. "And why should I trust you?"


    "You have my sword."


    "Words are cheap," I said. "I''ve seen men swear loyalty in the morning and betray it by dusk."


    Hector met my gaze without flinching. "Then let me prove I am not one of them."


    I could see it in his stance, in his voice¡ªhe was not a man who begged. He was offering me something, not asking. If he fought in the next battle, if he bled for my cause, there would be no more doubt. My men would accept him. I would accept him.


    But a part of me still hesitated.


    "You fought beside Alaric," I said. "Rode with him, bled with him. Tell me, what kind of man is he?"


    Hector exhaled slowly, as if considering his words. "Alaric is a man who refuses to break, no matter the weight placed upon him." A pause. "That makes him dangerous."


    I nodded. It was what I had suspected.


    "Very well," I said. "You will have your chance, Ser Hector. But know this¡ªif you betray me, I will cut you down myself."


    A flicker of something crossed his face. Amusement? Resignation? I couldn''t tell.


    "I expect nothing less, my lord," he said simply, then fell back into the ranks.


    I watched him go, a knot of uncertainty coiling in my gut.


    Was he truly loyal?


    I did not know.


    Duchess Irene¡¯s P.O.V. - City of Divina


    The council chamber was filled with the scent of burning firewood, but even the warmth of the hearth did little to ease the cold weight pressing down on me. My ministers had gathered once again, their expressions mirroring the uncertainty that loomed over us like a storm cloud. The news had reached us¡ªDuke Eadric was marching toward Iza.


    The question that hung in the air, unspoken but understood by all, was simple. What did he want?


    Ser Rodirik, my Grand Marshal, wasted no time in voicing his concerns. "We should have never entertained Alaric¡¯s request," he grumbled, his armored fingers tapping impatiently against the wooden table. His eyes, sharp as a falcon''s, scanned the room. "This has forced Eadric¡¯s hand. Had the bastard not sought shelter here, we would not be in this situation."


    I folded my hands on the table, keeping my voice steady. "And what would you have me do, Rodirik? Slam the gates in his face? Cast aside an ally when the crown itself is crumbling?"


    Rodirik met my gaze, his expression hardened by years of war. "I would have you think carefully about whom you call an ally, Your Grace. Alaric may fight for the crown, but that does not mean the crown fights for him. He is a man cast aside, a man whose claim to any kind of power is as uncertain as our own safety. And now, because of him, Eadric marches."


    Solomon, my steward, sighed heavily. "The reality is that we are now entangled in this war, whether we wished it or not. If we turn Alaric away, we make an enemy of him. If we refuse Eadric, we make an enemy of him as well. And the crown¡­" He trailed off, shaking his head. "The crown does not seem eager to prove itself a worthy protector."


    Gendry, my diplomat, spoke next, his voice calm and measured. "We still have time before Eadric arrives. A message could be sent, inquiring about his intentions. If he seeks a negotiation, we may yet avoid open conflict. If he comes with steel, we will at least be prepared."


    Rodirik scoffed. "And if he views our inquiry as weakness? Eadric is not a man known for his patience. He strikes when the advantage is his, and we would be fools to think we could stall him with parchment and ink."


    "Then what would you have us do, Rodirik?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. "Shut our gates and hope for the best? Raise our banners and declare war before we even know his demands? We are not Auria. Iza is not a fortress prepared for prolonged siege. If we stand alone in this, we will not last long."


    Silence settled over the room, heavy and suffocating. It was Solomon who finally broke it. "There is another option," he said carefully, his fingers tracing the rim of his goblet. "We welcome Alaric, but we do so on our terms. If we are to take this risk, it cannot be for nothing. We must secure assurances from the crown, written and binding. And if they refuse¡­" He looked at me meaningfully. "Then we reconsider where our loyalties lie."


    Rodirik stiffened at the suggestion, but he did not immediately object.


    I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly. "House Stiedry has always kept its word. If we offer sanctuary, we will not go back on it. But I will not lead Iza into ruin for the sake of a lost cause. The crown must prove it is worthy of our loyalty. If it does not, then we must do what is best for Iza."


    Rodirik frowned but gave a slow nod. "Then we prepare for all possibilities. If Eadric comes as a conqueror, we will not bow easily. If Alaric expects our support, he must give us reason to believe he can win."


    I surveyed the faces around the table¡ªmen who had served my house for years, men who had advised my father before me. I saw doubt, but I also saw resolve. They would follow my lead, even if they questioned it.


    "Send the message to Eadric," I ordered. "And another to Alaric. I want to know what both sides intend before their boots reach my gates. We will not be a pawn in this game, gentlemen. Iza will decide its own fate."


    The council murmured their assent, and one by one, they rose from their seats. As they left, I remained where I was, staring at the flickering fire. No matter how this played out, war was coming to my doorstep.


    And for the first time, I was no longer sure if Iza could stand in the storm alone.


    But for now, I had no choice but to trust him.


    Here¡¯s an extended version with even more depth, atmosphere, and character interaction:


    My P.O.V. - Military Camp


    Five more days of grueling travel, and at last, we crossed into the Duchy of Iza, leaving behind the endless sprawl of the Great Forest. The journey had drained us¡ªphysically, mentally, and in spirit. The cold that had tormented us before was now replaced by relentless heat. The men stripped away their heavier layers, yet the sun still bore down on them with merciless intensity. Armor became a burden rather than protection, and more than once, I saw men collapsing from exhaustion, only to be dragged back to their feet by their comrades.


    The road had been far from quiet. At night, we slept with swords in hand, wary of the ever-present danger. The Forest Bandits had grown bolder, striking at our flanks, ambushing small scouting parties, and slipping away before we could properly retaliate. The crown had neglected them for far too long, and now we were paying the price. But it was not just the bandits¡ªdisease, injuries, and sheer exhaustion had already claimed more men than I cared to count. Each loss weighed upon me like a stone, yet I had no time to grieve.


    As dusk settled, we made camp by the banks of a slow-moving river. For the first time in days, there was the semblance of comfort. The men eagerly filled their waterskins, washing the dirt and sweat from their faces. Fires flickered throughout the encampment, their warm glow illuminating the weariness in every soldier¡¯s eyes. Some still had the strength to mutter prayers, others to joke and laugh in low voices, but most simply sat in silence, too drained to do anything but rest.


    I had just removed my gauntlets when the sound of hooves pierced the quiet night. A lone rider, his horse lathered with sweat, approached our camp at a steady but urgent pace.


    "A message from Duchess Irene, Lord Alaric," the rider announced, dismounting and bowing as he extended a sealed letter.


    His tone was formal, respectful. That was a good sign. Irene had not dismissed us outright, nor had she refused us entry outright. Aria, standing beside me, gave a small nod of approval. I broke the seal, my eyes scanning the parchment.


    Her words were careful¡ªcalculated. Why have you come to Iza?


    I let out a slow exhale, folding the letter in my hands. This was not a refusal, but neither was it an acceptance. She wanted to test me, to see if I wavered in my conviction.


    "Lord Varus already sent word ahead, explaining why we needed sanctuary," Aria said, her brow furrowing. "Surely she hasn¡¯t forgotten?"


    "She hasn¡¯t forgotten," I murmured. "But she needs to hear it from me again. She wants to see if I hesitate."


    Aria sighed, running a hand through her hair, still damp from washing in the river. "Then what will you say?"


    I turned back to the messenger, who stood waiting patiently, his expression unreadable. "Tell your lady that I have already given my reasons. The crown has sought sanctuary, and it is only right that she grants it. Remind her not to forget the late Lord Aldrick Stiedry¡¯s unwavering fealty to King Valero of House Feldyn."


    The messenger hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the parchment in my hand, expecting me to put the words in writing. I did not.


    "Go," I commanded.


    He swallowed hard, nodded, and mounted his horse. The moment he vanished into the night, Aria folded her arms across her chest.


    "You should have written it down," she said quietly.


    "No," I said firmly. "This way, she will wonder why I did not. It will force her to think, to question, to remember her father¡¯s loyalty. She will know that we are not here to beg."


    Aria pursed her lips. "Or she will see it as arrogance and refuse you outright."


    "She won¡¯t," I countered. "Irene is many things, but she is not reckless. She would not have summoned her council if she had already made up her mind. She¡¯s playing a game, and if I seem too desperate, she will think she holds the power."


    "And if she does hold the power?" Aria challenged. "We are the ones who came seeking sanctuary, Alaric. We are the ones in need."


    I turned my gaze toward the flickering campfires, watching the shadows dance. The smell of roasted meat drifted in the air, but I had no appetite.


    "No," I said, my voice quieter this time. "She thinks she holds the power. But in truth, she is just as afraid as we are. She fears Eadric¡¯s wrath. She fears making the wrong choice. If we appear weak, she will hesitate. And hesitation will cost us everything."


    Aria studied me for a long moment, searching for something in my face¡ªdoubt, fear, regret. She would find none.


    Finally, she sighed. "You¡¯re too much like him, you know."


    "Who?"


    "Our father."


    I turned to look at her, but she had already stepped away, walking toward her tent without another word.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if she had meant it as a compliment or a curse.


    "He who fights for the crown wears it, he who fights for another digs graves."


    -Gulvian Proverbs

 Chapter 18.An Offer and a Threat

    "Where Arthur rode, kingdoms bowed."


    -Gulvian Proverbs


    My P.O.V


    Prince Leo had called a council. I knew it wouldn¡¯t be good news. As I entered his grand pavilion, the air inside was thick with tension. Leo sat on his ornate chair, his fingers drumming impatiently against the armrest. The golden embroidery on his tunic caught the candlelight, but there was nothing regal about his scowl.


    "You kept a letter from one of my vassals without informing me!" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a drawn blade.


    I said nothing. This wasn¡¯t the first time he had tried to assert his authority over me, and it wouldn¡¯t be the last.


    Beside him, Ser Midryn stood, silent but smirking. His mere presence was enough to make my fingers itch for my sword. Arrogant, entitled, and ever the lapdog to his prince. He was everything I despised in a knight.


    The Queen Dowager leaned forward, her cold eyes fixed on me like a predator sizing up its prey. "Keeping letters from the King is a grave offense, especially in times of war. What else have you chosen to keep from us?"


    Before I could speak, the tent flaps were thrown open, and Aria stormed inside, her frustration clear. "What is this about?" she demanded, her gaze darting between me, Leo, and her mother.


    Ser Midryn seized the moment. "Your Highness, Alaric received a letter and failed to inform His Grace. A clear act of defiance."


    Aria crossed her arms, unimpressed. "And? He did not keep it a secret. He read it before us all."


    "But he never reported it to His Grace," Midryn pressed, his smugness barely contained.


    Ser Gildas, standing near the entrance, let out a scoff. "Alaric has handled everything since this march began. Why not let him rest instead of accusing him over nonsense? This is just another attempt to make him look bad¡ªand it¡¯s a pathetic one at that."


    Leo¡¯s face darkened. "Mind your tongue, old man."


    Ser Gildas met his glare without fear. "Or what? Will you have me punished for speaking the truth?" He took a step forward, his tone sharp as a whetted blade. "You sit here in your grand pavilion while Alaric ensures your survival. If it were you who asked for sanctuary, Duchess Irene would have refused outright. She has no patience for weak kings."


    Ser Midryn¡¯s hand flew to his sword. "Watch yourself, old fool. You insult His Grace."


    Gildas chuckled darkly. "You don¡¯t want to do that, boy. I''ll kill you where you stand."


    Midryn¡¯s face twisted in anger, but he hesitated, his fingers tightening around his hilt. He wasn¡¯t fool enough to draw against Gildas¡ªnot here, not now.


    "Enough," I said, stepping between them. "Ser Gildas has already spoken my thoughts. If you¡¯re done wasting my time, am I dismissed?"


    Leo clenched his jaw but didn¡¯t argue. The Queen Dowager¡¯s gaze lingered on me, cold and calculating. Whatever she was thinking, I didn¡¯t care to know.


    Without waiting for an answer, I turned and left, Ser Gildas walking beside me.


    "Thank you," I murmured.


    "There is nothing to thank," Gildas replied. "Just get some rest. I can see the march has taken its toll on you."


    Aria stayed behind, saying she needed to speak with her mother. I hoped she wouldn''t waste her breath.


    The night air outside was cool, but it did little to ease the heat of my frustration. The real battle had yet to begin.


    Duchess Irene P.O.V - City of Divina


    The council chamber was thick with the scent of burning candles and the murmurs of my ministers. I sat at the head of the long oak table, fingers tapping against the armrest of my chair as the messenger I had sent to Alaric knelt before me, dust clinging to his cloak from the long journey.


    "He says that?" I scoffed, arching a brow.


    "Yes, my lady," the messenger confirmed, his voice steady. "He reminded you not to forget the fealty that Lord Aldrick swore to King Valero."


    Ser Rodirik, my Grand Marshal, let out a dry chuckle. "The bastard isn¡¯t just a skilled warrior¡ªhe has the arrogance of a prince."


    "Arrogance and confidence are not the same, Rodirik," I countered, though his words lingered in my mind. "One wins wars. The other gets men killed."


    Rodirik leaned forward, his weathered hands clasped together. "I see no reason to entertain him. The boy is a dead man walking. If we let him in, we risk drawing Eadric¡¯s wrath. If we refuse him, Eadric will see we are not against him."


    "We have not yet received a reply from Duke Eadric," Edric, my steward, spoke up. His face was creased with worry. "But his army continues its march toward our borders. He is making no effort to mask his movements. He wants us to see him coming."


    "He¡¯s forcing our hand," Ser Bernard added, shaking his head. "He means to make us choose before he arrives."


    "And just as we feared, Count Magerius has besieged Talbeck," another minister spoke grimly.


    A murmur of frustration rippled through the room. Magerius¡ªone of my most troublesome vassals¡ªhad finally acted.


    "We have too many fires to put out," Ser Rodirik muttered. "Talbeck cannot hold out forever. If we send forces to relieve them, we weaken Iza¡¯s defenses. If we do nothing, we lose a key stronghold."


    "Then what of Alaric?" Edric pressed. "If we grant him sanctuary, we risk making enemies of Eadric and Magerius both. If we deny him, we send a message to the crown that Iza is no longer its ally."


    The chamber fell into silence as all eyes turned to me. I exhaled slowly, weighing my choices.


    Both Alaric and Eadric stood at my doorstep¡ªone seeking refuge, the other bringing the storm with him. Eadric had the advantage in numbers, in experience, in sheer brutality. Supporting the crown was the right thing to do, but right and wise were not always the same. Iza had only 6,000 men to call upon, and even now, we were already stretched thin dealing with our own vassals.


    And yet¡­ Alaric intrigued me. A lesser man would have surrendered, bent the knee, and joined Eadric to save himself. Instead, he came to me, knowing full well the dangers that awaited him here. Either he was desperate, or he truly believed in something greater than himself.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "You hesitate, my lady," Ser Rodirik noted. "Are you truly considering his request?"


    I met his gaze, unwavering. "I am considering what is best for Iza."


    "Then consider this," he countered. "We do not have the strength to fight Eadric. If we shelter Alaric, we make an enemy of the man who will likely win this war."


    "And if we turn him away, we betray the crown," I said sharply. "A betrayal we cannot afford if Eadric loses."


    "Would you gamble Iza¡¯s fate on a bastard?" Rodirik challenged.


    I held his gaze for a long moment before speaking. "Send word to Alaric. I will meet with him personally and give him my answer."


    A tense silence filled the room.


    "You would invite him here?" Edric asked cautiously.


    "Yes," I said, my voice firm. "If I am to decide Iza¡¯s future, I will look this man in the eye before choosing his fate."


    Duke Eadric P.O.V - Military Camp on the way towards Iza


    That damn girl dares to question my presence in her domain? Irene Stiedry may hold the title of Duchess, but she is young, untested, and playing a dangerous game by entertaining Alaric. No matter. Let her pretend she has a choice. Tomorrow, I will send her a message¡ªone that will remind her of the cost of defying me.


    For now, I have decided to let Alaric arrive in Iza unchallenged. I could have intercepted him if I wanted, crushed him between my forces before he reached safe harbor, but that is not the game I intend to play. No, I will let him march freely, let him believe he has found sanctuary. And while he basks in his false sense of security, I will set fire to everything around him.


    I will sack every fort, every town, every village that lies on my path, leaving behind nothing but ruin and suffering. Let Irene see the destruction he brings upon her lands by choosing to entertain him. Let the people of Iza curse his name for the fires that rage in their homes, for the dead left rotting on their roads. I will forge a rift between them so deep that she will have no choice but to turn against him¡ªor fall with him.


    My army is no longer the battered force that took Lion¡¯s Crest. In the twenty days since that siege, I have grown stronger. My son, Edward, has done well, raising a new host to replace the men we lost. Now, I command a force of fifteen thousand.


    And with that army, I will march upon Divina.


    That is where I will crush Alaric once and for all. The fool will have no choice but to stand and fight, and when he does, I will end him.


    But I must move swiftly. More and more noble houses are turning their eyes toward Alaric. If I give him time, if I allow his legend to spread unchecked, more duchies will throw their banners behind him. I know where he will go next¡ªHouse Mandela, the Dukes of Mandeville. They are far to the south, a month¡¯s march away, and preoccupied with repelling the Sami raiders who have begun their seasonal incursions.


    House Mandela alone can raise eight thousand men¡ªmore than enough to tip the balance if they stand with Alaric. I cannot let him reach them. I will strike first.


    The pieces are in motion. The war is shifting.


    And soon, the Bastard of Feldyn will fall.


    The road to Aldrickhold stretched before us, a ribbon of dirt and stone winding through the rolling hills of Iza. My men marched in disciplined columns, their armor glinting beneath the morning sun, banners snapping in the wind. The scent of damp earth mixed with the distant smoke of torched villages¡ªa reminder to Irene Stiedry of what awaited her should she continue to defy me.


    Edward rode up beside me, his expression calm but measured. ¡°Father, we will arrive at Aldrickhold by tomorrow. It is one of the strongest fortresses in Iza, its name a tribute to Aldrick Stiedry himself.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°A tribute? Bah. That old man is dead, and the only tribute he deserves is the ruin of his house for standing with the weakling Feldyns.¡± I turned my gaze to the road ahead. ¡°We will sack it. I want Irene to look upon its ashes and understand the cost of betrayal.¡±


    Edward hesitated for a fraction of a second before speaking again. ¡°There is a problem, Father. We need time to properly prepare the siege. The trebuchets and rams we used at Lion¡¯s Crest were disassembled for the march, and reassembling them will take at least three to five days.¡±


    I tightened my grip on the reins. ¡°Five days?¡± My voice carried just enough edge to make the men nearest to us straighten in their saddles. ¡°I have no patience for delays. Alaric will not sit idle. If we wait too long, he and Irene may fortify Divina and gather reinforcements.¡±


    Edward met my gaze without flinching. ¡°Aldrickhold is no border outpost, Father. Its walls are thick, its towers high. A direct assault without siege weapons would cost us more men than it¡¯s worth.¡± He gestured toward the army behind us. ¡°We have 15,000 soldiers, but we cannot afford to waste them. Not yet.¡±


    I exhaled through my nose, considering his words. Edward was no fool; he had learned well under my tutelage. Though his caution irritated me, he was right. Losing men at Aldrickhold would weaken us before the true battle at Divina.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said, my voice sharp. ¡°We make camp, but I will not have my men sitting idle while we wait. I want the surrounding villages razed to the ground.¡± I turned to Ser Hector, the seasoned warrior who had once sworn his blade to Alaric. ¡°Burn their crops, slaughter their livestock, and send the survivors fleeing toward Aldrickhold. Let Irene hear their wails before she even lays eyes on us.¡±


    Ser Hector studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. He had been quiet since pledging himself to my cause, and I had yet to test the depths of his loyalty.


    ¡°You hesitate, Ser Hector?¡± I asked coldly.


    ¡°No, my lord,¡± he replied evenly. ¡°I was merely considering the best way to spread fear. If we kill them all, Irene will only harden her resolve. But if we leave some alive¡ªwounded, broken¡ªshe will be paralyzed by doubt. She will question whether Alaric can truly protect her.¡±


    A slow smile spread across my lips. ¡°Good. See that it is done.¡±


    Ser Hector nodded and turned his horse, riding off to carry out his orders.


    Edward, however, shifted uneasily in his saddle. ¡°Father, if we destroy the lands surrounding Aldrickhold, we may make it more difficult to sustain our own men once we take it.¡±


    I gave him a withering look. ¡°Do you think I plan to garrison it? Aldrickhold is not my goal¡ªit is a message. I want Irene to know what awaits her if she defies me. If she bends the knee, we move forward. If she does not¡­¡± I let the words hang in the air.


    Edward nodded, though I could tell he still had reservations. ¡°Very well. And what of Alaric?¡±


    I sneered at the name. ¡°Let him march into Iza unopposed. Let him believe he has found safety. The moment he and his men entrench themselves, I will destroy him at Divina.¡± My grip tightened on the pommel of my saddle. ¡°I want him crushed before he gains any more support. The south is in chaos with the Sami raids¡ªHouse Mandela is too occupied to send men. But if we wait too long, others may rally to his side.¡±


    Edward remained silent for a moment, as if weighing my words. ¡°Then we move quickly,¡± he said at last. ¡°Every day we delay is another day Alaric has to gather strength.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°Then let¡¯s make sure he never gets the chance.¡±


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, I watched the first plumes of smoke rise from a distant village. The fires of war had begun to consume Iza, and soon, they would consume Alaric as well.


    My P.O.V - The City of Divina


    After twenty-seven days of relentless marching from Elria to Divina, we had finally arrived. The journey had been brutal¡ªendless roads of mud and dust, exhaustion clinging to our bones like rusted chains. We had endured ambushes, disease, and hunger, and yet we marched on, driven by duty, by survival, by the promise of sanctuary. But now, standing before the gates of Divina, I wondered if that promise would hold true.


    The City of Divina was a jewel among the other Duchies, its white-stone walls towering high, crowned with silver spires that glinted in the dying light. It was a fortress of elegance, a place where both nobility and steel ruled. But I had seen many fortresses before, and beauty was no shield against treachery.


    As we rode closer, the gates creaked open with a slow, deliberate groan. A procession awaited us, their banners billowing in the evening wind¡ªthe sigil of House Stiedry, a silver stag upon a deep blue field. At their head stood Duchess Irene Stiedry, flanked by her knights and ministers.


    She was younger than I had expected, perhaps my age or a year older, but she carried herself with a grace beyond her years. Sharp-eyed, poised, and unreadable, she was a ruler who had long learned to mask uncertainty beneath a veil of confidence. She wore a deep blue gown embroidered with silver filigree, her dark hair neatly braided and crowned with a circlet of ivy and pearls. She did not look like a woman easily swayed.


    And then, in a move that caught even me by surprise, she knelt¡ªnot before King Leo, but before Queen Dowager Anna.


    The silence was palpable.


    I caught Leo¡¯s expression tighten, his lips pressing into a thin line. Aria, standing beside me, inhaled sharply, while the Queen Dowager merely smiled¡ªa small, knowing smile, the kind that told me she had expected this.


    "Your Majesty," Irene spoke, her voice smooth as still water, "Divina welcomes you."


    Queen Anna nodded slowly. "You honor your house by remembering its oaths, Duchess Irene."


    Irene rose with practiced elegance and turned her attention next to Aria, who stepped forward with a hesitant but genuine smile.


    "Princess Aria," Irene said with a softer tone, "it has been years since we last met. You have grown much."**


    Aria dipped her head in return. **"And you have grown into a formidable ruler, Irene."**


    Then, she turned to Leo.


    For a moment, she simply regarded him, her gaze cool and assessing. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words.


    "Prince Leo," she finally said, her tone neutral.


    Leo¡¯s jaw tensed at the deliberate omission of "Your Grace," but he managed a tight smile. "Duchess Irene."


    A slight, polite nod. No more, no less. he had not yet decided if she would call him king.


    I saw Leo¡¯s hand clench at his side, but he said nothing. This was Irene¡¯s domain, and she would not be rushed into choosing her loyalties.


    Then, at last, her gaze settled on me.


    Unlike with the others, she studied me openly, unhurried, as if trying to decipher something hidden beneath the armor and grime. I met her eyes, unflinching.


    "Alaric, if I¡¯m not mistaken?"


    I inclined my head slightly. "Indeed, Duchess."


    A faint smile played at the corners of her lips¡ªwas it amusement? Curiosity? Something else? I could not tell.


    "Your reputation precedes you," she continued, voice measured. "It is said you have carved your name into the annals of war. I would not have expected a man of battle to seek sanctuary in my city."


    "A man of battle knows when to fortify, and when to strike," I replied evenly. "Divina is a fortress, is it not?"


    Her smile lingered, but she did not answer immediately. Instead, she turned, gesturing toward the inner city.


    "Come,"she said at last. "You have all traveled far. Divina welcomes you, but I suspect you and I have much to discuss."


    I fell into step beside her, knowing that whatever awaited inside those walls, this was just the beginning.


    "Gold crowns a king, but steel crowns a bastard."


    -Gulvian Proverbs

 Chapter 19.The Queen who could be

    "Better to kneel before a just king than stand before King Brandon the Cruel."


    -Gulvian Proverbs


    My P.O.V - The Grand Council Hall of Divina


    After twenty-seven days of relentless marching, we finally had the luxury of a real bath.


    The heat of the water stung against my skin, washing away the grime and dried blood that had clung to me since Elria. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be clean. My muscles ached from the journey, the countless battles, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me like an iron shroud. Yet even as the dirt and sweat faded, the burden of what lay ahead remained.


    I lingered only briefly, just enough to scrub away the worst of the filth. The others would take their time, reveling in the rare comfort, but I had never been one for indulgence. I had been raised in battle, accustomed to the harsh realities of war. A quick wash, a change of clothes, and then I donned my armor once more. It was battered and worn, dented from countless clashes, but I did not care. It had protected me through hell. I would not cast it aside now.


    With my sword at my hip, I made my way through the halls of Divina toward the Grand Council Hall.


    The castle was impressive, built from pale stone that gleamed under the flickering torchlight. Servants bustled about, whispering among themselves, their eyes filled with curiosity and caution as they caught sight of me. They were not used to men like me¡ªworn from war, carrying the weight of battle in every step.


    At last, I reached the doors of the council chamber. Two guards stood at attention, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords as they gave me a measured look before pulling the heavy doors open.


    The chamber was grand, as expected of a place where lords and ladies shaped the future of their lands. High-vaulted ceilings loomed above, polished marble floors gleamed under the torchlight, and the banners of House Stiedry hung proudly along the walls. At the center of the room stood a great round table, dividing the space between two factions.


    On the right side sat Duchess Irene and her council. She was composed, her expression unreadable, but I could see the sharp intelligence in her eyes as they tracked my entrance. At her side sat her closest advisors, including Ser Rodirik, the man I had heard much about. He was a knight of great renown, a seasoned commander, and if the way his eyes followed me was any indication, he did not trust me. His hand lingered near the pommel of his sword, a subtle warning.


    On the left side sat Aria, Leo, Queen Dowager Anna, and the rest of our company. Aria offered me a small nod, her usual warmth barely restrained in such a formal setting. Leo, however, looked as if he had swallowed something bitter. He was still stewing over how Irene had greeted his mother before acknowledging him.


    The room fell silent as I entered.


    All eyes were on me.


    I could feel the weight of their judgment, the unspoken disdain.


    To them, I was a stain upon the royal name.


    To them, I was the bastard prince.


    I did not falter. I had walked through fire and blood to stand here. No whispered insult or scornful glance would break me now.


    Without hesitation, I made my way to my seat beside Aria and sat. The silence stretched, thick with tension, until Irene finally exhaled softly and leaned forward, her fingers laced together as she studied me.


    "Now that we are all here," she said smoothly, "let us begin."


    Her voice was calm, controlled, but there was a sharpness to it, a hidden edge beneath the surface. This was a woman who did not take matters lightly.


    Leo was the first to speak, shifting in his seat with a frown. "Before we begin, I must ask¡ªwhy were we not immediately informed that you intended to welcome us, Duchess? We spent days uncertain of whether we would be turned away at your gates."


    Irene barely spared him a glance before responding. "Because I wished to meet you face to face before making my final decision, Your Grace." Her tone was polite but firm, leaving little room for argument.


    Leo narrowed his eyes. "And have you made your decision?"


    Irene turned her gaze back to me, ignoring Leo entirely. "That depends," she said, "on what Alaric has to say."


    I leaned back slightly, studying her in return. She was young, perhaps around my age, but there was a steel to her, an unwavering resolve that reminded me of a seasoned commander rather than a courtly lady.


    "You already know why we are here," I said evenly. "The crown seeks sanctuary within your lands. We have fought long and hard to reach Divina, and though our numbers have dwindled, we still stand. If you turn us away, you know what will happen."


    Ser Rodirik scoffed. "And if we take you in, we will be inviting war to our doorstep. Your presence alone will bring Duke Eadric¡¯s wrath upon Iza."


    I met his gaze without flinching. "Eadric marches for Divina regardless of our presence. If we were not here, he would still come."


    Irene tapped her fingers against the table, considering my words. "So you believe he has already made his decision?"


    "He has," I said firmly. "And so must you."


    Silence filled the chamber once more as Irene sat back in her chair, eyes locked onto mine.


    She was testing me, measuring my worth, deciding whether I was a man to be trusted or a risk too great to take.


    At last, she spoke.


    "Then tell me, Alaric," she said. "Why should I stand with you?"


    The question hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall.


    And I knew that my answer would determine the fate of this war.


    "We are at war, my lady," I said, my voice steady, unwavering.


    Across the grand table, Duchess Irene leaned back in her chair, her piercing gaze locked onto mine. The candlelight flickered in the dimly lit chamber, casting long shadows across the polished stone walls of the council hall. Her councilors sat beside her, their expressions ranging from wary to openly hostile. Aria, seated beside me, kept shifting uneasily, no doubt prepared to intervene should my words push too far.


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    Irene''s lips curled slightly, though whether in amusement or irritation, I couldn¡¯t tell. "War, yes. And you speak of oaths, Alaric, as if they are eternal and unbreakable." She tapped a finger against the armrest of her chair. "But tell me¡ªwhy should I support you, a man who lost at the Battle of Lion¡¯s Crest?"


    Her words cut deep, but I did not flinch.


    "Aye, I lost," I admitted without hesitation. "But I could have surrendered. I could have bent the knee to Eadric and sworn fealty to him." I let my words settle before continuing, "Yet here I stand."


    Ser Rodirik scoffed from Irene¡¯s side, his arms crossed over his chest. "That much is true, my lady," he said. "But it does not mean he is worthy of your aid. A man who leads his soldiers to slaughter and then comes begging for support¡ªwhat kind of king¡¯s man is that?"


    Aria tensed beside me, but I raised a hand before she could interject. I turned my gaze to Rodirik, meeting his eyes with cold calculation. "You mistake survival for weakness, Ser Rodirik," I said evenly. "If I had led my men to the slaughter, none of us would be standing in this hall. Instead, we are here, weary but unbroken. Can Eadric say the same? He sits atop the ashes of Lion¡¯s Crest, yet his war drags on. And make no mistake, my lady"¡ªI shifted my attention back to Irene¡ª"this war is far from over."


    Rodirik scoffed again. "So, you mean to throw yourself against Eadric once more? With what army?" He glanced toward Leo, who sat fuming on the other side of Aria. "With a king too weak to command, relying on a bastard to speak in his place?"


    Leo''s face darkened, and his fists clenched, but still, I did not look at him. My focus remained solely on Irene.


    "Tell me, Duchess," I said, my voice firm, unwavering. "Has House Stiedry forgotten the oaths it swore to King Valero? I thought your house was one of honor. A house that respected its vows."


    Irene¡¯s fingers drummed against the table, her expression unreadable. But I could see the flicker of something¡ªannoyance, hesitation, perhaps even doubt.


    "The oaths you speak of," she said at last, "were sworn by my father, not by me."


    "Then you have the chance now," I countered, leaning forward slightly.


    The chamber was silent, the weight of my words pressing down on everyone present.


    "If you will not swear to King Leo," I continued, "then swear to Princess Aria."


    The room erupted into chaos. Gasps, murmurs, sharp glances darted between the gathered lords and knights.


    Aria stiffened beside me, her eyes wide with shock. "Alaric!" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Leo, on the other hand, shot to his feet, his chair scraping against the stone floor. His face twisted in fury. "You dare¡ª"


    I ignored him. My attention remained fixed on Irene.


    Her councilors exchanged frantic whispers, some shaking their heads, others looking toward their lady for guidance. Even Rodirik, so full of confidence before, looked momentarily uncertain.


    "You presume much, bastard," Leo spat, his voice laced with venom. "You speak as if you have the authority to decide who sits on the throne!"


    I turned my head slightly, meeting his glare with calm indifference. "I speak as a man who has fought and bled for this throne," I said. "As a man who has seen the cost of weak leadership."


    Leo''s hand twitched toward his sword, but before he could do anything, Irene raised a hand.


    "And what of House Mandela and House Marcel?" she asked, cutting through the tension like a blade. "You speak as if I am your only option."


    I nodded. "If House Stiedry values honor and oaths, you have your chance now. If not, we will leave at dawn and march south to seek House Mandela¡¯s aid."


    It wasn¡¯t a threat. It was an offer.


    Irene exhaled slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. There was a flicker of something in them¡ªperhaps realization.


    She knew the weight of the decision before her.


    The fate of this war now rested in her hands.


    Duchess Irene P.O.V


    This man... Alaric.


    I had expected arrogance, desperation, or even foolish bravado. A bastard seeking refuge, pleading for my support, knowing he had no other choice. But now, as I sat here listening to him, I realized I had misjudged him entirely.


    He was no beggar. He was not here to grovel.


    He spoke not as a man seeking sanctuary, but as a commander dictating the terms of an alliance. And somehow, without ever raising his voice or making a single demand, he had turned the balance of power in this conversation.


    I had thought they needed me. But now, I felt as if I were the one on trial.


    My fingers tapped lightly against the polished table as my mind raced. I had seen many men in my time¡ªlords, knights, and warriors who wielded their words like weapons. But Alaric... he was something else.


    He had lost at Lion¡¯s Crest, yet he stood before me unbroken. He had no official title, yet men far greater than him followed his command without question. Even Aria¡ªPrincess of the realm¡ªlooked at him with an unwavering trust. And Ser Gildas, a knight whose honor was spoken of in every court in the kingdom, sat at his side, his presence a silent endorsement.


    And yet, despite the steel in his words, despite the fire in his gaze, he was asking me to swear fealty to a man like Leo.


    Leo, who had not spoken a word until he was provoked.


    Leo, who let his bastard brother fight his battles for him.


    Leo, who had done nothing to earn my loyalty.


    No.


    I would not bend the knee to a weak prince who could not even defend himself in his own war council.


    But then what choice did I have?


    I had no love for Eadric, nor did I share his ambitions, but he was a force to be reckoned with. He had the numbers, the strategy, and the momentum. If I refused Alaric and his cause, I would stand alone when Eadric''s army reached my borders.


    Could I afford to throw my people into this brutal rebellion?


    No... but could I afford to refuse?


    I exhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around the armrest of my chair. Alaric watched me with quiet patience, his expression unreadable. He was waiting for my answer, but he already knew what it would be.


    Because this man... this bastard...


    Had just backed me into a corner.


    My P.O.V


    "Let¡¯s adjourn the council for now," Irene finally said, her voice composed, but the tension in her posture betrayed her unease. "I need to speak with my ministers before I make a final decision."


    "Thank you, Duchess Irene," Aria said, dipping her head in respect.


    "Thank you, Duchess," I echoed, my gaze lingering on her. She only nodded stiffly before turning away, her expression unreadable.


    The moment we stepped out of the council chamber, Aria grabbed my arm with surprising strength and all but dragged me down the corridor. Ser Gildas followed, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor.


    Once we were far enough away from prying ears, Aria whirled on me, eyes blazing with fury.


    "What the hell was that, Alaric?!" she snapped. "Why did you force Irene into swearing an oath to me?! Why didn¡¯t you consult me first?!"


    I met her glare without flinching. "Because I want you on the throne."


    Silence fell between us. Aria''s expression shifted from anger to shock, then back to anger again.


    "You can¡¯t just decide that for me!" she hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "I have no ambition for the throne!"


    "And Leo does," I countered. "That¡¯s exactly why he shouldn¡¯t have it."


    Ser Gildas let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temple. "You realize what you¡¯ve done, Alaric? You¡¯ve just painted a target on her back."


    "Leo will never allow this," Aria added, shaking her head. "And my mother¡ªshe will see this as treason!"


    Before I could respond, a smooth voice echoed from the shadows.


    "The Queen wouldn¡¯t dare harm her own blood, even for the throne," said Varus as he emerged from the darkness, his ever-present smirk in place. His eyes, however, were serious. "Still, Alaric, I must say¡­ you have a talent for making enemies."


    Aria turned to him, exasperation clear on her face. "Oh, great. And you agree with him?"


    Varus chuckled. "I agree that Leo is a fool. If it weren¡¯t for Alaric, he would have lost this war already." He studied me for a moment. "But tell me, Alaric¡­ why her? Why not take the throne yourself?"


    I narrowed my eyes. "Because I don¡¯t want it."


    Varus tilted his head, clearly amused. "That may be true, but let¡¯s be honest¡ªwhat you do want is control."


    "I want a ruler who will listen to me," I corrected. "Leo listens now because he has no choice. But once he becomes too powerful, he won¡¯t. He¡¯ll surround himself with flatterers and fools. Ser Midryn will be leading his armies instead of me. And when that happens, we will lose."


    Varus nodded slowly. "That is true." He glanced at Aria. "And you? Are you prepared for this?"


    Aria crossed her arms, frustration etched across her face. "I never wanted the throne. And I still don¡¯t. But¡­" she trailed off, glancing at me.


    I could see the war in her eyes. She didn¡¯t want power. She didn¡¯t want to be part of this game. But she knew¡ªjust as I did¡ªthat Leo was not fit to rule.


    Varus smiled knowingly. "You¡¯re considering it."


    Aria scowled. "I *hate* that you both think you know me so well."


    "It¡¯s because we do," Varus said, winking. Then his expression darkened. "But Alaric, you need to be careful. Leo won¡¯t take this lying down. You¡¯ve just made him your enemy in ways he wasn¡¯t before. And his mother¡­ well, Queen Dowager Anna has never needed a reason to want you dead. Now you¡¯ve given her a perfect one."


    Ser Gildas, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "Varus is right. The Queen won¡¯t move against Aria¡ªshe¡¯s her own flesh and blood. But you?" He looked at me grimly. "You need to watch your back. And be careful of Ser Daudalus¡ªhe is more than just the Queen¡¯s sworn sword. He is an assassin."


    Aria ran a hand through her hair, clearly exasperated. "This is reckless, Alaric. I know Leo isn¡¯t fit to rule, but what makes you think *I* am?"


    "Because you listen," I said simply. "Because you understand people. And because, despite what you think, you were born for this."


    She shook her head but said nothing.


    Varus chuckled under his breath. "Well, things just got interesting."


    Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he disappeared back into the shadows, leaving us standing there, the weight of our choices pressing down on us.


    "A kingdom ruled by fear is a kingdom ruled by whispers."


    -Gulvian Proverbs

 Chapter 20.Before the Dawn of War

    ¡°King Leofric the Good law stood taller than his banners.¡±


    -Gulvian Proverbs


    My P.O.V - The Grand Council Hall of Divina


    The Great Council Hall of Divina was thick with tension, the air itself weighted with unspoken threats and hidden ambitions. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the stone walls, dancing between the banners of House Stiedry that loomed above like silent sentinels.


    On one side, Duchess Irene stood with her council¡ªmen who had spent years advising her, men who whispered of caution, pragmatism, and survival. Ser Rodirik, her ever-loyal knight, stood beside her with a watchful gaze, his hand hovering near his sword hilt. His presence was a silent warning to those who might see Irene¡¯s youth as weakness.


    On the opposite side, the royal delegation sat like a fractured court. The Queen Dowager Anna, regal and composed, masked her fury well, but I could see it in the slight twitch of her fingers against her silk gown. Prince Leo sat beside her, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white from the force of his own barely contained rage. Ser Midryn, his sworn sword, stood with a smirk that did little to hide his disdain for what was unfolding.


    Between them, Princess Aria sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture poised, but her eyes betrayed the anxiety she tried to suppress. Ser Gildas stood behind her, ever the silent guardian, though his sharp gaze never left Ser Midryn, as if he expected the ambitious knight to draw steel at any moment.


    I stood beside Aria, my presence an unspoken challenge. They had once cast me aside, a forgotten bastard sent to die in a war that was never meant to be won. Yet here I stood, shaping the very fate of the kingdom they had abandoned me to.


    Duchess Irene slowly rose from her seat. The hall, already silent, seemed to grow even quieter. Every eye was on her, waiting, watching. She was about to make a choice that could either secure her future or doom her house to ruin.


    ¡°After conferring with my ministers,¡± Irene began, her voice clear and strong, ¡°I have come to my decision.¡±


    Leo sat forward, his body tense, anticipation and arrogance warring within him. He expected her obedience, her fealty to him, the rightful king.


    But then Irene did the unthinkable.


    She stepped forward, lowered herself to one knee¡ªnot before the Queen Dowager, not before the so-called king, but before Aria.


    A ripple of disbelief spread through the hall. Murmurs broke out among the gathered nobles. Leo¡¯s breath came sharp and uneven, his eyes widening in shock before narrowing into something far more dangerous.


    Even Aria looked taken aback, her lips parting slightly, unsure of what to say or do.


    Ser Midryn took a step forward, his hand tightening around his sword hilt, but Ser Gildas shifted ever so slightly, a silent warning that did not go unnoticed.


    Irene did not hesitate. She looked up at Aria, her dark eyes unwavering, and spoke with the weight of generations behind her.


    ¡°I, Irene of House Stiedry, Duchess of Iza and protector of Divina, do hereby swear my undying fealty to Her Highness, Princess Aria of House Feldyn. I pledge my sword, my banners, and my people to her cause, to defend her rights and honor, to uphold the crown''s justice, and to stand against all who would see it undone. From this day until my last, I am her vassal, her ally, and her sworn servant, in war and in peace, in victory and in ruin. This I vow, before the gods and my ancestors, that my house shall not break nor falter in its oath."


    The hall held its breath.


    Aria, still visibly shaken by the weight of Irene¡¯s pledge, turned to look at me. I gave her a slow nod, urging her to respond.


    After a brief hesitation, Aria stepped forward and reached out, her fingers brushing Irene¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I accept your oath, Duchess Irene,¡± she said softly, but there was strength in her voice. ¡°Rise.¡±


    Irene stood, meeting Aria¡¯s gaze with quiet determination.


    Leo shot to his feet, his chair scraping against the stone floor. ¡°This¡ªthis is treason,¡± he spat, his face dark with fury. ¡°You dare kneel to my sister over your king?¡±


    Irene turned to him then, her expression impassive, her voice carrying the cold steel of certainty. ¡°I kneel to the one who deserves the throne, not to a boy who cannot stand on his own.¡±


    Leo¡¯s body stiffened, his fingers twitching, and for a moment, I thought he might strike her. But before he could act, Ser Gildas stepped forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword in warning.


    Ser Midryn, ever the loyal hound, took a step forward as well, his gaze locked onto Ser Gildas, the air between them crackling with unspoken threats.


    ¡°Enough.¡± The Queen Dowager¡¯s voice sliced through the tension like a dagger. She had not risen, had not shouted, but the authority in her tone commanded silence.


    Leo turned to her, his fury still simmering beneath the surface. ¡°Mother, this¡ª¡±


    ¡°This is not over,¡± Queen Anna said, her voice calm, but her eyes told another story. There was something dangerous lurking beneath her regal composure, something calculating. ¡°But we will not settle this here.¡±


    Leo clenched his jaw, seething, but he relented, though it was clear he was already plotting his revenge.


    Irene stepped back beside her council, standing tall despite the weight of what she had just done. She had chosen her path, and there was no turning back.


    As for me, I watched Leo, Ser Midryn, and Queen Anna carefully. One duchy had declared for us, but that only meant we had made new enemies.


    The war had truly begun.


    Duke Eadric''s P.O.V - Somewhere near Aldrickhold


    The villages surrounding Aldrickhold now lay in ruin, their homes reduced to smoldering embers. The stench of charred wood and death lingered in the air as the last of the survivors fled behind the fortress walls. Those who did not escape in time were cut down or dragged away in chains. It was a necessary display of power¡ªone that would send a clear message to Irene and her allies.


    I stood atop a hill overlooking the devastation, my arms crossed over my chest. The fires crackled below, their glow flickering against the evening sky. This was only the beginning.


    Edward approached, his armor dusted with soot and his expression hardened. He was young, but he had learned well from me. He had seen war, led men, taken lives. Now, he would prove that he was ready for more.


    ¡°You will lead the assault on Aldrickhold,¡± I told him, my tone leaving no room for discussion. ¡°Break their walls, burn their banners, and make sure the survivors remember who did it. Leave enough alive to spread the tale, but make certain that fort is nothing but rubble when you are done.¡±


    Edward nodded, his jaw set. ¡°And if they surrender?¡±


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    ¡°Then you take their swords and burn the rest.¡±


    He smirked, a flash of excitement in his eyes. ¡°It will be done, Father.¡±


    I watched him descend back toward the camp where our soldiers prepared for the final assault. Aldrickhold was a stronghold of House Stiedry, but without Irene herself leading its defense, it was little more than an empty shell waiting to be cracked.


    But while Edward dealt with Aldrickhold, I had another matter to attend to.


    I turned to Ser Hector, who stood silently a few paces behind me. He was a man of skill and experience, once loyal to Alaric, but now serving under my banner. He had proven himself capable, but now I would see if he was truly loyal.


    ¡°I have a task for you,¡± I said, facing him fully. ¡°You will ride north west to make contact with Count Magerius, he is currently besieging Talbeck,¡±


    Hector frowned slightly. ¡°Magerius? Irene¡¯s vassal?¡±


    ¡°He is no longer hers,¡± I corrected him. ¡°He is in open rebellion, and that makes him useful. I want you to secure an alliance with him. Tell him that if he swears fealty to me, he will keep his lands and his title when this is over. If he refuses, remind him that his choices are servitude under me or death beneath my banners.¡±


    Hector hesitated, just for a breath, before nodding. ¡°And if he deceives us?¡±


    ¡°Then you will know where his true loyalties lie, and I will send men to correct his mistake.¡± I narrowed my eyes at him. ¡°Do not fail me, Hector. This is a test of your loyalty as much as it is a mission. Do this, and you will have your place in the new order I build.¡±


    Hector bowed his head slightly. ¡°I will see it done.¡±


    As he strode away to prepare his men, I turned my attention back to the larger game at play. Divina would not fall easily, and I had no intention of leading the attack myself¡ªnot yet. Alaric was there, and though I would face him one day, now was not the time. Hector would be the one to take the first step. If he succeeded, I would know I could trust him. If he failed¡­ well, there were always others who could take his place.


    But my concerns stretched beyond Divina. Two great houses still remained undecided in this war¡ªHouse Mandela and House Marcel. If I could not secure at least one of them, I would be at a disadvantage.


    House Mandela was far to the south, too distant to be of immediate concern. But House Marcel¡­ that was a different matter. Duke Francis Marcel held Varria, a land rich in resources and strategically vital. If I could win him to my side, the balance of power would shift.


    I would not wait for him to come to me. I would act first.


    ¡°Prepare a letter,¡± I ordered my scribe. ¡°I will write to Duke Francis Marcel myself. If persuasion does not work¡­ then I will take Varria by force.¡±


    The war was far from over, but with each passing day, I was shaping its outcome. And soon, all of Gulvia would kneel before me.


    Here¡¯s an improved and expanded version of your scene with richer dialogue and deeper characterization:


    My P.O.V - Training Grounds of Divina


    After Irene swore her oath to Aria, a small feast was held in the Great Hall of Divina to celebrate the alliance. Laughter and music filled the air, nobles and knights toasting to their new pact. But I had no interest in festivities.


    Instead, I found solace in the training grounds, the rhythmic clash of steel against wood keeping my mind sharp. The cold night air stung my skin, the sweat on my brow mixing with the dust from the worn floor. Each strike of my blade was measured, precise¡ªa habit forged through years of war.


    Footsteps echoed behind me, halting my movements. I turned to see Irene standing there, arms crossed, watching me with mild amusement.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you at the feast?¡± she asked.


    I lowered my sword, catching my breath. ¡°I¡¯m not fond of crowds,¡± I admitted. ¡°Socializing isn¡¯t for me, my lady.¡±


    She smirked. ¡°You are an odd man, Alaric. Most would be drinking and celebrating their victory, yet here you are, working yourself to the bone.¡±


    I merely shrugged. ¡°War isn¡¯t won by lifting goblets.¡±


    She stepped closer, her gaze sharp. ¡°That is why I respect you.¡± She studied me for a moment before continuing, ¡°I agreed to support you in this war, but our fight has only begun. One of my vassals, Count Magerius, still defies me. He has joined Eadric¡¯s cause and besieges my lands. I plan to strike back at dawn. And I want you to lead my army.¡±


    I froze, taken aback by the offer. ¡°You would entrust me with your forces?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°You have more battlefield experience than most commanders in this realm. My soldiers will follow you.¡±


    It was a heavy responsibility, but I had long since stopped questioning why people placed their trust in me. I nodded in acceptance.


    A flicker of satisfaction crossed her face as she handed me a wooden cup filled with ale. ¡°I assume you drink?¡±


    I took the cup but did not raise it to my lips. ¡°A little, but not tonight. I need a clear head for tomorrow.¡±


    Irene took a sip from her own cup before speaking again. ¡°My father used to tell me stories about you,¡± she said, her tone more contemplative now. ¡°He served in the Third Border War. He saw you on the battlefield¡ªjust a boy of thirteen fighting alongside men twice your age. Not just any boy, but the king¡¯s son.¡±


    I looked away, gripping the cup tighter. ¡°There is no honor in that,¡± I said quietly. ¡°I was forced into that war. It was an exile, nothing more. I never understood why my father sent me there. Perhaps he thought I would die.¡±


    Irene sighed, swirling the ale in her cup. ¡°And now look at the state of the realm. House Mandela faces the Sami raiders, the one we have invaded six years ago and the lands we fought over in that war are as barren as ever. That war cost us thousands of lives, and for what? No gains, no justice. That is why Eadric fights now. He¡ª¡±


    I cut her off, my voice edged with bitterness. ¡°Eadric fights for himself.¡±


    She blinked, surprised by the sharpness in my tone.


    I stepped forward, meeting her gaze. ¡°If he truly cared about the soldiers who died, he would have sought justice through the council, through diplomacy. But he didn¡¯t. Why? Because justice is not his goal¡ªthe crown is. He manipulates grief and anger, twists it into a cause, but it¡¯s all a mask for his ambition.¡±


    Irene held my stare for a long moment before letting out a slow breath. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re right,¡± she admitted. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t change the fact that he¡¯s winning.¡±


    ¡°Not for long,¡± I said. ¡°Tomorrow, we take the fight to him.¡±


    She studied me for a moment longer before nodding. ¡°Then may the gods watch over us, Alaric.¡±


    I watched as she turned and walked away, her silhouette fading into the torchlight. I stood there for a while longer, gripping the hilt of my sword, listening to the distant sound of laughter from the feast.


    Tomorrow, there would be no more celebrations. Only war.


    After the celebration, the Castle of Divina fell into silence. The great hall, which had been filled with toasts and laughter, was now quiet, save for the occasional footsteps of patrolling guards. The torches flickered low, casting long shadows against the cold stone walls.


    But while the castle slept, I remained awake.


    I never slept before a battle. Not truly.


    There was always a feeling in my gut¡ªpart anxiety, part restless anticipation. Perhaps it was the uncertainty, the knowledge that tomorrow could be my last. Or perhaps it was something else entirely, something I had never allowed myself to dwell on.


    I sat by the narrow window of my chamber, watching the darkened city below. The streets of Divina were still, save for the faint glow of a lantern here and there. The wind carried the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs beyond the city walls.


    Then came a knock at my door.


    I sighed. ¡°Come in.¡±


    The door creaked open, and Aria stepped in, a smirk tugging at her lips. Ser Gildas followed, his expression amused.


    Aria folded her arms as she studied me. ¡°You¡¯re awake. Again.¡±


    I gave her a look. ¡°And you¡¯re surprised?¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°Not in the slightest.¡±


    Ser Gildas leaned against the doorframe. ¡°A soldier who doesn¡¯t sleep before battle. I¡¯d call it foolish if I didn¡¯t do the same in my younger years.¡±


    I smirked slightly but said nothing.


    Then Aria¡¯s gaze turned mischievous. ¡°I saw you earlier,¡± she said casually, her tone laced with teasing. ¡°Speaking with Irene.¡±


    I sighed, already dreading where this was going. ¡°And?¡±


    Aria grinned. ¡°And I think she¡¯s interested in you.¡±


    Ser Gildas let out a low chuckle. ¡°Aye, I noticed that too.¡±


    I scoffed, shaking my head. ¡°Oh, come on. That was nothing.¡±


    Aria raised an eyebrow. ¡°Nothing? You don¡¯t usually sit and talk with noblewomen, Alaric. In fact, you actively avoid them.¡±


    I shot her a flat look. ¡°Because I have better things to do.¡±


    Aria leaned in slightly. ¡°Mhm. And yet, you sat there, listening to her, drinking with her.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°It was a conversation, Aria. A strategic discussion.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so discussing war and tactics late at night over a drink isn¡¯t intimate now?¡± She smirked.


    I groaned. ¡°You are impossible.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Oh, look at you. Normally, you¡¯d dismiss the idea outright. But now? You¡¯re flustered.¡±


    ¡°I am not,¡± I said, perhaps too quickly.


    Ser Gildas chuckled again. ¡°Irene¡¯s an intelligent woman, lad. And she clearly respects you.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°She respects my ability to wage war, nothing more.¡±


    Aria tilted her head. ¡°Is that what you think?¡±


    I exhaled. ¡°Even if she were interested, it wouldn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    I shot her a sharp look. ¡°Because I am a bastard. A duchess can¡¯t marry someone like me. She¡¯d be the laughingstock of the realm.¡±


    Aria rolled her eyes. ¡°You are the son of a king, Alaric. That means something.¡±


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°No. It means nothing. I am a stain on the king¡¯s name, nothing more.¡±


    Silence settled between us for a moment. Then Ser Gildas sighed.


    ¡°You¡¯re impossible, lad,¡± he muttered.


    Aria¡¯s teasing expression softened. ¡°I just want to see you live a life beyond all this.¡±


    I exhaled slowly, my gaze drifting back to the window. ¡°My fate is on the battlefield.¡±


    Aria shook her head. ¡°I used to think like that too, you know. That my life was meant to be dictated by duty, that I had no choice in what would bring me happiness. But then I realized something.¡±


    Ser Gildas nodded. ¡°Aye. I once thought the battlefield was all there was, too. But the happiness family brings? It is greater than any victory in war.¡±


    I looked away, jaw tightening.


    Aria stepped closer. ¡°You can¡¯t understand it because you¡¯ve never allowed yourself to try.¡±


    I swallowed hard. I had spent my life in war, in bloodshed. I didn¡¯t know what life beyond that looked like.


    And maybe¡­ that was the problem.


    ¡°Justice is a blade that cuts both ways.¡±


    -King Leofric the Good

 Chapter 21.The March to Talbeck

    "A wise ruler listens twice as much as he speaks."


    -King Leofric the Good


    My P.O.V - Sleeping Quarters, Divina


    Sleep had eluded me again. It always did before a battle.


    As I stepped out of my quarters, the crisp morning air did little to chase away my exhaustion. The castle was already stirring¡ªservants hurried through the halls, banners fluttered in the wind, and the scent of fresh bread mixed with the metallic tang of sharpening steel.


    The Great Hall was already full when I arrived. Duchess Irene and her council¡ªEdric, Gendry, and Soloman¡ªwere gathered around the long table, a map of Iza spread before them. Aria and Ser Gildas stood beside me, the only members of my host in attendance.


    Queen Anna and Leo were nowhere to be seen. Typical. Leo had always been too arrogant to bother with military strategy, and the Queen Dowager likely saw this council as a waste of time.


    Duchess Irene¡¯s voice carried through the hall. ¡°Count Magerius continues his siege of Talbeck Castle. If he succeeds, Divina¡¯s right flank will be exposed. Our defenses will collapse.¡± Her tone was composed, but her fingers curled against the table¡¯s edge, betraying her frustration. ¡°We also have reports confirming that Eadric has taken Aldrickhold.¡±


    Murmurs spread through the council. Aldrickhold was a strategic fort, and its loss meant Eadric¡¯s forces had gained a foothold closer than we had hoped.


    ¡°How long until he reaches Divina?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Ten days at least,¡± Ser Rodirik answered. ¡°But that is not our most pressing issue. If Talbeck falls, Divina will be vulnerable from two sides.¡±


    ¡°How many men have we raised?¡±


    Irene exhaled. ¡°Three thousandare ready to march. However, an additional fifteen hundred levies under Count Royland and Count Genedarius remain trapped inside Talbeck.¡±


    Aria frowned. ¡°And Magerius?¡±


    Gendry, the diplomat, answered grimly. ¡°More than four thousand men. Far more than he should have.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s being funded,¡± I muttered.


    Soloman, the treasurer, scoffed. ¡°That much is clear. But Eadric wouldn¡¯t waste coin so recklessly on a single siege. Someone else is backing Magerius.¡±


    ¡°Someone who wants us weakened before the real war begins,¡± Edric added. ¡°But we don¡¯t have time to find out who. Our focus must be on breaking the siege.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t intend to wipe out Magerius¡¯ forces entirely. If we can turn him, we gain four thousand men instead of losing them.¡±


    Aria stiffened. ¡°Alaric, you want to negotiate with a traitor?¡±


    ¡°We need his army.¡±


    She hesitated, then sighed. ¡°Fine. But I don¡¯t trust him.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have to trust him,¡± I said. ¡°Only make him useful.¡±


    ¡°Breaking his siege won¡¯t be simple,¡± Ser Rodirik noted. ¡°Talbeck¡¯s defenders have held so far, but they won¡¯t last forever.¡±


    Irene crossed her arms. ¡°Count Magerius is no fool. He knows Talbeck is the key to Divina¡¯s fall. He will not retreat easily.¡±


    ¡°We make him retreat, then,¡± I said. ¡°We have the advantage of surprise. If we march at dawn, we can reach Talbeck in two days.¡±


    Edric nodded. ¡°The men are ready, Duchess. They await their commander¡¯s orders.¡±


    I met Ser Gildas¡¯ gaze, and he gave me a small nod.


    ¡°Then we march,¡± I declared.


    As the council was dismissed, Aria grabbed my arm. ¡°Alaric.¡±


    I turned to her.


    ¡°You¡­ you will be careful, won¡¯t you?¡±


    I hesitated. ¡°I always am.¡±


    She narrowed her eyes. ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°Just stay close to Ser Gildas. He¡¯ll protect you.¡±


    She scoffed but didn¡¯t argue.


    The courtyard was alive with movement as soldiers prepared to depart. Banners of Iza rippled in the wind, steel glinting in the sunlight.


    This battle would determine more than just Talbeck¡¯s fate.


    It would decide whether we had a real chance against Eadric.


    And I intended to win this time.


    My P.O.V - Military Camp


    As the march halted for the night, we were nearly halfway to Talbeck. The camp had come to life with the usual sounds of an army settling in¡ªmen hammering stakes into the ground to secure tents, the sharpening of swords and spear tips, the murmurs of hushed conversations carried by the night wind. Fires flickered between the rows of soldiers, their orange glow casting restless shadows over the weary but determined faces of those who would fight in the coming battle.


    I stood at the edge of the camp, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The air was still, save for the distant hoots of owls and the occasional howl of a wolf. Despite my exhaustion, my body thrummed with a familiar energy. It was the same feeling I had before every battle¡ªa sharp awareness, an edge honed from years of surviving wars I was never meant to fight.


    War was all I had ever known. On the battlefield, my existence had meaning. Here, no one cared about titles or noble blood. There were no whispers behind my back, no pointed stares labeling me a bastard. Here, there was only steel, sweat, and survival.


    But as I looked at the men around me, I was reminded of the faces of those I had lost in the Third Border War¡ªbrothers-in-arms, friends who had laughed with me around the fire one night and bled out in the mud the next. How many of these men would still be standing when the sun rose over Talbeck?


    The thought unsettled me.


    I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned to find two familiar figures approaching¡ªAidan and Francis. Both were dressed in chainmail with their swords strapped to their belts. Though they bore the exhaustion of the march, their postures remained upright, their expressions respectful.


    "Lord Commander," Aidan greeted with a short bow.


    I sighed. "Aidan, how many times do I have to tell you? There¡¯s no need for formalities."


    "With all due respect, my lord, you command this army," Francis replied. "You deserve the respect that comes with it."


    I shook my head, a faint smirk forming. "You didn¡¯t seem so formal back at Lion¡¯s Crest."


    "We were younger then," Aidan said, smiling slightly. "We¡¯ve learned better since."


    I studied them for a moment, remembering how we had met. Back at Lion¡¯s Crest, they were nothing more than ordinary soldiers¡ªraw recruits barely skilled enough to draw a bow properly. I had taken it upon myself to train them in archery, and in return, they had been the ones to help me escape when the time had come. They had saved my life.


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    "You both look exhausted," I noted.


    Francis exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Aye, my lord. The march takes its toll, but we endure."


    Aidan nodded. "We''re soldiers. We do what needs to be done."


    I glanced at the campfires, where groups of men huddled together, sharing rations and speaking in low tones. "How are the others holding up?"


    Francis straightened his posture. "Most of the men are in good spirits, my lord. They trust you to lead them."


    Aidan crossed his arms. "But there are whispers, as there always are. Some worry that Count Magerius has more men than we expect, that this siege could turn into a slaughter."


    "Do you believe that?" I asked, watching them carefully.


    Aidan was silent for a moment before he answered. "I believe in you, my lord. You haven¡¯t led us astray yet."


    Francis nodded. "We follow you because we know you fight for more than just power. That is why you¡¯ll always have our loyalty."


    Their words stirred something deep within me, something I could not easily name. Trust was a rare thing in my life, and yet these men had given it to me freely.


    "Then let¡¯s hope that trust isn¡¯t misplaced," I murmured.


    Aidan smiled faintly. "If it were, my lord, I doubt we''d still be standing here."


    There was a quiet pause before Francis hesitated and then cleared his throat. "My lord¡­ if I may ask, you haven¡¯t slept, have you?"


    I let out a small chuckle. "No. I never sleep before battle."


    "Superstition?" Aidan asked.


    "Something like that," I admitted.


    The truth was, I didn¡¯t sleep because I couldn¡¯t. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw the faces of the dead, heard their screams, felt the blood on my hands.


    Francis frowned slightly but did not press further. Instead, he shifted the conversation. "Do you believe Count Royland and Count Genedarius can hold Talbeck?"


    I exhaled slowly. "If they hold out, we¡¯ll strike Magerius from both sides and crush him. If they don¡¯t¡­ then we adapt."


    Aidan and Francis exchanged glances before nodding. "Then we will be ready for either outcome," Aidan said.


    The fire crackled beside us, sending a few embers drifting into the night sky.


    Francis offered a small smile. "If we are to fight tomorrow, my lord, we should all get some rest. Even you."


    I scoffed. "You sound like Ser Gildas."


    "Ser Gildas is a wise man," Aidan remarked.


    "Then perhaps I should have him stand in my place and lead the battle," I quipped.


    Francis smirked. "I doubt the men would approve of that, my lord."


    Aidan grinned. "Aye. They follow you, Alaric. Bastard or not, you¡¯re the only commander they trust."


    Their words, spoken with such certainty, weighed heavily on me.


    I nodded once. "Go. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we fight."


    They bowed respectfully before turning away, leaving me alone once more.


    I remained there, staring at the horizon, listening to the quiet murmurs of the night.


    Sleep? No. I would spend this night awake. Because tomorrow, Talbeck would be bathed in blood.


    Duke Eadric''s P.O.V - Aldrickhold


    The night sky was thick with smoke, blotting out the stars as flames devoured what remained of Aldrickhold. The fort, once a symbol of defiance, was now reduced to smoldering ruins, its walls blackened and crumbling, its people slaughtered or scattered like rats. The air was dense with the stench of burning wood and flesh, a pungent reminder of war¡¯s cost¡ªa cost I was more than willing to pay.


    Screams still lingered in the distance, those too wounded to flee, too broken to resist. I listened for a moment, the raw agony in their voices blending into the night like a morbid symphony. Some would call it cruelty. I called it necessity. If their liege had chosen wisely, they would not be here, bleeding and burning. I had no sympathy for fools who backed the wrong cause.


    Edward approached, dismounting with a practiced ease. His face was marked with soot, his armor dulled by battle. Yet his eyes¡ªhis father¡¯s eyes¡ªburned with something close to uncertainty. He was young, but not soft. That much, I had ensured.


    ¡°The fort is taken,¡± he reported, his voice firm. ¡°We found a cache of grain and supplies. Enough to sustain our march for another few weeks.¡±


    I nodded, pleased. ¡°And the prisoners?¡±


    Edward hesitated, glancing toward a group of captured soldiers and civilians huddled near the ruins. They were guarded by my men, some on their knees, others tending to the wounded. A few children clung to their mothers, their faces streaked with dirt and tears.


    ¡°Mostly civilians,¡± Edward admitted. ¡°Some of the garrison surrendered once the walls fell. The rest fought to the death.¡±


    I studied the prisoners for a moment, considering. ¡°Kill the soldiers. Leave a handful of civilians alive to spread word of what happened here.¡±


    Edward¡¯s expression darkened, but he did not argue. He had learned long ago that war was not about mercy. It was about control. Fear. He turned to one of the captains and relayed the order without hesitation.


    A scream pierced the night as one of the captured soldiers was dragged away. The others soon followed, their fates sealed.


    Edward returned to my side. ¡°And the rest?¡±


    I turned my gaze northward, toward Divina. ¡°We let the men rest tonight, then we move at dawn. The next fort we encounter will suffer the same fate. We march through Iza like fire through dry grass.¡±


    Edward wiped a gloved hand across his brow. ¡°The men are weary, Father. We¡¯ve been fighting and marching for days.¡±


    I shot him a sidelong glance. ¡°Are you growing soft, boy?¡±


    He straightened. ¡°No, my lord. Only cautious. If we push too hard, we may break them.¡±


    I let out a short breath, amused. He was not wrong, but he needed to understand that hesitation was as deadly as a dull blade. ¡°The men will rest. But only for tonight. War does not wait for tired soldiers.¡±


    Edward nodded, though his jaw tightened slightly. He would learn.


    I turned to Ser Leon, a hardened warrior who had served me faithfully for years. ¡°Send out scouts. I want to know if Irene¡¯s forces have made a move.¡±


    Roderic bowed. ¡°At once, my lord.¡± He hesitated before speaking again. ¡°And what of the treasury, my lord? We¡¯ve taken much, but wars are won with coin as much as swords.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°Send word to our allies. House Drakemont will send what is needed. If they hesitate, remind them what will happen if we lose.¡±


    Roderic nodded and strode off into the night.


    Edward spoke again, his voice quieter. ¡°And what of Magerius? Do you think he¡¯ll accept Hector¡¯s offer?¡±


    I exhaled sharply. ¡°It does not matter. If he does, we gain another dagger against Irene. If he refuses, we crush him like the rest.¡±


    Edward was silent for a moment. Then, ¡°And if we win, what will become of Iza?¡±


    I let out a low chuckle, the firelight casting harsh shadows across my face. ¡°Iza is of no concern to me. Once this war is over, it will belong to the Drakemonts. Let them rule over the ashes.¡±


    Edward did not respond immediately. He was thinking, weighing my words, perhaps questioning them. But he knew better than to voice doubt.


    I pulled the reins of my horse, turning back toward camp. ¡°Get some rest, Edward. Tomorrow, we march again. And we will not stop until Divina is within our grasp.¡±


    Edward nodded, but as I rode away, I caught the briefest flicker of something in his eyes. Not fear. Not doubt.


    Something else.


    I would have to keep an eye on him.


    The road to Divina would be long and soaked in blood, but I had no intention of stopping. War was like fire, and I was more than willing to burn everything in my path.


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    Queen Anna¡¯s P.O.V - City of Divina


    Sleep had eluded me for most of the night. My thoughts kept circling back to one thing¡ªwhy would that bastard suddenly take such an interest in pushing my daughter Aria toward the throne?


    As much as I love my daughter, why him? Why now?


    I do not oppose the idea, of course. Aria is of my blood. But Alaric¡¯s sudden fervor in supporting her is suspicious. He has always been dangerous¡ªcunning, unpredictable. What is his true goal? What game is he playing?


    And then there is Varus¡ªmy most trusted spy, a man who has served me in the shadows for years. He was once unwavering in his loyalty to me. But since Devran¡¯s death, he has started singing a different tune. He speaks of Alaric as if he were some great leader, as if he is the only one capable of saving the realm. It sickens me.


    No matter. I will remind Varus where his true loyalties lie.


    I sit in my private chamber, the candlelight flickering against the polished wood of my writing desk. The air is thick with the scent of lavender and old parchment. A cold breeze slips in through the window, but it does little to soothe my rising irritation.


    I just want this war to end. I want my children safe. But that bastard is poisoning my dear Aria¡¯s mind. Damn him. I hope he perishes in this campaign of his. His death would clear the greatest obstacle in my path.


    A knock at the door breaks my thoughts. "Enter," I say sharply.


    Leo strides in first, his golden hair slightly unkempt, his expression hardened with frustration. Following him is Varus, dressed in dark, unassuming garb¡ªhis usual attire, blending with the shadows as he always has. His face, however, is unreadable, a mask of calm that I have long learned to distrust.


    ¡°Mother,¡± Leo begins, his voice edged with barely contained impatience. ¡°You sent for me?¡±


    I gesture toward the chair across from me, but he ignores it, choosing to stand instead. I turn my gaze to Varus. ¡°Tell me, Varus, when exactly did you begin to believe that bastard is the realm¡¯s only salvation?¡±


    Varus tilts his head slightly, as if he expected this confrontation. ¡°Your Grace, I have only ever worked for the good of the realm. Prince Alaric¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I cut him off sharply. ¡°Do not call him a prince in my presence.¡±


    Varus exhales but continues. ¡°Alaric is a seasoned warrior, a tactician with experience few in this kingdom can rival. Like it or not, he is the only one capable of holding the line against Eadric. We need him.¡±


    Leo scoffs. ¡°Need him? That bastard should have never been brought back from exile!¡± He clenches his fists. ¡°The throne is mine by right, Mother. Not Aria¡¯s, and certainly not his!¡±


    ¡°But no one acknowledges you, my prince.¡± Varus¡¯s voice is even, but his words hit their mark. ¡°That is the problem.¡±


    Leo turns on him, eyes burning with rage. ¡°Damn you, Varus! You have been whispering poison since my brother¡¯s death. You used to see reason, but now you cower behind that mongrel!¡±


    ¡°I see reason now more than ever,¡± Varus replies coolly. ¡°And so did King Devran.¡±


    I slam my palm against the table. ¡°Enough!¡± My voice echoes through the chamber, silencing both men. ¡°Varus, you forget your place. You serve me. Not Alaric.¡±


    Varus bows his head slightly, but I can see the defiance still lingering in his eyes. ¡°I serve the realm, Your Grace. And I only speak the truth. Even the late King Devran, may his soul find peace, saw something in Alaric.¡±


    A sharp, cold silence follows his words.


    Devran. My beloved son.


    I close my eyes briefly, suppressing the pain that rises at the mention of his name. When I open them again, my voice is lower, more measured. ¡°Alaric is no true son of my husband the late King Valero.¡±


    ¡°No, but he is a son of war,¡± Varus counters. ¡°And war is what we face.¡±


    Leo grips the hilt of his sword in frustration. ¡°You think my blade is useless, Varus? That my claim means nothing?¡±


    Varus shakes his head. ¡°I think the battlefield cares little for claims, my prince. It cares for strength.¡±


    I exhale, standing from my seat and walking toward the window, staring out at the darkened courtyard. The torches flicker below, the night watch moving through the corridors of the palace. This war is tearing everything apart.


    I turn back to them. ¡°Leo, support your sister on this matter. If we win, there will be time to decide the future.¡±


    Leo¡¯s face twists with disgust. ¡°You expect me to bow to Aria?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say softly. ¡°I expect you to survive.¡±


    Varus watches me closely, studying my words. He knows me well enough to understand that I am not yielding to Alaric¡¯s influence¡ªI am merely playing the game.


    Leo scowls but does not argue further. He knows when to push and when to retreat.


    I glance back at Varus. ¡°You will continue to serve me, Varus. And you will watch Alaric closely. If he steps out of line, you will report to me immediately.¡±


    Varus inclines his head slightly. ¡°As you wish, Your Grace.¡±


    But I do not trust him. Not anymore.


    As the door closes behind them, I press my fingers against my temples, willing the ache in my head to subside.


    Devran is gone. My son. My pride.


    Leo is reckless. Aria is too soft-hearted.


    And Alaric¡ªAlaric is an enigma. A threat. A force I cannot control.


    But one thing is certain.


    I will not lose another child to this damn throne.


    "The battlefield is my throne, and my sword is my scepter."


    -King Alexios the Hungry Lion

 Chapter 22.The Battle for Talbeck

    "I will not rule a kingdom content with survival¡ªI will forge an empire worthy of eternity."


    -King Alexios the Hungry Lion


    My P.O.V


    We arrived near Talbeck Castle, but there was no time to rest. Our allies were trapped inside, their supplies dwindling, their defenses wavering. We had to act swiftly.


    The sky above was gray with heavy clouds, as if the gods themselves held their breath for the carnage to come. Our march had been long, and now we stood at the edge of war. Below us, spread out across the field, were Count Magerius¡¯ forces¡ªhis banners fluttering defiantly in the wind, his men scrambling to prepare for battle.


    From atop a small rise, I surveyed the battlefield. Magerius had noticed our approach and was already repositioning his forces. I watched as he split his army¡ªone part remained at the siege, while the bulk of his troops turned to meet us in the open field. A reckless decision, but one that gave us an opportunity.


    I turned to my men. Among them stood the 200 Royal Guard Lancers¡ªmen who had once been forced to fire arrows at the Siege of Lion¡¯s Crest, but now, at last, they would fight as they were meant to: on horseback. Though few in number, their sheer force could not be underestimated. One well-timed charge, and they could turn the tide of battle in an instant.


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    Count Magerius P.O.V


    So, the whore Duchess finally dares to stand against me. No matter¡ªI will crush her where she stands. I do not know how she scraped together this ragtag army, but it makes no difference. They are no match for my strength.


    I turned to my marshal, Ser Belos.


    ¡°Ser Belos,¡± I said.


    ¡°Yes, my lord?¡±


    ¡°I am leaving you in charge of the siege. We must hold this position at all costs. I know it is risky to divide our forces, but we fight two different battles now. If you let Talbeck¡¯s defenders break free, they will strike me from behind. Do not attempt an assault¡ªsimply hold the line. Do you understand?¡±


    Ser Belos bowed his head. ¡°Yes, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± I turned my gaze toward the approaching enemy. ¡°Once I crush that feeble duchess and her pitiful army, we will celebrate in Talbeck.¡±


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    My P.O.V


    ¡°The fool is splitting his forces,¡± Ser Gildas muttered beside me. ¡°If we strike now and send a small detachment to relieve Talbeck, we can trap him between two fronts.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°If we divide our forces as well, we risk catastrophe. We must be smarter than that.¡±


    My eyes drifted to the Royal Lancers, and an idea began to form. The terrain¡ªrolling hills with sparse cover¡ªcould work in our favor. If the cavalry could maneuver undetected, they could strike the siege camp and scatter the enemy before they knew what hit them.


    I turned to Ser Gildas and Ser Rodirik. ¡°I have a plan, but it relies entirely on your speed and precision.¡±


    Irene frowned. ¡°What are you thinking, Alaric?¡±


    I ignored her for a moment and focused on Aria instead. ¡°Stay close to Irene¡¯s guards. Do not stray from them. If anything happens to you...¡± I hesitated, then shook my head. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be able to forgive myself.¡±


    She nodded, her expression unreadable.


    I turned back to my army. The Izan levies stood ready, their faces a mixture of determination and fear. I drew my sword and raised it high.


    ¡°March with me!¡± I bellowed. ¡°We will break this siege and reclaim Talbeck!¡±


    A deafening roar erupted from the ranks, and we surged forward.


    As the distance between us and Magerius¡¯s forces shrank, the air suddenly darkened with a volley of arrows. Hundreds of men collapsed where they stood, their bodies littering the ground. But there was no time to mourn. We pressed on.


    And then, steel met steel.


    Swords clashed, men screamed, blood splattered across the grassy terrain. The battle had begun.


    Steel clashed against steel. The screams of men and the ringing of blades filled the air as our forces met Magerius¡¯ in a brutal clash. My men held their ground, pushing forward with shields and spears, while the enemy¡¯s front ranks struggled to contain our advance. Blood splattered against the mud as soldiers fell, trampled beneath the chaos.


    A group of enemy infantry charged at me, their swords raised. I braced myself, parrying the first strike and slashing my attacker across the chest. Another came at me from the side¡ªI barely turned in time to block, the force of his blow nearly knocking me off balance. Before he could strike again, an arrow pierced his throat, and he collapsed, choking on his own blood.


    Magerius¡¯ men fought fiercely, but I could already see the cracks in their resolve. He had spread his forces too thin, dividing his army between fighting us and maintaining the siege. If we could keep the pressure on long enough, his mistake would cost him everything.


    In the chaos, I stole a glance toward the hills. The cavalry was moving into position.


    Ser Gildas, don¡¯t fail me now.


    Count Royland P.O.V - Fort of Talbeck


    It is a sound strategy to force the enemy to split their forces, but knowing that does not change my predicament. My men are starved, exhausted, and battered from the relentless siege. We have fought off wave after wave of assaults, each one weakening our resolve. Supplies are dwindling, and morale is stretched thin. If we sortie now and fail, there will be no second chance.


    But then, as if the gods themselves took pity on us, I saw it¡ªa pang of hope. A cavalry force moving towards us, banners snapping in the wind. The black-and-gold standard of the Royal Guard, the proud lion of House Feldyn, and with them, the banners of Iza. They were moving swiftly, their lances lowered, their charge imminent. Relief had come at last.


    We needed to act before the rebels could form ranks to meet them. I rushed to the walls, gripping the cold stone as I turned to my officers.


    "Archers, loose! Give them hell! Do not stop until I give the order!" I commanded.


    Arrows rained down on the besieging force, catching them completely off guard. Confusion spread through their ranks as men fell screaming. Their commander, Ser Belos, bellowed for order, but it was too late.


    "Men of Talbeck! Open the gates! We strike now!" I roared.


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    With Genedarius at my side, we led the charge out of the fortress. The rebels had not expected an attack, let alone one so sudden. Many were caught still holding siege ladders, others were scrambling to grab their weapons. We carved through them with ruthless precision, cutting down the traitors where they stood.


    Ser Belos tried desperately to form a battle line, but the cavalry was upon them. The sound of thunderous hooves filled the air, and then¡ªimpact. Bodies flew as the Royal Guard smashed into the rebel ranks like a tidal wave. Some men were thrown so violently that their bodies slammed against the walls of Talbeck. The sheer force of the charge shattered the enemy¡¯s formation, and the battlefield became a slaughter.


    My P.O.V


    The clash of steel was deafening. The battlefield was a chaotic maelstrom of screams, blood, and death. We had managed to hold our own, but the cost was steep. For every man we cut down, we lost two of our own. The ground was slick with mud and blood, turning each step into a struggle.


    I wiped the sweat and grime from my brow and roared, "Do not waver! Hold the line!"


    I searched the battlefield frantically, my heart pounding. Where are you, Ser Gildas?


    Then, like the answer to a desperate prayer, I heard it¡ªthe battle cry of men fresh to the fight. From the other side of the field, where the besieged army of Talbeck had once stood trapped, a flood of warriors came surging forward, renewed with purpose. Ser Gildas had done it. The cavalry had broken the siege, and Count Royland¡¯s forces were now pouring into the field, cutting down Magerius¡¯ men from behind.


    Magerius, no fool, saw the tide turning. He bellowed orders for retreat, and his forces began to scatter. Some managed to flee with him, but nearly half of his men were captured or lay dead upon the battlefield.


    Victory was ours, but it did not feel like a triumph. The cost had been heavy, the land now painted red with the blood of Iza¡¯s sons. As I gazed across the battlefield, the weight of it all settled upon my shoulders. Another battle won, but at what price?


    Duchess Irene P.O.V


    As I observed the battlefield, I realized something¡ªI had underestimated him.


    Alaric had orchestrated this battle masterfully, reading Magerius like an open book. He did not simply rely on brute force or blind aggression; every move had been calculated. His ability to predict the enemy¡¯s reaction, to position his forces so precisely, to force Magerius into an untenable position¡ªit was extraordinary.


    So this is the bastard they scorn? The man the crown cast aside? I struggled to comprehend their foolishness. If I had a man like Alaric at my side, I would have conquered the realm by now.


    I turned my gaze toward him. He stood amidst the bodies, sword still in hand, eyes distant as he surveyed the field. There was no arrogance in his posture, no celebration. Just a quiet, somber acceptance of what must be done.


    He fights for them, yet they despise him.


    I need to know more. Who truly is Alaric of House Feldyn?


    My P.O.V - Fort of Talbeck


    The battle was over, yet as I stood among the fallen, I found little reason to call it a victory. Nearly 500 of my men lay dead, their bodies strewn across the blood-soaked fields of Talbeck. Most of them were from the Royal Army¡ªmen who had followed me into battle without hesitation. And now, they would never return home.


    I gritted my teeth and exhaled slowly. The price of war was always high, but this¡­ this felt heavier than before.


    I scanned the battlefield, my eyes searching for familiar faces. Relief washed over me when I spotted Aidan and Francis, their armor stained with blood but still standing. Aidan leaned on his sword, his breaths labored, while Francis wiped the sweat and dirt from his face. They were exhausted, but alive.


    I gave them a nod. ¡°You fought well.¡±


    Aidan forced a smirk. ¡°Still breathing, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    Francis let out a dry chuckle. ¡°Barely. Another hour, and I¡¯d be meeting the gods.¡±


    I clasped his shoulder. ¡°Then be thankful you¡¯re still on this side of the battlefield.¡±


    Nearby, prisoners were being rounded up. Some had dropped their weapons and surrendered the moment Magerius fled, but others had tried to escape. Those who ran were cut down. The message was clear¡ªthere would be no mercy for traitors who refused to yield.


    As we made our way toward Talbeck¡¯s gates, I couldn¡¯t help but notice the wary gazes of those around me. The men had fought for me today, but did they truly stand with me? Or had they merely followed out of necessity?


    Inside the castle, the mood was lighter. Count Royland and Count Genedarius stood waiting in the courtyard as we entered. Their eyes lit up with relief when they saw Duchess Irene, and they moved forward to greet her.


    ¡°You have our gratitude, Your Grace,¡± Royland said, bowing slightly. ¡°Talbeck would have fallen without your aid.¡±


    ¡°We are in your debt,¡± Genedarius added. ¡°Our forces were exhausted¡ªwe could not have held much longer.¡±


    Irene inclined her head graciously. ¡°You fought well, Count Royland. You held the line when others would have broken.¡±


    Then they turned to Aria, their expressions shifting as they acknowledged her royal status. They bowed deeply.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± Royland said, his voice laced with respect. ¡°It is an honor to see you safe.¡±


    Aria gave them a warm smile. ¡°You have all fought bravely.¡±


    And then¡­ silence.


    Their gazes flickered to me, then away just as quickly. As if they weren¡¯t sure how to proceed.


    As if I didn¡¯t exist.


    Of course. I was a bastard. A stain upon the House of Feldyn.


    Irene, however, did not let the silence linger. ¡°You should be thanking Alaric,¡± she said firmly. ¡°It was his plan that won this battle.¡±


    The counts hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. They had likely heard my name before, whispered in court as an insult, a curse, a cautionary tale. But now, standing before me, they had to confront the truth of who I was¡ªand what I had done.


    Aria took a step forward, her voice steady. ¡°He is my brother.¡±


    Her words carried weight. A silent command. A demand for recognition.


    Royland exhaled sharply, straightening. ¡°We thank you¡­¡± He hesitated.


    ¡°Alaric,¡± I said simply.


    Royland cleared his throat. ¡°We thank you, Lord Alaric.¡±


    The words were formal, forced, but they would do. I had no use for empty courtesies.


    Irene studied me carefully, a thoughtful expression on her face. ¡°You¡¯ve surprised me, Alaric,¡± she murmured. ¡°You fight like a man with nothing to lose¡­ and yet, you plan like a man who has everything to protect.¡±


    I met her gaze. ¡°Maybe I am both.¡±


    She smirked, but there was curiosity in her eyes. ¡°If I had a man like you by my side, I would have conquered the realm by now.¡±


    ¡°Good thing I¡¯m not yours, then.¡±


    She laughed, shaking her head. ¡°A shame.¡±


    But my mind was already elsewhere. The battle was done, but the war was far from over.


    Eadric was coming.


    And this time, I would be ready.


    Ser Hector¡¯s P.O.V - Near Talbeck


    The dirt road to Talbeck was littered with the remnants of battle¡ªdiscarded weapons, broken shields, and bodies left to rot under the setting sun. The air was thick with the stench of blood and smoke, the echoes of war still fresh. My small entourage moved cautiously, our horses stepping over the lifeless forms of men who had fallen just hours ago.


    As we rounded a bend in the road, I spotted a group of weary riders in the distance. Their armor was dented, their banners tattered, and their faces marred with dirt and exhaustion. It didn¡¯t take long to recognize them¡ªthese were the remnants of Magerius¡¯ army. And leading them, looking as if he had swallowed bile, was the man himself.


    I urged my horse forward, closing the distance.


    ¡°What the hell happened?¡± I called out, my voice cutting through the heavy silence.


    Magerius¡¯ head snapped toward me, his eyes flashing with something between anger and humiliation. ¡°Ser Hector? By the gods, what are you doing here?¡±


    I reined in beside him, my gaze sweeping over his battered men. ¡°Duke Eadric sent me ahead as a messenger,¡± I said evenly. ¡°The time has come to march on Divina, and he expected your support. But from the look of you, I doubt you have much left to give.¡±


    Magerius scowled, his grip tightening on the reins. ¡°Damn you! It was that whore Irene¡ªshe had that **bastard** commanding her army.¡± He spat the word as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. ¡°Your former liege.¡±


    My body moved before I could think.


    With one swift motion, I unsheathed my sword, the tip flashing in the dying light as I leveled it at Magerius¡¯ throat.


    The men around us stiffened. A few of Magerius¡¯ soldiers reached for their weapons, but my own men mirrored the movement, ready to cut them down at my command.


    Magerius¡¯ eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. ¡°Hector, have you lost your damn mind?!¡±


    ¡°That man just crushed your army,¡± I growled, my voice deadly calm. ¡°That ¡®bastard¡¯ outmaneuvered you, broke your siege, and forced you to flee like a whipped dog. So tell me, Magerius¡ªwhat does that make you?¡±


    Magerius¡¯ face twisted in rage, but I saw something else in his eyes, too. Fear.


    I held my sword steady, the silence stretching between us like a drawn bowstring.


    One of his men shifted uneasily. ¡°Ser Hector,¡± he said hesitantly, ¡°we¡¯re on the same side.¡±


    I turned my gaze toward him, my sword still unmoving. ¡°Are we?¡± I asked, my tone sharp as steel. ¡°Because if we are, you will remember that I do not tolerate **cowards** slandering men who have earned their place on the battlefield.¡±


    Magerius let out a harsh breath. ¡°You¡¯re a damned fool,¡± he muttered.


    I lowered my sword, the blade slipping back into its sheath with a soft click. ¡°Perhaps,¡± I said, ¡°but at least I¡¯m not a beaten one.¡±


    The tension remained thick, but Magerius said nothing more. His men avoided my gaze, their earlier bravado replaced with unease. They had expected me to laugh, to mock Alaric alongside them. Instead, I had reminded them of something they had all seen firsthand¡ªAlaric was not a man to be underestimated.


    I turned my horse away, nodding to my men. ¡°We ride,¡± I commanded, and without another glance at Magerius, we spurred our horses forward.


    As we left them behind, my thoughts churned. I had shown my hand. There would be whispers, rumors that I still held loyalty to my old friend. Perhaps even Eadric would take notice.


    I had made my choice.


    And soon, I would have to face the consequences.


    "Arthur was the storm that built a throne; Alexios was the fire that burned too bright."


    -Gulvian Proverbs