"Where Arthur rode, kingdoms bowed."

  -Gulvian Proverbs

  My P.O.V

  Prince Leo had called a council. I knew it wouldn’t be good news. As I entered his grand pavilion, the air inside was thick with tension. Leo sat on his ornate chair, his fingers drumming impatiently against the armrest. The golden embroidery on his tunic caught the candlelight, but there was nothing regal about his scowl.

  "You kept a letter from one of my vassals without informing me!" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a drawn blade.

  I said nothing. This wasn’t the first time he had tried to assert his authority over me, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  Beside him, Ser Midryn stood, silent but smirking. His mere presence was enough to make my fingers itch for my sword. Arrogant, entitled, and ever the lapdog to his prince. He was everything I despised in a knight.

  The Queen Dowager leaned forward, her cold eyes fixed on me like a predator sizing up its prey. "Keeping letters from the King is a grave offense, especially in times of war. What else have you chosen to keep from us?"

  Before I could speak, the tent flaps were thrown open, and Aria stormed inside, her frustration clear. "What is this about?" she demanded, her gaze darting between me, Leo, and her mother.

  Ser Midryn seized the moment. "Your Highness, Alaric received a letter and failed to inform His Grace. A clear act of defiance."

  Aria crossed her arms, unimpressed. "And? He did not keep it a secret. He read it before us all."

  "But he never reported it to His Grace," Midryn pressed, his smugness barely contained.

  Ser Gildas, standing near the entrance, let out a scoff. "Alaric has handled everything since this march began. Why not let him rest instead of accusing him over nonsense? This is just another attempt to make him look bad—and it’s a pathetic one at that."

  Leo’s face darkened. "Mind your tongue, old man."

  Ser Gildas met his glare without fear. "Or what? Will you have me punished for speaking the truth?" He took a step forward, his tone sharp as a whetted blade. "You sit here in your grand pavilion while Alaric ensures your survival. If it were you who asked for sanctuary, Duchess Irene would have refused outright. She has no patience for weak kings."

  Ser Midryn’s hand flew to his sword. "Watch yourself, old fool. You insult His Grace."

  Gildas chuckled darkly. "You don’t want to do that, boy. I'll kill you where you stand."

  Midryn’s face twisted in anger, but he hesitated, his fingers tightening around his hilt. He wasn’t fool enough to draw against Gildas—not here, not now.

  "Enough," I said, stepping between them. "Ser Gildas has already spoken my thoughts. If you’re done wasting my time, am I dismissed?"

  Leo clenched his jaw but didn’t argue. The Queen Dowager’s gaze lingered on me, cold and calculating. Whatever she was thinking, I didn’t care to know.

  Without waiting for an answer, I turned and left, Ser Gildas walking beside me.

  "Thank you," I murmured.

  "There is nothing to thank," Gildas replied. "Just get some rest. I can see the march has taken its toll on you."

  Aria stayed behind, saying she needed to speak with her mother. I hoped she wouldn't waste her breath.

  The night air outside was cool, but it did little to ease the heat of my frustration. The real battle had yet to begin.

  Duchess Irene P.O.V - City of Divina

  The council chamber was thick with the scent of burning candles and the murmurs of my ministers. I sat at the head of the long oak table, fingers tapping against the armrest of my chair as the messenger I had sent to Alaric knelt before me, dust clinging to his cloak from the long journey.

  "He says that?" I scoffed, arching a brow.

  "Yes, my lady," the messenger confirmed, his voice steady. "He reminded you not to forget the fealty that Lord Aldrick swore to King Valero."

  Ser Rodirik, my Grand Marshal, let out a dry chuckle. "The bastard isn’t just a skilled warrior—he has the arrogance of a prince."

  "Arrogance and confidence are not the same, Rodirik," I countered, though his words lingered in my mind. "One wins wars. The other gets men killed."

  Rodirik leaned forward, his weathered hands clasped together. "I see no reason to entertain him. The boy is a dead man walking. If we let him in, we risk drawing Eadric’s wrath. If we refuse him, Eadric will see we are not against him."

  "We have not yet received a reply from Duke Eadric," Edric, my steward, spoke up. His face was creased with worry. "But his army continues its march toward our borders. He is making no effort to mask his movements. He wants us to see him coming."

  "He’s forcing our hand," Ser Bernard added, shaking his head. "He means to make us choose before he arrives."

  "And just as we feared, Count Magerius has besieged Talbeck," another minister spoke grimly.

  A murmur of frustration rippled through the room. Magerius—one of my most troublesome vassals—had finally acted.

  "We have too many fires to put out," Ser Rodirik muttered. "Talbeck cannot hold out forever. If we send forces to relieve them, we weaken Iza’s defenses. If we do nothing, we lose a key stronghold."

  "Then what of Alaric?" Edric pressed. "If we grant him sanctuary, we risk making enemies of Eadric and Magerius both. If we deny him, we send a message to the crown that Iza is no longer its ally."

  The chamber fell into silence as all eyes turned to me. I exhaled slowly, weighing my choices.

  Both Alaric and Eadric stood at my doorstep—one seeking refuge, the other bringing the storm with him. Eadric had the advantage in numbers, in experience, in sheer brutality. Supporting the crown was the right thing to do, but right and wise were not always the same. Iza had only 6,000 men to call upon, and even now, we were already stretched thin dealing with our own vassals.

  And yet… Alaric intrigued me. A lesser man would have surrendered, bent the knee, and joined Eadric to save himself. Instead, he came to me, knowing full well the dangers that awaited him here. Either he was desperate, or he truly believed in something greater than himself.

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  "You hesitate, my lady," Ser Rodirik noted. "Are you truly considering his request?"

  I met his gaze, unwavering. "I am considering what is best for Iza."

  "Then consider this," he countered. "We do not have the strength to fight Eadric. If we shelter Alaric, we make an enemy of the man who will likely win this war."

  "And if we turn him away, we betray the crown," I said sharply. "A betrayal we cannot afford if Eadric loses."

  "Would you gamble Iza’s fate on a bastard?" Rodirik challenged.

  I held his gaze for a long moment before speaking. "Send word to Alaric. I will meet with him personally and give him my answer."

  A tense silence filled the room.

  "You would invite him here?" Edric asked cautiously.

  "Yes," I said, my voice firm. "If I am to decide Iza’s future, I will look this man in the eye before choosing his fate."

  Duke Eadric P.O.V - Military Camp on the way towards Iza

  That damn girl dares to question my presence in her domain? Irene Stiedry may hold the title of Duchess, but she is young, untested, and playing a dangerous game by entertaining Alaric. No matter. Let her pretend she has a choice. Tomorrow, I will send her a message—one that will remind her of the cost of defying me.

  For now, I have decided to let Alaric arrive in Iza unchallenged. I could have intercepted him if I wanted, crushed him between my forces before he reached safe harbor, but that is not the game I intend to play. No, I will let him march freely, let him believe he has found sanctuary. And while he basks in his false sense of security, I will set fire to everything around him.

  I will sack every fort, every town, every village that lies on my path, leaving behind nothing but ruin and suffering. Let Irene see the destruction he brings upon her lands by choosing to entertain him. Let the people of Iza curse his name for the fires that rage in their homes, for the dead left rotting on their roads. I will forge a rift between them so deep that she will have no choice but to turn against him—or fall with him.

  My army is no longer the battered force that took Lion’s Crest. In the twenty days since that siege, I have grown stronger. My son, Edward, has done well, raising a new host to replace the men we lost. Now, I command a force of fifteen thousand.

  And with that army, I will march upon Divina.

  That is where I will crush Alaric once and for all. The fool will have no choice but to stand and fight, and when he does, I will end him.

  But I must move swiftly. More and more noble houses are turning their eyes toward Alaric. If I give him time, if I allow his legend to spread unchecked, more duchies will throw their banners behind him. I know where he will go next—House Mandela, the Dukes of Mandeville. They are far to the south, a month’s march away, and preoccupied with repelling the Sami raiders who have begun their seasonal incursions.

  House Mandela alone can raise eight thousand men—more than enough to tip the balance if they stand with Alaric. I cannot let him reach them. I will strike first.

  The pieces are in motion. The war is shifting.

  And soon, the Bastard of Feldyn will fall.

  The road to Aldrickhold stretched before us, a ribbon of dirt and stone winding through the rolling hills of Iza. My men marched in disciplined columns, their armor glinting beneath the morning sun, banners snapping in the wind. The scent of damp earth mixed with the distant smoke of torched villages—a reminder to Irene Stiedry of what awaited her should she continue to defy me.

  Edward rode up beside me, his expression calm but measured. “Father, we will arrive at Aldrickhold by tomorrow. It is one of the strongest fortresses in Iza, its name a tribute to Aldrick Stiedry himself.”

  I scoffed. “A tribute? Bah. That old man is dead, and the only tribute he deserves is the ruin of his house for standing with the weakling Feldyns.” I turned my gaze to the road ahead. “We will sack it. I want Irene to look upon its ashes and understand the cost of betrayal.”

  Edward hesitated for a fraction of a second before speaking again. “There is a problem, Father. We need time to properly prepare the siege. The trebuchets and rams we used at Lion’s Crest were disassembled for the march, and reassembling them will take at least three to five days.”

  I tightened my grip on the reins. “Five days?” My voice carried just enough edge to make the men nearest to us straighten in their saddles. “I have no patience for delays. Alaric will not sit idle. If we wait too long, he and Irene may fortify Divina and gather reinforcements.”

  Edward met my gaze without flinching. “Aldrickhold is no border outpost, Father. Its walls are thick, its towers high. A direct assault without siege weapons would cost us more men than it’s worth.” He gestured toward the army behind us. “We have 15,000 soldiers, but we cannot afford to waste them. Not yet.”

  I exhaled through my nose, considering his words. Edward was no fool; he had learned well under my tutelage. Though his caution irritated me, he was right. Losing men at Aldrickhold would weaken us before the true battle at Divina.

  “Fine,” I said, my voice sharp. “We make camp, but I will not have my men sitting idle while we wait. I want the surrounding villages razed to the ground.” I turned to Ser Hector, the seasoned warrior who had once sworn his blade to Alaric. “Burn their crops, slaughter their livestock, and send the survivors fleeing toward Aldrickhold. Let Irene hear their wails before she even lays eyes on us.”

  Ser Hector studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. He had been quiet since pledging himself to my cause, and I had yet to test the depths of his loyalty.

  “You hesitate, Ser Hector?” I asked coldly.

  “No, my lord,” he replied evenly. “I was merely considering the best way to spread fear. If we kill them all, Irene will only harden her resolve. But if we leave some alive—wounded, broken—she will be paralyzed by doubt. She will question whether Alaric can truly protect her.”

  A slow smile spread across my lips. “Good. See that it is done.”

  Ser Hector nodded and turned his horse, riding off to carry out his orders.

  Edward, however, shifted uneasily in his saddle. “Father, if we destroy the lands surrounding Aldrickhold, we may make it more difficult to sustain our own men once we take it.”

  I gave him a withering look. “Do you think I plan to garrison it? Aldrickhold is not my goal—it is a message. I want Irene to know what awaits her if she defies me. If she bends the knee, we move forward. If she does not…” I let the words hang in the air.

  Edward nodded, though I could tell he still had reservations. “Very well. And what of Alaric?”

  I sneered at the name. “Let him march into Iza unopposed. Let him believe he has found safety. The moment he and his men entrench themselves, I will destroy him at Divina.” My grip tightened on the pommel of my saddle. “I want him crushed before he gains any more support. The south is in chaos with the Sami raids—House Mandela is too occupied to send men. But if we wait too long, others may rally to his side.”

  Edward remained silent for a moment, as if weighing my words. “Then we move quickly,” he said at last. “Every day we delay is another day Alaric has to gather strength.”

  I smirked. “Then let’s make sure he never gets the chance.”

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, I watched the first plumes of smoke rise from a distant village. The fires of war had begun to consume Iza, and soon, they would consume Alaric as well.

  My P.O.V - The City of Divina

  After twenty-seven days of relentless marching from Elria to Divina, we had finally arrived. The journey had been brutal—endless roads of mud and dust, exhaustion clinging to our bones like rusted chains. We had endured ambushes, disease, and hunger, and yet we marched on, driven by duty, by survival, by the promise of sanctuary. But now, standing before the gates of Divina, I wondered if that promise would hold true.

  The City of Divina was a jewel among the other Duchies, its white-stone walls towering high, crowned with silver spires that glinted in the dying light. It was a fortress of elegance, a place where both nobility and steel ruled. But I had seen many fortresses before, and beauty was no shield against treachery.

  As we rode closer, the gates creaked open with a slow, deliberate groan. A procession awaited us, their banners billowing in the evening wind—the sigil of House Stiedry, a silver stag upon a deep blue field. At their head stood Duchess Irene Stiedry, flanked by her knights and ministers.

  She was younger than I had expected, perhaps my age or a year older, but she carried herself with a grace beyond her years. Sharp-eyed, poised, and unreadable, she was a ruler who had long learned to mask uncertainty beneath a veil of confidence. She wore a deep blue gown embroidered with silver filigree, her dark hair neatly braided and crowned with a circlet of ivy and pearls. She did not look like a woman easily swayed.

  And then, in a move that caught even me by surprise, she knelt—not before King Leo, but before Queen Dowager Anna.

  The silence was palpable.

  I caught Leo’s expression tighten, his lips pressing into a thin line. Aria, standing beside me, inhaled sharply, while the Queen Dowager merely smiled—a small, knowing smile, the kind that told me she had expected this.

  "Your Majesty," Irene spoke, her voice smooth as still water, "Divina welcomes you."

  Queen Anna nodded slowly. "You honor your house by remembering its oaths, Duchess Irene."

  Irene rose with practiced elegance and turned her attention next to Aria, who stepped forward with a hesitant but genuine smile.

  "Princess Aria," Irene said with a softer tone, "it has been years since we last met. You have grown much."**

  Aria dipped her head in return. **"And you have grown into a formidable ruler, Irene."**

  Then, she turned to Leo.

  For a moment, she simply regarded him, her gaze cool and assessing. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words.

  "Prince Leo," she finally said, her tone neutral.

  Leo’s jaw tensed at the deliberate omission of "Your Grace," but he managed a tight smile. "Duchess Irene."

  A slight, polite nod. No more, no less. he had not yet decided if she would call him king.

  I saw Leo’s hand clench at his side, but he said nothing. This was Irene’s domain, and she would not be rushed into choosing her loyalties.

  Then, at last, her gaze settled on me.

  Unlike with the others, she studied me openly, unhurried, as if trying to decipher something hidden beneath the armor and grime. I met her eyes, unflinching.

  "Alaric, if I’m not mistaken?"

  I inclined my head slightly. "Indeed, Duchess."

  A faint smile played at the corners of her lips—was it amusement? Curiosity? Something else? I could not tell.

  "Your reputation precedes you," she continued, voice measured. "It is said you have carved your name into the annals of war. I would not have expected a man of battle to seek sanctuary in my city."

  "A man of battle knows when to fortify, and when to strike," I replied evenly. "Divina is a fortress, is it not?"

  Her smile lingered, but she did not answer immediately. Instead, she turned, gesturing toward the inner city.

  "Come,"she said at last. "You have all traveled far. Divina welcomes you, but I suspect you and I have much to discuss."

  I fell into step beside her, knowing that whatever awaited inside those walls, this was just the beginning.

  "Gold crowns a king, but steel crowns a bastard."

  -Gulvian Proverbs