《The Prince Rebellion》


 Prologue

    Ariella awoke with a startle, soft pillows tumbling onto her head. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced at her brother, Prince Darion Elric, who was admiring himself in her ornate mirror that stretched to the floor. He was playfully posing, her sparkling white tiara perched atop his ash brown hair.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Ariella asked hoarsely, still groggy.


    Darion smirked, placing the tiara down with exaggerated care. ¡°Not planning to lie around all day, are we? We¡¯ve got places to be.¡±


    She threw off her fine woollen blankets, her furs falling away as she climbed out of bed.


    ¡°Let me guess¡ªanother suitor I have to meet?¡± she said, her voice laced with annoyance.


    Darion chuckled, taking a bite from a ripe red apple he had snatched from a fruit bowl on the table. ¡°Father wouldn¡¯t send me for that. He¡¯d have your maids or Shaya help you get ready.¡±


    Ariella¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Last I checked, it¡¯s training day, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Darion tossed her an apple, his grin widening. ¡°Exactly.¡±


    Ariella caught the apple mid-air and ran to her wardrobe, eager to get dressed. Training in nightwear would not do.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be outside,¡± Darion called, closing the sturdy wooden door behind him.


    Ariella was the Princess of Tyrancia, renowned for her beauty, with auburn hair and sparkling emerald eyes like her late mother Queen Daria, eyes that her brothers Darion and Aerimus were never gifted. Suitors from across the lands of Loria vied for her hand: High King Titus of the Kingdom of Ardor, the noble Elven Prince Elias of Lothlor, and Prince Kalas of the Kingdom of Cassia, all of whom she had turned away. It had sparked rumours among commoners and nobility alike, with many questionings why her father, King Alistair Elric, did not force her into a political marriage. The rejection of High King Titus, in particular, had been public, and his wrath had been swift¡ªhe had severed relations with Tyrancia ever since.


    Darion knocked on her door just as she was finishing her preparations. ¡°Where¡¯s your cloak?¡± he asked, leaning against the stone wall outside her chambers.


    Darion frowned. ¡°You know we can¡¯t be seen, Ariella.¡±


    He handed her a tattered, worn cloak that smelled faintly of stables and horses. ¡°Put this on. We¡¯re not about to stroll through the streets as royalty.¡±


    Together, they made their way through the castle halls and down to the drawbridge, where two royal guards stood vigilant, clad in polished steel plate armour and sapphire-caped cloaks. Each bore a heavy halberd.


    ¡°Cedric, I¡¯ve got a visit for the blacksmith in Smugglers Alley,¡± Darion announced. ¡°Harian and Jaxton have my sword. Ariella was not with me.¡±


    Cedric raised an eyebrow but nodded. ¡°Smugglers Alley? Dingy and dangerous for a royal prince and princess. But I can¡¯t disobey my prince.¡±


    Darion clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°Gratitude, Ced.¡±


    The two Elric siblings set off for Smugglers Alley, the lowborn district of Tyrana, the capital of Tyrancia. The air was thick with the stench of cattle droppings, the dirt streets cluttered with refuse. Pickpockets and thieves skulked in the shadows.


    Hidden beneath their cloaks, Darion knocked on the door of Harian¡¯s Smithy. The door creaked open, revealing a tall, muscular man with piercing blue eyes and long blonde hair, streaked with coal dust.


    ¡°Prince Darion, Princess Ariella ¡ª your highnesses, come inside,¡± Jaxton greeted them with a smile. His gaze lingered briefly on Ariella.


    ¡°Fine morning, Jaxton,¡± Ariella replied, though she felt the heat of a blush creeping up her neck. It must be the forge¡¯s warmth, she thought, though her heart raced a little faster.


    Darion chuckled, noticing the exchange. ¡°We¡¯re here for our swords, Jaxton. You two can catch up later,¡± he added with a playful smirk as he set a heavy leather pouch on the counter. The sound of the gold coins inside thudded heavily.


    ¡°One hundred gold gryphons should suffice, yes?¡± Darion asked, eyes glinting.


    Jaxton stared at Ariella, his gaze distant, before snapping out of his daze. He didn¡¯t acknowledge the money at first, the weight of the gold coins enough to make him the wealthiest man in Smugglers Alley.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do it for the money,¡± Jaxton said, eyes still flickering toward Ariella. She gave him a small nod, her expression soft.


    ¡°I¡¯ll settle for fifty,¡± Jaxton continued, ¡°It¡¯s not every day you make weaponry for royalty, especially here.¡±


    Darion gave a knowing smile. ¡°You are a good man, Jaxton. But an even better swordsmith. Now, where¡¯s the sword?¡±


    Jaxton reached beneath the counter and pulled out an ornate steel sword¡ªslim, curved, and beautifully crafted. Its hilt was adorned with a gryphon pommel, the eyes set with delicate sapphires. The gryphon was the Elric family¡¯s royal sigil with the five remaining Elrics owning one.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have been able to craft this without your brother supplying the finest steel and sapphires,¡± Jaxton said, passing the sword to Ariella.


    She marveled at the blade, her fingers brushing the cool steel. ¡°This is no toy. You know it¡¯s forbidden for women, especially princesses, to bear arms. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden,¡± Jaxton warned gently.


    Darion nodded gravely. ¡°He¡¯s right, Ella. This is our secret¡ªno one can know. Not father, not Aerimus.¡±


    Ariella¡¯s lips curled into a determined smile. ¡°One day, I¡¯ll change that. I¡¯ll become a warrior princess like Queen Athelien of Ilthalas... but in Tyrancia.¡±


    ¡°Maybe when I¡¯m king, we can make that happen,¡± Darion said, his voice hopeful.


    Jaxton handed them both wooden practice swords. ¡°Your practice swords. It¡¯s terrible weather outside, but mastering the sword waits for no one.¡±


    ¡°Gratitude, Jaxton. You¡¯ve done us a great service,¡± Darion said. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you both for a moment.¡±


    As Darion stepped out, the door clicked shut, leaving Ariella and Jaxton alone in the smithy.


    Jaxton approached her and adjusted the sword''s sheath on her waist, his rough hands brushing against her soft skin. Gently, he pulled her hood up before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. His lips lingered there for a moment, and when he pulled away, a warm smile graced his face.


    ¡°I long for you, Ella,¡± Jaxton murmured, his voice tender.


    Ariella¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°Kick his arse today,¡± he teased with a playful grin.


    Ariella chuckled softly. ¡°If only he weren¡¯t second only to Cedric Ashford in swordplay, but I¡¯ll give it my best.¡±


    ¡°Be well, Jaxton of Smugglers Alley,¡± Ariella said as he opened the door for her.


    ¡°And you, Princess Ariella of Tyrancia,¡± Jaxton replied, his eyes lingering on her with a mix of admiration and longing. Ariella left the smithy with a wide smile, her fingers gently brushing her lip as she thought. Today, she would make him proud, she decided. He had crafted her a fine sword, and the least she could do in return was to win at least one round against Darion in their combat drills.


    ¡°He¡¯s a good man. I¡¯m happy for you. Though, Father would never approve.¡± Darion observed, his gaze softening as he watched her expression.


    ¡°Good thing you¡¯re not Father,¡± Ariella replied with a wry smile.


    ¡°And with that, I¡¯m not the High King of Tyrancia,¡± he quipped, walking toward the western gates of the city.


    ¡°You will be,¡± Ariella said, her voice full of quiet hope.


    ¡°Better yet, maybe you¡¯ll be queen¡ªif the gods are kind, and if Father listens to me,¡± Darion added, his tone more serious.


    Ariella stopped in her tracks, her brow furrowing with confusion. ¡°What do you mean, Dari?¡± she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.


    Darion turned to face her, his eyes filled with sincerity.


    ¡°I told him to name you his heir, instead of me. For you to serve as Queen of Tyrancia when the time comes.¡±


    Ariella stood frozen, speechless. Her heart raced, but her mind struggled to find the right words. Even as Darion spoke the words she had always longed to hear, she could hardly believe them.


    ¡°Our people adore you, Ariella. They love you,¡± Darion continued. ¡°You¡¯d be a queen of the people, beloved by all.¡±


    Ariella hesitated, uncertainty creeping into her expression. ¡°


    What about Aerimus?¡± she asked quietly. Their brother, second in line to the throne, is still a prince.


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    Darion¡¯s face darkened with disdain. ¡°I can think of nothing worse. A drunk, licentious fool should never be king.¡± His voice was firm, without hesitation.


    Ariella glanced around quickly, noticing the bustling activity of Smugglers Alley. Shady figures conducted business in the filth-stained streets, commoners lined up for scraps of soup with barely a sliver of meat. It was a far cry from the lavish courts and opulent halls she was used to.


    Her eyes fell on an elderly woman sitting in an alley with a young boy, their faces drawn with hunger. Ariella¡¯s heart softened, and despite Darion¡¯s quiet protests, she approached them.


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± Ariella asked gently, her eyes filled with sympathy as she looked at the pair.


    The elderly woman looked up, her weathered face breaking into a smile despite her obvious fatigue.


    ¡°Ello¡¯, dear lady. We¡¯re fine... just hungry, is all. The line¡¯s too long, and no one cares for an old duck and her young lad round here.¡± Her voice cracked, the strain of hunger evident in every word. The boy¡¯s eyes, wide and hopeful, flickered toward Ariella.


    Ariella¡¯s hand instinctively reached for the small coin purse hidden beneath her cloak. She pulled it out and handed it to the woman. ¡°Take this. It will help. Be well,¡± she said, her smile warm and sincere.


    The woman¡¯s eyes widened as she looked at the heavy purse. She took a step back, staring at Ariella in shock.


    ¡°You¡¯re the Princess, aren¡¯t you?¡± she asked, her voice full of awe.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen you before, dressed all proper and pretty, at ceremonies and such...¡± The woman¡¯s eyes filled with wonder.


    ¡°Gods bless you, sweet lady. You shine on us today,¡± she said, bowing deeply in gratitude.


    The young boy, with a shy smile, hugged Ariella¡¯s leg, his eyes filled with a hope that had likely been absent for some time. Ariella smiled as she looked down at him, her hand resting lightly on his head.


    Darion¡¯s voice, low and urgent, cut through the moment. ¡°We must go, Ariella,¡± he said, his gaze darting around warily. He then nodded respectfully to the elderly woman and her boy.


    Ariella gave one last, heartfelt smile to the woman before she reluctantly turned to leave. ¡°Be well,¡± she murmured.


    Darion gently placed a hand on her shoulder as they moved away, his voice softer now. ¡°You did a good thing, but we can¡¯t stay here long, it is dangerous.¡±


    Ariella didn¡¯t respond immediately, her heart still heavy with the faces of those she¡¯d just met. She had given them hope, even if only for a moment. And for the first time, she felt the weight of her potential future as Queen of Tyrancia more than ever before.


    Darion and Ariella slipped out of the city unnoticed. No one mistook them for royals¡ªwhat royals would be walking the outskirts of the city in tattered clothes, without guards? Well, these two would.


    They began their journey toward Stonegate, a small woodland village about five leagues from Tyrana. Stonegate was ruled by Lady Nathalia Grey, until her brother Llane came of age. Both parents had perished in a fishing accident¡ªor so the rumours went. Darion remembered the village well. It was a modest place, with thatched wooden walls and simple palisades. The population, as he recalled, was only around three hundred.


    As they neared Stonegate, the village walls visible in the distance, they veered off the path and into the woods. Snow covered the ground, knee-deep in places, making their trek slow and exhausting. Eventually, they came to a clearing where the snow was a little less packed, though still slippery and deep enough to make swordplay difficult. Surrounded by trees, it was a secluded spot, far from the prying eyes and gossip of the village¡ªfar from the kind of people who would trample others just to survive.


    ¡°You ready, Ari?¡± Darion tossed his satchel to the ground, drawing his sparring wooden sword with practiced ease, assuming a defensive stance, one that spoke of years of training.


    Ariella hesitated, then nervously drew her own wooden sword and mirrored his stance, though less sure. Darion shifted his position, testing different angles as he prepared.


    ¡°I swore I¡¯d get at least one point against you today,¡± she joked, giving a mock bow.


    ¡°To yourself, or to your blacksmith?¡± Darion teased, bowing in return.


    And so, their sparring began. The sharp clash of wooden swords echoed through the air, each strike sounding like the rhythm of an axe on wood. Darion was fast ¡ª too fast for Ariella to predict his moves. He parried her swift strikes with practiced ease, countering her attacks with ripostes that seemed effortless. He could have landed a blow at any moment, but he didn¡¯t. He¡¯s holding back, Ariella thought.


    The snow made it hard for her to keep her footing, and her stance faltered more than once. Sensing her struggle, Darion paused.


    ¡°Focus on your balance, Ariella. Keep your hips and legs firm, or you won¡¯t get the right leverage.¡±


    The fight continued, with Darion landing blow after blow. Ariella could barely make a strike. By the end, Darion had ¡°caught¡± her thirteen times, with no points on her side ¡ª though he had gone easy on her. Frustrated, she threw her sparring sword to the ground, her legs shaking with exhaustion. Sweat beaded on her forehead, despite the cold, and she sat heavily on a nearby log, her head in her hands.


    Was she upset with herself for not landing even a single hit, or was it the promise she had made ¡ª like Darion had joked ¡ª that pushed her to try so hard?


    Darion approached and sat beside her on the log, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.


    "It¡¯s not easy, Ariella. I¡¯ve been trained by the master-at-arms since before I could walk. You never had that luxury," he said, his voice soft yet reassuring.


    Ariella glanced at him, understanding his words but still feeling down.


    "You¡¯re only nineteen," he continued. "You¡¯ve got plenty of time to catch up. And besides, aren¡¯t you the undisputed snowball champion?" Darion teased, before hurling a snowball right at her face. The cold sting of the snowball met her cheek before she could even react. Without missing a beat, her favourite childhood game had begun, and Darion had declared war.


    Ariella dashed behind a thick snow-laden tree, using its ample cover to hide her slender frame. She quickly gathered snowballs, preparing her next move. Darion returned fire with precision, but she was faster. One snowball hit his shoulder, another struck his chest, and the third landed squarely at the back of his head after she managed to circle around him. Ariella¡¯s grin spread wide, her eyes gleaming with mischief.


    But Darion wasn¡¯t finished. He caught her off guard with a snowball right to her face. "You¡¯re lucky that¡¯s just a snowball!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with playful challenge.


    "You¡¯d be long gone if it wasn¡¯t, Dari!" Ariella laughed, her voice light and teasing. Darion raised his hands in mock surrender, conceding defeat.


    After the playful skirmish, they both collapsed onto the log, breathless and laughing. Ariella leaned her head gently on Darion¡¯s shoulder, her voice soft with gratitude. "Thank you, Darion."


    "Anytime," he replied with a warm, sincere smile.


    As they rose and steadied themselves, both drew their wooden swords and assumed their sparring stances. Distant rustling and grotesque heaving grew louder, unnerving in its approach. Darion froze, his hazel eyes darting toward the source, panic flashing through him. ¡°Ariella, behind me. Now!¡± he commanded, his voice sharp and firm. Darion throw away his wooden sparring sword as a sharp ring echoed through the air as he unsheathed his exquisite steel sword from beneath his cloak, where it had been hidden near the log.


    Ariella, her hand shaking ever so slightly, drew her newly forged sword in tandem and stepped behind him without question. She could feel the change in Darion. For the first time, his usual joking demeanour was absent. He was serious, protective¡ªand nearly trembling. She saw the quiver in his hands, which made her own tremble in return. Her legs felt like they could give out at any moment, the weight of the situation pressed on her chest, but she forced herself to steady her breath.


    ¡°Should we call Ebonwing?¡± she whispered nervously, glancing at Darion¡¯s satchel where the gryphon whistle was secured. One sharp blow, and Ebonwing, his gryphon, would come to their aid. Gryphons could hear such calls from up to twenty leagues away. Ebonwing, the second largest of the Elric family¡¯s gryphons, with her jet-black feathers and cold sapphire eyes, was a formidable sight. Ariella¡¯s own griffin, Artemis, was still a chick¡ªno larger than a dog.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know what it is yet,¡± Darion replied, his gaze scanning their surroundings with unwavering vigilance. ¡°She¡¯s still in the Gryphon Pen.¡±


    The ground trembled with heavy, laboured steps, and a massive, gaunt figure lumbered into view, huffing and growling with hunger. Darion¡¯s heart clenched, instinctive fear seizing him. The creature was enormous¡ªlarger than a stallion, its hulking frame towering at least ten feet when it reared up on its hind legs. Its body was emaciated, its ribs protruding beneath its fur as if it had struggled for food in the harsh winter. Slobber dripped from its jagged maw, and bloodstained teeth glinted in the dimming light. It had eaten something, but it hadn''t been enough. Darion could feel it¡ªhe and Ariella were its next meal.


    ¡°It¡¯s a Dire Bear,¡± he said, his voice oddly steady despite the panic tightening in his chest. ¡°It¡¯s starving, and it will charge any second. When it does, you run for the whistle and hide.¡±


    ¡°But what¡ª¡± Ariella began, but Darion silenced her with a sharp gesture.


    ¡°I¡¯m still the heir. You listen to me,¡± he commanded, his tone harsher than he intended, but it was crucial that she obey.


    ¡°Exactly why I should help!¡± Ariella retorted, her voice fiery with determination.


    The Dire Bear¡¯s footsteps were thunderous as it closed in, its massive paw prints leaving deep impressions in the snow.


    ¡°Go!¡± Darion shouted, desperation in his voice. Without hesitation, Ariella sprinted, the whistle tight in her grip. She blew with all the strength she could muster, the sharp call cutting through the chill of the evening air.


    Darion darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the bear¡¯s lethal swipe. This wasn¡¯t a duelist''s fight¡ªthis was something primal. The bear¡¯s claws were as deadly as they were massive, and Darion quickly realized blocking them would be fatal. Instead, he weaved and dodged, using his smaller frame to outmanoeuvre the beast. He slid behind the bear and struck, the blade tearing a deep gash across its face. His confidence surged with the hit.


    But the creature was relentless. It swiped again, furious, and caught Darion with a brutal blow. He was sent crashing to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs.


    Ariella screamed. Her heart pounded as she rushed forward, sword drawn, but the bear was already on top of Darion. Its jaws snapped just inches from his face. In a desperate act of defiance, Ariella slashed at the bear¡¯s back leg, drawing a roar of pain from the beast. It swung around, eyes blazing with fury.


    Frozen in terror, Ariella couldn¡¯t move fast enough. But before the bear could strike, Darion shoved her to the ground with all his strength, throwing himself in front of her. His back took the full force of the Dire Bear¡¯s claw, a deep gash tearing through his flesh. His scream echoed across the clearing, the snow beneath them stained red.


    Darion stayed down, shielding her from any further blows, even as his blood soaked the snow.


    Ariella fought against him, her hands shaking as she desperately tried to move him, but he held her firm, despite the agony. His body was weak, his breath shallow, but he refused to let go.


    The bear raised its claw for the final strike, but just as it descended, a deafening screech split the air. The beast froze, its attention drawn skyward.


    A massive, black shape streaked through the trees. Ebonwing¡ªDarion¡¯s gryphon¡ªwas here. Her wings cut through the cold air as she soared down with terrifying speed. With a swift strike, she grabbed the Dire Bear in her talons, lifting it effortlessly before slamming it against a tree with a sickening crack. The beast let out one final roar before collapsing to the ground, motionless.


    Ebonwing spread her wings wide, her blue eyes blazed with fury as she positioned herself between the bear and the siblings. The Dire Bear twitched, still alive, but the gryphon wasted no time. With one swift lunge, Ebonwing¡¯s talons raked across the creature¡¯s chest, and her beak tore into its throat, ending its struggle.


    Ariella, heart racing, rushed to her brother¡¯s side. She tore at her clothes, desperate to fashion a makeshift bandage. She pressed the cloth to his bleeding back, begging him to stay awake. ¡°Darion, please¡­ you have to stay with me. I¡¯ll take care of you,¡± she whispered, her voice cracking with panic.


    Darion groaned, barely conscious, but Ariella didn¡¯t stop. She used her cloak and sword as a stretcher, dragging him through the snow with a determination that only desperation could bring. His weight was unbearable, but she didn¡¯t falter. Each pull was a silent prayer for his survival.


    Behind her, Ebonwing let out one final screech, her wings slicing through the air as she finished off the Dire Bear. The beast was no more.


    Ariella didn¡¯t look back. She kept moving, pulling with every ounce of strength she had, her brother¡¯s life is paramount.

 Chapter One: A Banquet of Bitterness

    Ariella returned to Tyrana, riding atop Ebonwing. The great creature held Darion carefully in her talons, her wings sweeping gracefully through the air as they landed at the foot of the castle stairs. The royal guards, followed closely by High King Alistair Elric, rushed down the stairs. Alistair, hindered by his silver cane, moved as quickly as he could, his eyes filled with concern.


    Ebonwing lowered Darion gently, but her sharp gaze scanned the surroundings, her protective instincts on high alert. Ariella dismounted and, with urgency, commanded the guards to take her brother to the infirmary immediately.


    ¡°What is going on, Ariella?! What has happened here?¡± Alistair¡¯s voice, though laced with anger, was tinged with worry.


    Ariella stood frozen in shock; her eyes still wide as the guards hurried to carry Darion away. She could sense the tension in Cedric Ashford, the Captain of the Royal Guards, as his commanding shouts rang through the air, demanding that people clear the way.


    Ariella¡¯s gaze met her father''s, and her voice broke. ¡°It¡¯s my fault. It¡¯s all my fault,¡± she whispered, her eyes welling with tears.


    Alistair moved quickly to his daughter, pulling her into a tight embrace. ¡°Whatever has happened, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s not your fault,¡± he said gently, his voice calm and reassuring. ¡°We¡¯ll discuss it in private. We have the best physicians here ¡ª Darion will be in good hands.¡±


    Ariella¡¯s heart clenched, but Alistair continued, his words laced with determination. ¡°And if they cannot heal him, I will sail every sea, from here to the farthest reaches of Mahargor, to find someone who can.¡± His hand rested gently behind her head, a gesture of comfort.


    Their attention shifted as Ebonwing, still agitated, reared up on her hind legs with a powerful screech. Gryphon handlers scrambled to control her, but the great beast would not be easily subdued.


    ¡°Release her,¡± Alistair ordered, his voice commanding. ¡°You won¡¯t get her back into the pen until Darion is well. She¡¯ll tear you apart if you try.¡± Ariella knew his gryphon well ¡ª Ebonwing would wait, loyally, at the entrance of the infirmary until Darion was safe.


    Alistair and Ariella began the slow ascent up the castle stairs, with Ariella assisting her father. The rest of the royal guards and counsel followed behind them in a quiet procession.


    They reached the meeting hall, a grand room in the east wing of the castle. A long, ornate wooden table dominated the centre, large enough to seat at least twenty. The table was laden with fresh fruit, honeyed carrots, vegetables, and a scattering of finely sliced meats. The room was bathed in the soft, flickering glow of dozens of candlelit chandeliers, their iron designs ornate and elegant, fit halls for the High King of Tyrana.


    Alistair gestured toward a seat next to the large chair at the end of the table. ¡°Sit, my child. Have you eaten?¡± His paternal tone carried as he began to prepare a plate of meats and vegetables for her.


    ¡°Only an apple,¡± Ariella replied quietly.


    ¡°An apple?¡± Alistair raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that how you break your fast before sparring with your brother?¡±


    Ariella froze, stunned. How did he know? Why had he never said anything before? Why wasn¡¯t he angry? A thousand questions swirled in her mind.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think the High King of his own city wouldn¡¯t notice or be told when his heir and his princess leave his castle, secret or not?¡± Alistair¡¯s voice was light, almost amused.


    Ariella exhaled slowly, her tension easing. There was no anger or resentment in his voice¡ªjust calm understanding, as there always had been. It was a tone that had not always worked in his favor. Whispers around the court often painted him as weak, particularly when it came to his children. Even Aerimus, who ignored his royal duties, skipped council meetings, arrived late to ceremonies, and treated his sword training as little more than a pastime, was never truly reprimanded by the king. And yet, Alistair remained patient and kind.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t think a dire bear would be out this time of year,¡± Ariella explained, her voice thick with emotion as tears welled in her eyes again. ¡°It¡¯s winter¡­ and a harsh one at that. They should be hibernating.¡±


    Alistair¡¯s expression softened. ¡°If not a dire bear, it could have been a sabretooth¡ªor bandits. Venturing beyond the city walls is never without risk, Ariella.¡±


    She nodded, but her focus drifted to her food. She was starving, her hunger clawed at her, but all she could think about was whether Darion would be all right.


    ¡°When can I see him?¡± Ariella asked, her voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, child,¡± Alistair said, his tone thoughtful. ¡°I will visit the infirmary in the morning.¡±


    They continued to dine in silence, the only sound in the hall the clinking of silver cutlery and the soft sounds of chewing. Ariella¡¯s mind, however, was elsewhere, her thoughts tangled in growing frustration. Where is Aerimus? she wondered. Why hasn¡¯t he bothered to visit or check on me¡ªor Darion?


    Finally, she couldn¡¯t hold it in any longer. "Where is Aerimus?" she asked, her voice rising with annoyance and frustration, the mention of his name alone twisting her mood from sorrow to pure irritation.


    "I¡¯m unsure," Alistair replied, his voice tinged with disappointment. "He was supposed to attend his lute lessons, but his tutor said he never showed."


    Ariella¡¯s face twisted in disgust. "This is why he¡¯ll never be king," she said bitterly. "Unless it¡¯s as the King of Disappointments."


    "Ariella," Alistair said firmly, his tone warning her of the line she was crossing. She knew well that a princess¡ªor a future queen, as Darion had called her¡ªwas expected to maintain composure, especially in front of family. But her frustration was too much to suppress.


    A heavy silence descended once more, the only sound the soft hum of the hearth. Then, the heavy wooden doors creaked open with an abruptness that seemed almost deliberate.


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    "Sister! Father! Good to see you¡¯re both well," Aerimus greeted, his arms stretched wide, his voice dripping with sarcasm.


    Ariella stiffened. "Can''t say the same for Darion, I hear. Where is he?" Aerimus asked, his eyes gleaming with a touch of mockery.


    Ariella shot to her feet, her chair scraping harshly across the stone floor. "Watch your tongue, Aerimus," she hissed, her voice sharp and cold.


    Before Alistair could intervene, Aerimus waved his hands mockingly in defeat. "Oh, I¡¯m sorry, sweet sister. Well done on making it back... unscathed," he said, the words empty of any warmth or concern. Ariella could feel the lack of care in his voice, and it only deepened her contempt for him.


    Aerimus then pulled out a chair, settling himself across from Ariella and near his father, serving himself a generous plate of food and pouring a large goblet of wine, as if the whole spread were prepared for his indulgence. He offered Ariella the wine with a smirk, fully aware that she didn¡¯t drink. She met him with nothing but a cold, irritated stare.


    "Why did you miss your lessons, Aerimus?" Alistair asked, his voice stern, but the faintest hint of weariness lingered in his words.


    "That¡¯s what you care about?" Aerimus retorted bitterly. "Darion is gravely wounded, and you¡¯re asking me about my lessons?"


    Ariella rolled her eyes, sensing the insincerity in his words. She knew it was nothing more than a deflection, a way to avoid being confronted.


    Alistair¡¯s expression darkened, his golden eyes flashing with authority. "There is nothing I can do for Darion right now. You have duties, and you fail at every one of them," he said, his voice raising with frustration.


    Ariella felt that, for once, she wasn¡¯t meant to be part of this conversation. Even she felt a pang of pity for Aerimus, witnessing his quiet shame, and yet she couldn¡¯t bring herself to feel much sympathy for him.


    For a moment, Aerimus remained silent, his earlier cockiness vanishing as he took a slow sip of his wine. The room was heavy with silence once more.


    "Excuse me, Father. Brother," Ariella said softly, rising from her seat. "I must take my leave."


    "Where do you think yo¡ª" Aerimus began, but he was immediately cut off by Alistair''s low, commanding voice: "You are excused."


    Ariella exited the room in a quiet rush, closing the heavy wooden doors behind her.


    If the silence had been oppressive before, it was even more so now. Alistair¡¯s gaze remained fixed on Aerimus, his frown deepening as he watched his son sheepishly pick at his food and sip his wine in between, clearly lost in his own world. They shared little in common. Alistair had no tolerance for Aerimus¡¯ reckless lifestyle ¡ª drinking, gambling, and fornicating. Worst of all had been the incident with his gryphon, Sunbeak, a creature Aerimus had nearly wagered away in a drunken game of chance. That was, until Darion intervened, stopping him before he could make a complete fool of himself. No one knew why he partook in gambling, he wasn¡¯t desperate for money, after all. As a Prince of Tyrancia, he was well-off, the third largest kingdom in Loria, dwarfed only by Mahargor to the west and Ardor to the northwest, with Cassia lying just beyond Tyrancia''s borders.


    Aerimus hadn¡¯t always been like this. Alistair remembered a time when his son had been different. Some whispered that it was after the death of Queen Daria, Aerimus¡¯ mother. Others claimed the turning point came when his marriage proposal to the beautiful Elven Princess Vesaelea of Selenia was rejected by her father, King Galindral, who believed that humans were beneath the elves. The rejection was a public spectacle, and the renowned elven minstrel Finral Cloudsinger even composed a ballad about it, which was performed at court for months after.


    Despite the heartbreak, Aerimus had not been without admirers. His conquests¡ªmen, women, and even, according to some rumours, dwarves¡ªwere many. He cared little for the opinions of others. Handsome and tall, with ash-brown hair that fell just short of his shoulders, Aerimus had the same golden-hazel eyes as his brother, Darion. They glittered like veins of ore in sunlight. However, unlike his brother, Aerimus didn¡¯t concern himself with grooming or appearances. He preferred stubble and drab colors over the regal hues of House Elric, a stark contrast to what one would expect of a prince.


    Beyond his vices, however, Aerimus shared a strong passion for military strategy and war. He held a prestigious position on the Tyrancia Council, his sharp mind and cunning earning him the title of Warmaster. Though Darion was also a member of the council, Aerimus outranked him. This was one meeting that Aerimus would never miss, and Darion often found himself at odds with him over it. While Darion believed that there was no need for such focus, given that Tyrancia was at peace and had no active conflicts, Aerimus scoffed at the idea. His obsession with training drills and tactics was relentless.


    Alistair, much like his other son, had no love for war. He preferred peace, and he found little admiration in Aerimus¡¯ role as Warmaster.


    ¡°Tell me, Father,¡± Aerimus began, his voice edged with curiosity, ¡°why were Darion and Ariella outside the city walls? Alone?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s none of your concern,¡± Alistair replied coldly, his voice firm.


    ¡°They are my siblings, are they not?¡± Aerimus shot back, his tone challenging.


    Alistair paused mid-bite, fixing his son with a hard stare. ¡°Don¡¯t feign concern, boy.¡±


    Aerimus¡¯ mouth opened, ready to fire back, but he hesitated. He wasn¡¯t winning this battle. Not now, anyway. It often felt like his words fell on deaf ears when it came to his father¡ªand his siblings, for that matter.


    A thought flickered in Aerimus'' mind, sharp and cold: If Darion doesn¡¯t recover... would I have a chance to become heir?


    ¡°What about the line?¡± Aerimus pressed, his voice gaining strength. ¡°If Darion doesn¡¯t fully recover, we can¡¯t have a cripple sitting on the Throne of Tyrancia. Shouldn¡¯t I be preparing for that?¡±


    ¡°Darion will recover,¡± Alistair said, his voice tight with irritation. ¡°And once again, the line is not your concern, Aerimus.¡±


    Aerimus smirked, but the satisfaction didn¡¯t last. His father had already turned back to his meal, dismissing him as easily as one might shoo away an annoying fly.


    Alistair¡¯s voice cut through the air before Aerimus could speak again. ¡°I¡¯ve made arrangements for you. You will marry Princess Floria Harper of Cassia within the fortnight. You meet her tomorrow.¡±


    Aerimus recoiled, his stomach twisting. ¡°Her? Seriously? She eats like a cow, and her father is a bloated fool!¡±


    Alistair didn¡¯t respond.


    ¡°Why is it that Darion hasn¡¯t wed Circelia of Lothlor, and Ariella turns away every suitor who comes her way, but I am the one forced into this?¡± Aerimus¡¯ voice cracked with frustration, a hint of sadness he could not hide.


    ¡°Darion and Circelia will marry. Ariella¡¯s situation is... more complicated. You¡¯ll understand when you have a daughter of your own,¡± Alistair said, the first flicker of compassion in his voice - a rare, almost imperceptible shift.


    Aerimus was silent for a moment, his mind chewing over the words.


    ¡°Darion¡¯s terrified of Circelia. She¡¯s an elf, after all. Beautiful, yes, but her people? They''re hard to please.¡±


    Alistair¡¯s lips twitched into a smile, the humour in his voice unmistakable. ¡°I¡¯ve heard she¡¯s just as good with a sword as Darion. Perhaps I¡¯ll have them duel at their wedding.¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t make me and Floria compete in an eating contest,¡± Aerimus muttered, half-joking, half-disgusted.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Alistair said firmly. ¡°You may grow to love her.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Aerimus replied noncommittally, his voice low.


    A moment of silence passed before Aerimus, shifting on his feet, asked, ¡°There¡¯s a council meeting tonight. Will you be attending?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Alistair answered, his voice softer now, tinged with a sorrow that Aerimus rarely heard. ¡°Tonight, I¡¯ll be in prayer ¡ª for your brother.¡±


    Aerimus didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he pushed his chair back, stood, and made for the door. He didn¡¯t bother with the polite gestures his sister would¡¯ve made; there was no grace in his exit.


    The door slammed behind him with a resounding thud, and in the silence that followed, a single tear ¡ª quick and unnoticed ¡ª slid down King Alistair¡¯s cheek. He wiped it away, but the weakness lingered. A king¡¯s tears could never be seen, especially not by his own blood.

 Chapter Two: A Brothers Endurance

    Ariella took a detour to the infirmary, even though her father had mentioned he would visit in the morning. She couldn¡¯t ignore the urge to check on him and see how he was doing. Still wearing her clothes and linens from earlier, and despite being told to change into something more royal, she made her way to the Cathedral District, accompanied by her handmaids. Shaya Traidor, the head of the group, led Elizabeth Kelley and Freya Kelley as the others. Snow fell gently on the city, and though it was past midday, a glimmer of sunlight pierced the overcast sky. Winters in Tyrana always carried a sense of melancholy, and Ariella found the mood fitting, reflecting her own feelings in the moment.


    She wished she could go alone, but being a royal princess in the city meant she was always under scrutiny. Even in the serene Cathedral District, with its grand cathedrals and breathtaking architecture¡ªcrafted by the finest dwarven stonemasons from the Dwarven Kingdom of Barrum¡ªeyes were always watching. An entourage was required, even for a quiet stroll.


    As they walked in silence, Ariella¡¯s mind wandered to Jaxton. She imagined him holding her in a warm, comforting embrace, his strong arms shielding her from her sorrows. A small smile touched her lips at the thought of his reassuring presence. Despite his humble beginnings and his blacksmith¡¯s build, he always knew exactly what to say or do. He understood her in a way few people did. Ariella preferred his quiet company over anything royal or grand.


    Lost in her thoughts of Jaxton, she barely noticed Shaya approaching her side. "What are you thinking about, your highness?" Shaya¡¯s voice was soft, almost melodic.


    Ariella hesitated for a moment, then quickly deflected, "Darion. I¡¯m just wondering if he¡¯s okay." It wasn¡¯t entirely a lie¡ªhe was in the back of her mind.


    Shaya nodded. ¡°I heard Ebonwing¡¯s been guarding the infirmary entrance. Making it difficult for others to get through.¡±


    "Word travels fast in Tyrana, huh?" Ariella remarked dryly.


    Tyrana had a way of turning even the smallest piece of gossip into a spectacle, especially when it involved her or her family. When Aerimus had been publicly rejected by Princess Vesaelea and her father, it didn¡¯t take long for the whole city to know. Within days, the Kingdoms of Cassia and Ardor were in the know, followed by the Elven kingdoms of Lothlor, Ilthalas, and Selenia. It seemed like people had nothing better to do than gossip, especially about things that didn¡¯t concern them. Ariella had no strong feelings about Aerimus, but it frustrated her to think that the same people who spread rumors would never say such things to his face.


    As they neared the infirmary, they found Ebonwing curled up by the entrance, guarding it fiercely. A few townsfolk waited nearby, unable to enter, while two guards tried in vain to manage the situation.


    Ariella approached the scene, raising an eyebrow. "What¡¯s going on here?"


    The guards bowed immediately. "Your highness, we have sick and injured people needing attention. But this beast refuses to let anyone near the door."


    Ariella nodded, motioning for her handmaids to stay behind with the guards. She stepped closer to Ebonwing, who was now alert and watching her with piercing ice-blue eyes. As Ariella neared, the gryphon reared up in defense, causing the guards, handmaids, and civilians to instinctively take a step back.


    She raised her hands slowly, her voice soft. "Ebonwing, it¡¯s me. It¡¯s okay."


    The gryphon paused, her fierce stance softening almost immediately. Ebonwing approached Ariella, nuzzling her gently with her beak and letting out a soft, almost apologetic squawk. Ariella giggled. "Quite the drama queen, aren¡¯t you?" she teased, petting her.


    She continued soothing the gryphon, speaking gently. "These people need help too, girl. How about we get you to the pens? Nothing¡¯s going to happen to Darion, I promise. I¡¯m just as scary as you."


    Ebonwing¡¯s demeanor seemed to change as Ariella spoke, as though she understood every word. Gryphons were known for their intelligence, but Ariella had never fully grasped just how sharp they were.


    "Let the guards escort you to the pens for the handlers," Ariella added. "Please."


    The guards exchanged uneasy glances. One sparked up with an immediate ¡°Gods n-¡°, but his companion gave him a subtle nudge. "Of course, your highness."


    Ebonwing seemed to sense their hesitation and gave a respectful bow, as if acknowledging their fear.


    "Come with us, beast," one of the guards said, though he made no attempt to touch her. The two guards led Ebonwing away, keeping a safe distance, while she followed willingly.


    Ariella watched the interaction, unable to suppress a chuckle at their clear reluctance.


    The other guards at the infirmary began taking names and sorting the wounded or sick civilians, ushering them into the medical ward, while Ariella remained behind with her handmaids.


    "You three can go. I¡¯m safe here. There are guards," Ariella said, her voice firm.


    "What about your return?" Shaya asked, her brow furrowing.


    "I¡¯ll find an escort from the city guard¡ªor better yet, I can fend for myself," Ariella replied, the frustration edging her voice. She could barely contain it. The constant questioning was starting to wear on her.


    "I don¡¯t think¡ª" Shaya began to protest, but Ariella cut her off sharply.


    "It¡¯s an order, Shaya. Leave me." The words left her lips with a finality that surprised even her. In that moment, her tone mirrored Alistair¡¯s when he acted as King, not as a father.


    Elizabeth gently tugged at Shaya¡¯s arm, silently pleading with her to comply. The sisters, despite their reservations, understood that the princess wanted solitude. They would never dare question her authority in moments like this.


    With a scoff, Shaya reluctantly walked away, the other two handmaids trailing behind her. Ariella sensed the tension, the offense Shaya took at being commanded. As the head of her handmaids, Shaya was used to giving orders, not receiving them. While it had its uses, Ariella couldn¡¯t help but find it irksome in times like these.


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    Ariella turned and walked into the infirmary, where a monk, draped in robes and wearing a hood, approached. A bandana covered the lower half of the monk''s face¡ªmarking her as one of Loria¡¯s trained physicians. After years of study at the College, monks attained their title through expertise in treating ailments, injuries, and diseases. Although most monks were women, a few men had ascended to this status, often former soldiers who retired from service.


    ¡°How can we assist you, Your Highness? Are you well?¡± The monk¡¯s voice was gentle and empathetic.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to see Prince Darion,¡± Ariella replied.


    ¡°Of course, right this way, my lady,¡± the monk said with a nod.


    She led Ariella down a quiet hallway to a private chamber, secured with a wooden door and an iron bolt lock. A guard stood vigilant at the door, a clear indication that these were the precautions High King Alistair had put in place to safeguard his heir.


    As Ariella approached, she noticed the room was already occupied by several monks. Darion lay on his back, unconscious¡ªlikely sedated with Nightwater Essence, a potent elven substance that induced a deep, dreamless sleep. Ariella¡¯s gaze immediately fell to the large, crimson gashes on his body, evidence of the brutal attack. Three massive claw marks marred his back, surrounded by deep purple bruises. The monks worked carefully, applying various ointments and herbs to clean the wounds, while others sprayed blessed water in hopes of aiding the healing process. A few monks prepared fine linen threads, ready to stitch his wounds once they were cleaned.


    Ariella watched in silent concern as the monks continued their delicate work. The monk who had led her inside approached, holding a steaming cup of herbal tea.


    ¡°For you, my lady,¡± she said, offering the cup with a serene smile.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Ariella accepted the tea, her hands trembling slightly. She took a sip, the warmth offering her some comfort. ¡°Will he be alright?¡±


    ¡°Time will tell, Princess,¡± the monk replied softly. ¡°If we can prevent infection, he should recover fully, though we can¡¯t say when.¡±


    Ariella¡¯s heart sank. She frowned deeply, her gaze never leaving Darion. ¡°He took that wound protecting me,¡± she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.


    "I¡¯ve never seen him fight like that," she continued, remembering the way he dodged the dire bear''s attacks with surprising speed and precision, the elegance of his strikes across the creature¡¯s face. ¡°He was so... skilled.¡±


    ¡°I need him,¡± Ariella whispered, more to herself than anyone else.


    The monk placed a comforting hand over Ariella¡¯s, her gaze filled with understanding. ¡°We will do everything we can, Princess,¡± she said softly.


    Ariella nodded, her throat tight with unshed tears. She stood there, sipping her tea in silence, praying for Darion¡¯s recovery, hoping for his safe return.


    As she stared into the dimly lit room, the sound of heavy footsteps drew her attention. They thudded against the stone floor, accompanied by the familiar clatter of armor.


    ¡°Princess,¡± a voice called softly, ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to visit, but duty calls. How does he fare?¡±


    Cedric stood before her, his silver-winged helmet tucked under his arm, revealing his handsome face. Neatly trimmed dark stubble lined his jaw, fitting for the Captain of the Royal Guards. His light brown eyes and brown skin ¡ª seemingly unmarked and unblemished  ¡ª held a quiet intensity. Ariella remembered Cedric as a boy, a ward to her father. His parents, Delilah and Edward Ashford, had been killed in a bandit raid on their successful farming village, Harken, west of Stonegate. At just eleven, he¡¯d arrived in Tyrana, bloodied but unscathed, claiming he¡¯d encountered the bandits on the way.


    Cedric had become close with all three of the Elric siblings after that, almost like another brother ¡ª especially Darion. Ariella had always found his friendship with Aerimus difficult to bear, but she knew he had his duties. Cedric quickly rose through the ranks of the Royal Guard, and by eighteen, he was knighted and named captain by High King Alistair. The King had proclaimed that no man had been so gifted with the sword in over three hundred years, since the reign of High King Titos of Ardor, who had ruled over Cassia and Tyrancia.


    For a time, Ariella had convinced herself that Cedric might be the perfect suitor ¡ª strong, impossibly handsome, noble, wise, and loyal. Yet, despite her advance, he had rejected her, his heart already spoken for by another ¡ª Olivia Parlour, the daughter of Arvin Parlour, the Lord of Coin and Treasures in Tyrana. Ariella knew that even if Cedric had ever reciprocated her feelings, he would never be accepted as her match, for his name carried no political weight.


    ¡°They said that if they can prevent the infection, he¡¯ll make a full recovery in time,¡± Ariella said calmly, her voice steady. The presence of Cedric beside her provided a sense of comfort. In time, she had come to see him as another Darion, after the infatuation had faded and their bond grew deeper.


    ¡°Aerimus or Father haven¡¯t seen him yet, I believe,¡± Ariella added, her words laced with venom.


    ¡°Everybody grieves differently, Princess. They may feel that there¡¯s nothing more they can do right now except pray and let the skilled physicians work their healing,¡± Cedric said, his tone soothing, as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.


    Ariella didn¡¯t argue. Cedric was right, though it stung. She loved to challenge, especially when it came to family, but she knew deep down that he was speaking the truth.


    ¡°Do you remember when Darion competed in the tourney at the Grand Coliseum, a few moons ago?¡± Ariella asked, her eyes lighting up.


    ¡°He was relentless¡ªfought for hours on end and was practically unstoppable!¡± she added, a hint of excitement in her voice as the memory came alive.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t forget it. But it¡¯s different when people are fighting against a prince and the heir¡ªthey hold back. Of course, I wouldn¡¯t have,¡± Cedric chuckled.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing you weren¡¯t competing then!¡± Ariella teased, a playful smile tugging at her lips.


    ¡°Princess Circelia was there too, wasn¡¯t she? We both knew he was fighting for her hand,¡± Cedric remarked, smiling at the memory.


    ¡°And it worked. She¡¯s smitten with him. Before we left this morning, I heard she¡¯s been pestering her father to arrange the marriage within the week,¡± Ariella said, her smile softening as she spoke of their dear friend.


    ¡°Now, that¡¯s a girl in love,¡± Cedric chuckled.


    Ariella¡¯s smile faded as she looked back to Darion, who lay unconscious, his wounds attended to by the monks.


    ¡°What did you leave for, Princess?¡± Cedric asked, his confusion clear. He still didn¡¯t understand how Darion had ended up here, battered and broken.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t tell you? Not even you?¡± Ariella asked, her voice tinged with surprise. Cedric, after all, was Darion¡¯s best friend, his closest comrade. But Cedric simply shook his head gently and placed a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°Whatever the secret is¡ªand if it¡¯s yours¡ªhe must have felt it was more important than you realize,¡± he said quietly.


    Ariella stared at him for a moment, digesting his words. She trusted Darion with everything¡ªnever hesitating to share her heart with him. He had always kept secrets, but how well? She wasn¡¯t sure.


    ¡°Father knew,¡± Ariella murmured.


    ¡°He¡¯s the king, Ariella. He has spies and birds all over the city. But take comfort in this¡ªhe ignored it. Whatever it was, he chose not to intervene,¡± Cedric said, trying to offer her some peace.


    Ariella exhaled, a genuine smile curling on her lips as she glanced at the monks tending to Darion.


    ¡°That does bring me comfort,¡± she admitted softly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take my leave now, Cedric. Thank you, as always,¡± she said, her emerald eyes gleaming in the soft light filtering through the stained-glass window.


    ¡°Be well, Princess,¡± Cedric said, bowing his head.


    Ariella shook her head with a smile. ¡°How many times do I have to tell you, Cedric? You can call me Ariella,¡± she joked, her tone light.


    ¡°It¡¯s a habit,¡± Cedric chuckled.


    Turning toward the door, Ariella paused to bow to the monks and sisters, thanking them for their care of not only Darion but all of the wounded. As she was about to leave, she stopped and turned back toward one of the monks who had helped her earlier.


    ¡°Might I have a robe? It¡¯s quite cold outside, and I forgot my fur coat. Foolish of me,¡± she said, trying to sound coy, though the glint in her eye was anything but.


    ¡°Of course, Your Highness,¡± the monk said kindly, as she rummaged through a large wooden cupboard filled with spare robes. After a moment, she handed one to Ariella with a smile. ¡°This should fit.¡±


    ¡°Perfect! Gratitude!¡± Ariella said, her voice suddenly light and energized. The monk looked a bit confused by the sudden shift in Ariella¡¯s mood, but she didn¡¯t mind.


    As she draped the robe around her shoulders, Ariella felt the warmth of her disguise settle over her. This was exactly what she needed ¡ª a cover to slip through the streets unnoticed, to sneak into Smuggler''s Alley... and to see him. To see Jaxton.

 Chapter Three: A Veiled Rendezvous (Partial)

    Ariella wrapped herself in the robe she had been given, pulling the hood tightly over her head. As the sky darkened, the shadows offered her the perfect concealment. A perfect plan, she thought, a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of her lips. The disguise was clever ¡ª no one would recognize her now. She relished the feeling of triumph, but even as she embraced the thrill, she couldn''t shake the thought that in another world, Cedric Ashford might not have let her go alone. But he understood the delicate nature of the situation and wisely chose not to press the matter.


    Despite her excitement, an undercurrent of anxiety gnawed at her. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her chest, each thump as loud as war drums. Nervously, she picked at her fingernails, fighting the urge to appear too unsettled. I can¡¯t be seen, she reminded herself, I must see him. She couldn¡¯t wait to feel his arms around her, the warmth of his embrace. She pictured them together by the glow of the blacksmith''s furnace ¡ª just the thought of it brought comfort. She hated the cold, and his warmth was something she craved more than anything.


    As she descended into the city''s lower quarters, the pungent stench of excrement and urine hit her with full force. She was almost there. The smell had become somewhat familiar by now, a reminder of how far she''d come. Ariella passed an alley that sent a shiver down her spine, its unsettling darkness making her skin crawl. She forced herself to keep walking, but her gaze couldn''t help but linger on the chaotic scenes unfolding around her ¡ª strangers fornicating or fighting in the streets, people lost in a haze of cheap wine and mead.


    Her eyes flicked around, scanning her surroundings. She felt it then ¡ª the unmistakable sensation of being watched. She couldn¡¯t tell who, nor could she explain why, but the feeling was there. This place... she thought, it¡¯s terrifying and repulsive. Her grip tightened into a fist at her side, ready for anything. Her brother''s lessons rang in her mind ¡ª be ready to fight, to protect herself when necessary.


    Drunken men and women staggered past, their words slurred and unintelligible. Whether they were being aggressive, flirtatious, or simply incoherent, Ariella couldn¡¯t tell. She hastened her pace, unwilling to linger in the filth of the alley any longer.


    As she moved deeper, the sounds of scuffling reached her ears. A commotion. She followed the noise, and then she heard it ¡ª a woman¡¯s voice, desperate and pleading. ¡°Stop! Please, stop!¡±


    The cry pierced through the din of the alley, and Ariella¡¯s eyes darted.


    ¡°Stop squealing, you filthy pig! Shut your mouth!¡± the brutish man snarled.


    The scene unfolded in front of many, most of whom ignored it ¡ª such violence was all too common in Smuggler¡¯s Alley, a grim spectacle that some had grown used to. In this place, desperation often overshadowed honour and dignity.


    Ariella¡¯s eyes darted frantically, scanning her surroundings for anything she could use. Her gaze fell upon a loose brick from the crumbling structure nearby, weakened by years of neglect or shoddy construction. She picked it up, ready to strike ¡ª but then remembered the lessons her brother had taught her. Honor was everything. Striking from behind, in cowardice, was not the way. No, she would face him directly, challenge him, and show him that not everyone could be preyed upon. She wanted him to beg for mercy.


    Ariella straightened her back and whistled sharply. ¡°That¡¯s no way to treat a lady.¡±


    He rose, pants barely hanging on, and Ariella recoiled in disgust. His very presence made her stomach churn.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he muttered, his voice thick with ignorance.


    Ariella¡¯s patience snapped in an instant. In the seconds she had spent in his foul presence, she had had enough. Without hesitation, she closed the distance between them and swung the brick with all her strength, landing a brutal blow to the side of his face. Though he was larger than her and didn¡¯t fall, a deep gash split his cheek, sending shards of bone tumbling from his mouth. The watchers gasped and cheered as the melee unfolded, some hurling food and spitting as if they were in a brutal fighting pit or an arena match. The brutish man, blood dribbling from his mouth, clenched his fists, preparing for combat. His aimless swings effected by his drunken state, the cheap wine or mead he had consumed too liberally evident in his flailing movements, like a ragged piece of cloth caught in a storm.


    Ariella barely broke a sweat as she dodged his clumsy attempts to strike or tackle her. With a swift, calculated motion, she brought a rock crashing down onto his knee, eliciting a sickening crack that made him buckle. She followed up with a punch to the other side of his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.


    As the chaos around her escalated, she noticed civilians turning aggressive, likely fuelled by lost bets or the frenzy of the fight. Pushing and shoving erupted among the crowd, a burgeoning melee of violence. Spotting the woman on the ground, Ariella extended her hand, pulling her to her feet with urgency. ¡°Quickly now, we must go!¡±


    ¡°Bless you! Who are you?¡± the woman gasped, gratitude shining in her eyes as she realized she had been saved from a fate no one deserved. Ariella felt a surge of admiration from the woman, but their moment was fleeting; a squad of guards arrived to break up the brawl, giving Ariella and her newfound companion a chance to slip away unnoticed.


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    Ariella''s mind raced as they fled. She had never ventured this way before; Darion had always known the path to Harian¡¯s Smithy. Turning to the woman, she asked if she could guide her there, assuring her they would find safety and help. The woman, introducing herself as Meredith, smiled brightly. ¡°I know where it is! Many of us seek refuge there during the winter, because of its warmth.¡±


    Hand in hand, they hurried toward the smithy, Ariella keenly observing their surroundings, ready to protect Meredith.


    Upon arriving, the city was dark, snow gently falling, the streets buried in ankle-deep snow. Only the flickering flames of the occasional torch provided light, a reminder of the late hour and the desire to keep crowds off the streets.


    Ariella knocked softly on the wooden door of the smithy, both women shivering as they rubbed their arms for warmth. Jaxton opened the door, freshly finished with his work, cleaner than earlier that day, but shirtless and still damp. Ariella found herself momentarily speechless, caught in the sight of his bare chest and muscular stomach.


    ¡°Ella, what are you doing here? And who is this?¡± Jaxton asked in a hushed tone, scanning the street before ushering them inside and closing the door quickly.


    He led them to his small living quarters in the back, where a modest fire crackled, casting a warm glow. The room was simple ¡ª just enough space for a rough bed of hay, a small table, and chairs. Ariella¡¯s brow furrowed with confusion.


    ¡°Where do you bathe?¡± she inquired, noting his wet state.


    Jaxton chuckled lightly. ¡°Communal bath, Ella. Just out back and down the street.¡±


    Ariella¡¯s gaze lingered on his chiselled chest, droplets of water glistening on his skin as they raced down.


    ¡°I¡¯m Meredith,¡± the woman said, stepping forward. ¡°This lady saved my life. I owe her everything.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t we both?¡± Jaxton replied, admiration in his voice.


    Meredith glanced around the cramped quarters, realizing there wasn¡¯t enough space for all three of them. ¡°I¡¯ll go to the inn down the road. There¡¯s not much here for me, and you¡¯ve done enough,¡± she said, holding Ariella¡¯s hands tightly.


    Ariella felt concerned, wanting to plead with Meredith to stay, to keep her safe. But Meredith had been alone before and could do so again. Ariella nodded, offering a warm smile. ¡°I understand. Be well, Meredith. Perhaps we¡¯ll cross paths again.¡±


    ¡°Hold just a moment, Meredith,¡± Jaxton said, moving to the smithy counter. He returned with five gold gryphon coins, a small fortune he had earned recently. ¡°I don¡¯t have much but take this. There are good people in Smuggler¡¯s Alley.¡±


    Meredith¡¯s face lit up with gratitude as she accepted the coins, thanking Jaxton for his kindness before stepping out into the night.


    Once again, Ariella and Jaxton were alone, the air thick with unspoken tension reminiscent of their earlier embrace. Without hesitation, Ariella rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest.


    ¡°Are you all right, Ella?¡± Jaxton asked, pulling back to meet her gaze.


    ¡°It¡¯s been¡­ quite a day since I saw you,¡± she admitted. They settled onto the hay bed, Ariella recounting the dire bear, Darion¡¯s impressive melee with it, and the snowball contest she had won, and the terrible outcome that had come after.


    Jaxton listened intently, his eyes never leaving her sparkling emerald ones. He held her close, brushing his hands against her cheek before leaning in to kiss her. This time, it was slow and tender, unlike their hurried morning encounter. This was how it felt whenever they were able to sneak off alone and bide time together.


    Ariella melted into the kiss, her heart racing as they shared a passionate embrace. His lips trailed down her neck. He lifted her shirt, exposing her soft skin, he kissed her stomach and between her thighs with his tongue, twirling his tongue in a rhythm, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. She gripped his blonde hair tighter, her body succumbed to his every kiss.


    As he entered her slowly, she gasped, wrapping her legs around him, nails digging into his muscular back as he would thrust, the harder she dug, the harder he would thrust. Together, they let out joyous moans, their bodies entwined in passion.


    Afterward, Jaxton held her close and kissed her gently, stroking her cheek. Ariella nestled her head on his chest, feeling safe and content for the first time that day.


    The small flames from the cooking fire flickered, casting some warmth over them. Jaxton glanced at her with a smile, ¡°Are you hungry?¡±.


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± she replied, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm.


    Jaxton chuckled, handing her a bowl of soup he had prepared earlier.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a feast from your palace cooks, but it¡¯ll do for me.¡±


    Ariella cradled the warm bowl in her hands, the rich aroma of the soup rising to meet her. She took a sip, savouring the flavour before looking up at him with calm, appreciative eyes.


    ¡°This is delicious,¡± she said, her voice soft.


    Jaxton grinned, clearly amused and assuming she was being polite.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you think so.¡±


    ¡°I know so, Jax,¡± she replied, her tone tinged with playful sass.


    Jaxton sat beside her, his hand resting gently on her thigh.


    ¡°Do you remember a few moons ago, when I snuck into your chambers pretending to be a guard?¡± He laughed at the memory.


    Ariella¡¯s cheeks flushed at the thought. Of course she remembered. Their secret meetings had been rare, but she cherished every moment.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she said, her voice warm as she continued sipping her soup.


    Jaxton chuckled. ¡°I bumped into Aerimus that night, he was so drunk, he believed every word I said.¡±


    Ariella smirked, the memory bringing a smile to her face.


    ¡°That sounds like him. His drunkenness does have its uses, I suppose.¡±


    The soft hooting of owls drifted in from outside, and Ariella glanced up at the sky. The night had grown late, and she knew it wouldn¡¯t be long before her absence was noticed. Her handmaids would soon alert her father, and before long, the city would be locked down in search of her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to go, but I must,¡± she said reluctantly, her gaze softening.


    Jaxton¡¯s hand found hers, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. ¡°I understand, my princess.¡±


    Ariella rose to her feet and dressed quickly. As Jaxton escorted her to the door, he wrapped his arms around her once more.


    ¡°My heart will always choose you, Jaxton,¡± she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.


    ¡°And mine will always be yours, Princess Ariella,¡± he replied, his smile warm and genuine.


    With a final, lingering glance, Ariella pulled her hood over her head and left the smithy, hurrying into the night.

 Chapter Four: Whispers in the Council Chambers

    A council meeting. It was one of the few things that Prince Aerimus truly identified with. He took great pride in his role as the Warmaster of Tyrancia, even if others did not share that sentiment. As he strode into the grand council chambers, the lavish d¨¦cor immediately caught his eye. Sapphire and silver banners, emblazoned with a gryphon ¡ª heraldry of the House of Elric ¡ª adorned the walls, casting a regal atmosphere over the room. Candlelit chandeliers flickered with delicate flames, casting the chamber in an orange glow. At the far end of the room, raised upon three stone steps, stood the massive council table. Though it was smaller than the dining hall table, it was no less impressive, with intricate carvings etched into its surface. The centrepiece of the table was an elaborate map of Loria, finely engraved with intricate detail. It depicted the Kingdoms across each continent, from the distant lands of Mahargor and the Elven realms of Ilthalas, Lothlor, and Selenia, to the neighbouring kingdoms of Cassia, Ardor, and the Dwarven kingdoms of Thorgrim, Barrum, and Dol Guldor.


    The table had been a gift from King Thuron of Dol Guldor to High King Denethys of Tyrancia two hundred and thirty-three years ago, following the Dwarven Rebellion when Dol Guldor sought to expand its dominion by marching south. After their eventual surrender, Dol Guldor had been brought under Tyrancia¡¯s rule ¡ª until High King Alistair granted them independence eight years ago. The move had earned Alistair both praise and criticism; some nobles lauded his mercy and respect, while others, like Aerimus, saw it as a sign of weakness. Aerimus was convinced that Dol Guldor¡¯s rebellious tendencies had not been quelled, and he wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the dwarves rose up again.


    Around the table sat eight council chairs. Three of them were for Elrics: High King Alistair Elric, Prince Darion Elric, the Ambassador who favoured diplomacy, and Prince Aerimus Elric, the Warmaster, who commanded the military. The other seats were for Albaric Dayne the Steward, Dacian Fitzgerald the Justiciar, Arvin Parlour the Treasurer, Tomas Vorik the Spymaster, and the Captain of the Royal Guard, Cedric Ashford.


    Aerimus was the first to arrive, settling into his father¡¯s seat at the head of the table ¡ª the King¡¯s seat, larger and more opulent than the others. He poured himself a second glass of red wine, the finest in all Tyrancia, and tried his best to neaten his hair and button up his fine leather tunic. It was clear Aerimus had company before the meeting, though there was no telling how many. By the time the next councilman, Dacian, arrived, Aerimus had already drunk four cups. He leaned his head on his fist, a look of annoyance on his face ¡ª he was growing tired of waiting.


    ¡°You¡¯re sitting in the King¡¯s seat,¡± Dacian remarked, his tone edged with offense.


    ¡°Well, the King is not here, is he, Dacian?¡± Aerimus shot back, his glare sharp.


    Dacian chose not to argue, sitting down and beginning to sift through letters, papers, and books with meticulous attention. The next arrivals were Arvin Parlour and Tomas Vorik, who took their seats without delay. Tomas, a man seasoned in conflict and unafraid to stir the pot, was the first to speak up.


    ¡°Where is the King?¡± he asked, his voice laced with authority and an air of challenge.


    Aerimus turned his gaze on Tomas with the same condescending stare he had given Dacian moments before.


    ¡°My brother has injured himself,¡± he replied curtly, his voice dripping with annoyance, ¡°and my father remains in prayer for his recovery. As Spymaster, I assumed you¡¯d know this already.¡±


    He paused, his tone growing harsher. ¡°Or should I have the rats of the city do my spying for me?¡±


    A heavy silence fell over the room as all eyes turned to Tomas for a response.


    ¡°My apologies, Your Highness,¡± Tomas muttered sarcastically, not daring to escalate the tension further.


    The discussion then turned to the crown''s finances, reports from the fiefs of Tyrancia, the deployment of guards around the city, and the unrest in Smuggler''s Alley. Just as the conversation began to settle into its usual rhythm, the large wooden doors creaked open with a commanding force.


    A figure strode into the room, his footsteps firm and deliberate. Clad in fine clothes and furs, his intimidating presence was unmistakable. He wore the marks of battle ¡ª two deep scars across his face and an opaque grey eye. It was Albaric Dayne, the Steward of Tyrancia, the King¡¯s second-in-command. In council, his authority surpassed even that of Prince Darion and Prince Aerimus, despite Darion being the heir.


    Upon seeing Albaric, Aerimus hesitated, then sheepishly stood, grabbed his goblet and decanter of wine, and returned to his proper seat. Tomas Vorik snickered quietly, but Aerimus shot him a sharp glare, his patience fraying.


    Albaric took his seat with the weight of command.


    ¡°Apologies for the delay, Council,¡± he said with authority. ¡°I had duties with the King.¡±


    The council bowed their heads in acceptance, save for Aerimus, who refused to bow to anyone.


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    As Albaric was brought up to speed with the earlier discussion, a messenger suddenly entered and passed him a letter, whispering something in his ear. Aerimus¡¯ eyes sharpened, his attention fully on the Steward.


    ¡°What news?¡± he asked, his voice tight with concern. The rest of the room fell silent, waiting.


    Albaric held up a hand, signalling for patience as he read the letter. His lips moved as he absorbed the contents, then he spoke.


    ¡°Our allies in Dol Guldor have reportedly formed an alliance with the Dwarves of Thorgrim. They are said to be manufacturing weapons and armour, far beyond what would be expected in times of peace.¡±


    The council exchanged uneasy glances. The news seemed troubling, though it was unclear whether it was truth or mere rumour. After all, forming alliances and arming oneself were common practices.


    Aerimus shook his head, hand pressed to his forehead. ¡°And didn¡¯t I warn you this would happen?¡± His tone was thick with arrogance.


    ¡°Nothing has happened yet, Prince Aerimus,¡± Albaric responded calmly. ¡°We should not act in haste. Every kingdom in Loria needs an army, and we all make allies. Should we consider our pending alliance with Lothlor suspicious?¡±


    Aerimus¡¯ nostrils flared. ¡°Or your own marriage to the ¡®finest beauty,¡¯ Floria Harper of Cassia?¡± Tomas Vorik chuckled, prompting subtle snickers from the others. Aerimus¡¯ anger flared. He shot up from his chair, his face flushed red with fury, as if he were about to burst.


    ¡°Sit down,¡± Albaric commanded, his voice low but firm.


    Reluctantly, Aerimus sank back into his seat. He could feel the eyes of the council on him, but he was resolute.


    ¡°Last I checked,¡± Aerimus said through clenched teeth, ¡°Lothlor and Cassia didn¡¯t rebel and try to take our lands.¡±


    His point was clear, and Tomas even nodded in subtle acknowledgment.


    ¡°You make a valid point, Aerimus,¡± Albaric conceded. ¡°Though it¡¯s been over two hundred years, some wounds never heal.¡±


    Albaric then suggested that Tomas deploy more spies to investigate Thorgrim and Dol Guldor, seeking further intelligence. As Dacian nodded off, his head drooping to the side, Albaric slammed his fist on the table, rousing the elderly councilman from his slumber. Dacian blinked awake, quickly offering his apologies.


    ¡°I will speak with the Warmaster on this matter. Excuse us,¡± Albaric announced, gesturing for the others to leave.


    Once the other Councilmen left the room, it was only Albaric and Aerimus remaining. Alone.


    Aerimus braced himself for the worst, straightening his posture in anticipation of Albaric¡¯s reprimand. But that confrontation never came. Instead, he watched as Albaric carefully scanned the room, his eyes darting about as if ensuring no servants or guards were eavesdropping.


    ¡°Relax, Your Highness,¡± Albaric said with a touch of understanding in his voice.


    ¡°I happen to agree with you. About¡­ many things,¡± he continued, his tone shifting to one of deep contemplation.


    Aerimus frowned, confusion clouding his thoughts. What exactly was Albaric agreeing with?


    ¡°I believe the Dwarves will march, and soon we will have no choice but to act. Ardor will not favour us; they will not intervene. Even if they did, I doubt your father has the strength to withstand what¡¯s coming,¡± Albaric added, his words laced with subtle cunning. He smiled at the thought.


    Aerimus remained silent, the weight of the words settling heavily upon him. Was this treachery against his father, or was Albaric offering him an opportunity to seize power? His thoughts wrestled with each other, confusion and doubt battling within his mind.


    His posture sagged, a sudden loss of confidence draining him.


    ¡°What¡­ what do you mean by this?¡± Aerimus asked, his voice shaky.


    Albaric leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower, each word more calculated than the last. ¡°Your noble father¡ªwhen has he ever truly cared for you, boy? He prays for Darion, but would he do the same for you? He¡¯s forcing you into a marriage with some fat princess from Cassia, while Princess Ariella runs around like she¡¯s already queen.¡± His words dripped with manipulation, an obvious attempt to sway Aerimus.


    ¡°After your mother, Queen Daria, passed ¡ª were they truly there for you?¡±


    Aerimus stiffened at the mention of his mother¡¯s death, the memory hitting him like a fist to the gut. He recalled the grand funeral in the Gryphon¡¯s Landing District in Tyrana, the sky as cobalt blue as his sorrow, the distant cries of seagulls mixing with the sombre murmurs of mourning from the attending kingdoms. He remembered how Darion and Ariella wept openly, their father holding them close, while he himself received only a hand on his shoulder ¡ª a token gesture of sympathy.


    His father had never been close, never shown interest beyond the duty of his title. Aerimus had always believed that.


    But his mother¡­ she had been everything to him. When Queen Daria fell ill, it was Aerimus who refused to leave her side. He had demanded the finest treatment for her, while his siblings did what they could. Darion, practical and distant, had argued with him over what could be done. Aerimus had begged Darion to join him in training, in living life, to at least try to forget the helplessness they felt as physicians did little to help their mother.


    Aerimus'' chest tightened as memories of her flooded back. A single tear welled in his eye, threatening to fall.


    ¡°What you speak of is treason, Albaric,¡± he said, his voice wavering, but his resolve firm.


    ¡°I could have you hanged, burned, or stoned for this.¡±


    Albaric smiled, arrogant and unshaken.


    ¡°True,¡± he said, sipping from a glass of wine.


    ¡°But you won¡¯t.¡±


    Aerimus¡¯ gaze sharpened.


    ¡°You understand what I¡¯m saying, boy,¡± Albaric continued, his tone low and conspiratorial. ¡°In time, you¡¯ll see. You¡¯ll understand.¡±


    ¡°He is my father,¡± Aerimus said quietly, the words leaving his lips before he could think them through. He wasn¡¯t sure if he believed it, or if he was simply saying what he thought he should.


    ¡°He is,¡± Albaric agreed.


    ¡°But would you not prefer to be the High King of Tyrana? Darion is on his deathbed. Ariella will fall into line. You¡¯ll be next.¡±


    The words hit Aerimus like a bolt of lightning. For years, he had dreamed of being the heir, of sitting upon the throne as High King. Albaric¡¯s plan made perfect sense ¡ª why not take what was his by right? But still, something held him back.


    ¡°I can¡¯t help you,¡± Aerimus said, his voice quiet, steady.


    Albaric¡¯s smile remained, unbothered. He took another sip of his wine, his expression unchanged.


    ¡°You will,¡± he said, almost amused, as Aerimus stood, his body tense with conflicting emotions.


    Aerimus¡¯ footsteps echoed down the hall as he wiped away the tear that had slipped from his eye, the weight of Albaric¡¯s words lingering in his mind. With a sharp motion, he slammed the wooden doors behind him, the sound reverberating through the empty room.

 Chapter Five: The Prince and The Blacksmith (Partial)

    As night fell over the city, the air grew still, and the hour grew late. It was only a matter of time before the castle bells rang, signalling the hour when the city would fall into slumber. The drawbridge would rise, sealing the castle from the rest of the city, and only the most vigilant guards would remain awake. Ariella knew she had little time to return before the drawbridge closed. She quickened her pace, reaching the bridge where guards stood, their flaming torches flickering in the night.


    The castle, ablaze with countless fires, looked even grander in the darkness. It was a magnificent fortress, its towering walls patrolled by guards and archers. Ariella and her brother Darion had once counted the towers ¡ª at least twenty-two in all. Their brother Aerimus, with his keen military mind, had always believed that even if the city fell, it would take a separate siege to breach the castle.


    As Ariella approached, the squad of guards straightened, their eyes sharp as they braced their halberds.


    ¡°Halt! Who goes there?¡± demanded the commanding guard, his voice stern.


    ¡°It is your Princess,¡± Ariella replied, pulling back her hood to reveal her emerald eyes and dark auburn hair. Recognition flickered across their faces.


    Immediately, the guards snapped back to attention, their stances more respectful now.


    ¡°My apologies, Your Highness!¡± the commanding guard stammered, embarrassed.


    Ariella chuckled softly, bemused by his sudden change in demeanour.


    ¡°You needn¡¯t apologize for doing your job,¡± she said calmly, offering him a warm smile as she passed, heading toward the castle gates.


    Unseen by her, the guards exchanged glances, their thoughts drifting to the mystery of winning her heart, as they lingered for the rest of their evening shift.


    Inside the castle, the halls were quiet, save for the soft sounds of servants tending to candles or cleaning. Ariella made her way to her chambers, her footsteps echoing in the solitude. Upon entering, she found her sword resting on the tabletop, next to the fruit bowl Darion had picked earlier that morning. A sense of unease settled over her as she realized she wasn¡¯t alone.


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    A dark silhouette sat in the corner of the room, his presence unmistakable.


    ¡°It is a fine sword, my child,¡± his voice rumbled, low and recognizable, even in the dimness.


    Ariella froze, her hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of the sword. She had hoped to keep this secret a little longer, but her father was too perceptive. In Tyrancia, it was forbidden for women to bear arms, and both Darion and Jaxton had warned her. Upon her return to Tyrana, Ariella had told Shaya that the sword was Darion¡¯s and to place the sword in his chambers, she was not expecting her father to discover it so soon.


    ¡°It¡­ it is not mine,¡± she stammered, her voice laced with fear.


    High King Alistair rose from his chair, using his silver gryphon-headed cane for support. His footsteps echoed as he walked toward her.


    ¡°You are a terrible liar, my daughter,¡± he said with a touch of humour in his voice, his tone calming her nerves.


    ¡°I had expected your brother to commission you a sword someday. I am not surprised.¡±


    Ariella looked at her father, a warm smile tugging at the corners of her lips, grateful for his understanding.


    ¡°I know it is forbidden,¡± she admitted. ¡°I will not use it.¡±


    ¡°I do not remember having this conversation,¡± her father replied with a teasing grin. Despite his light-hearted words, his eyes betrayed a hint of seriousness. He had decided, and he would let her keep the sword ¡ª and the secret ¡ª between them.


    He gestured to the chairs near the fireplace, inviting her to sit. As the flames crackled, warming the room, Alistair grew more serious. Ariella could sense the weight of what he was about to say.


    ¡°It is time you were betrothed, Ariella,¡± he said, his voice firm, his words final.


    Ariella¡¯s stomach twisted at the sound of those words. She had dreaded this moment, and the thought of betraying Jaxton was unbearable. She had postponed it for as long as she could, but she knew this day would come.


    Alistair placed a hand on hers, sensing her unease.


    ¡°I know this is difficult for you,¡± he said gently.


    ¡°But your brother, before all of this, asked me to name you heir in his stead. I do not know if he will recover, but I intend to honour his wish. However, you cannot remain unbetrothed. If you are to become Queen, you must secure our line.¡±


    Ariella sat in stunned silence, unable to find the words. Her father¡¯s words echoed in her mind, and she could not help but wonder who her betrothed would be.


    ¡°Our alliances with Ardor have already been severed since I rejected High King Titos¡¯ proposal for your hand,¡± her father continued, his voice steady.


    ¡°Therefore, I intend to betroth you to his son, Prince Tybalt Whitetower.¡±


    The name struck her like a cold wind. Prince Tybalt was handsome, strong, literate, and the heir to one of the largest lands in Loria. Many had been surprised he had not yet been betrothed, perhaps because his father had waited for this very moment. Yet, as the words sank in, one thought consumed her ¡ª he was not Jaxton Reed.