"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—if 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—whether 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—practical, 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—even 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—”

  “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—perception 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.”

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  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—shoulders squared, feet planted—but 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—studying 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—if 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—House 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.

  —Eadric

  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—preparing 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—he 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—one 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—he had made that clear in their previous conversations—but 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—one 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)