“King Leofric the Good law stood taller than his banners.”

  -Gulvian Proverbs

  My P.O.V - The Grand Council Hall of Divina

  The Great Council Hall of Divina was thick with tension, the air itself weighted with unspoken threats and hidden ambitions. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the stone walls, dancing between the banners of House Stiedry that loomed above like silent sentinels.

  On one side, Duchess Irene stood with her council—men who had spent years advising her, men who whispered of caution, pragmatism, and survival. Ser Rodirik, her ever-loyal knight, stood beside her with a watchful gaze, his hand hovering near his sword hilt. His presence was a silent warning to those who might see Irene’s youth as weakness.

  On the opposite side, the royal delegation sat like a fractured court. The Queen Dowager Anna, regal and composed, masked her fury well, but I could see it in the slight twitch of her fingers against her silk gown. Prince Leo sat beside her, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white from the force of his own barely contained rage. Ser Midryn, his sworn sword, stood with a smirk that did little to hide his disdain for what was unfolding.

  Between them, Princess Aria sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture poised, but her eyes betrayed the anxiety she tried to suppress. Ser Gildas stood behind her, ever the silent guardian, though his sharp gaze never left Ser Midryn, as if he expected the ambitious knight to draw steel at any moment.

  I stood beside Aria, my presence an unspoken challenge. They had once cast me aside, a forgotten bastard sent to die in a war that was never meant to be won. Yet here I stood, shaping the very fate of the kingdom they had abandoned me to.

  Duchess Irene slowly rose from her seat. The hall, already silent, seemed to grow even quieter. Every eye was on her, waiting, watching. She was about to make a choice that could either secure her future or doom her house to ruin.

  “After conferring with my ministers,” Irene began, her voice clear and strong, “I have come to my decision.”

  Leo sat forward, his body tense, anticipation and arrogance warring within him. He expected her obedience, her fealty to him, the rightful king.

  But then Irene did the unthinkable.

  She stepped forward, lowered herself to one knee—not before the Queen Dowager, not before the so-called king, but before Aria.

  A ripple of disbelief spread through the hall. Murmurs broke out among the gathered nobles. Leo’s breath came sharp and uneven, his eyes widening in shock before narrowing into something far more dangerous.

  Even Aria looked taken aback, her lips parting slightly, unsure of what to say or do.

  Ser Midryn took a step forward, his hand tightening around his sword hilt, but Ser Gildas shifted ever so slightly, a silent warning that did not go unnoticed.

  Irene did not hesitate. She looked up at Aria, her dark eyes unwavering, and spoke with the weight of generations behind her.

  “I, Irene of House Stiedry, Duchess of Iza and protector of Divina, do hereby swear my undying fealty to Her Highness, Princess Aria of House Feldyn. I pledge my sword, my banners, and my people to her cause, to defend her rights and honor, to uphold the crown's justice, and to stand against all who would see it undone. From this day until my last, I am her vassal, her ally, and her sworn servant, in war and in peace, in victory and in ruin. This I vow, before the gods and my ancestors, that my house shall not break nor falter in its oath."

  The hall held its breath.

  Aria, still visibly shaken by the weight of Irene’s pledge, turned to look at me. I gave her a slow nod, urging her to respond.

  After a brief hesitation, Aria stepped forward and reached out, her fingers brushing Irene’s shoulder. “I accept your oath, Duchess Irene,” she said softly, but there was strength in her voice. “Rise.”

  Irene stood, meeting Aria’s gaze with quiet determination.

  Leo shot to his feet, his chair scraping against the stone floor. “This—this is treason,” he spat, his face dark with fury. “You dare kneel to my sister over your king?”

  Irene turned to him then, her expression impassive, her voice carrying the cold steel of certainty. “I kneel to the one who deserves the throne, not to a boy who cannot stand on his own.”

  Leo’s body stiffened, his fingers twitching, and for a moment, I thought he might strike her. But before he could act, Ser Gildas stepped forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword in warning.

  Ser Midryn, ever the loyal hound, took a step forward as well, his gaze locked onto Ser Gildas, the air between them crackling with unspoken threats.

  “Enough.” The Queen Dowager’s voice sliced through the tension like a dagger. She had not risen, had not shouted, but the authority in her tone commanded silence.

  Leo turned to her, his fury still simmering beneath the surface. “Mother, this—”

  “This is not over,” Queen Anna said, her voice calm, but her eyes told another story. There was something dangerous lurking beneath her regal composure, something calculating. “But we will not settle this here.”

  Leo clenched his jaw, seething, but he relented, though it was clear he was already plotting his revenge.

  Irene stepped back beside her council, standing tall despite the weight of what she had just done. She had chosen her path, and there was no turning back.

  As for me, I watched Leo, Ser Midryn, and Queen Anna carefully. One duchy had declared for us, but that only meant we had made new enemies.

  The war had truly begun.

  Duke Eadric's P.O.V - Somewhere near Aldrickhold

  The villages surrounding Aldrickhold now lay in ruin, their homes reduced to smoldering embers. The stench of charred wood and death lingered in the air as the last of the survivors fled behind the fortress walls. Those who did not escape in time were cut down or dragged away in chains. It was a necessary display of power—one that would send a clear message to Irene and her allies.

  I stood atop a hill overlooking the devastation, my arms crossed over my chest. The fires crackled below, their glow flickering against the evening sky. This was only the beginning.

  Edward approached, his armor dusted with soot and his expression hardened. He was young, but he had learned well from me. He had seen war, led men, taken lives. Now, he would prove that he was ready for more.

  “You will lead the assault on Aldrickhold,” I told him, my tone leaving no room for discussion. “Break their walls, burn their banners, and make sure the survivors remember who did it. Leave enough alive to spread the tale, but make certain that fort is nothing but rubble when you are done.”

  Edward nodded, his jaw set. “And if they surrender?”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Then you take their swords and burn the rest.”

  He smirked, a flash of excitement in his eyes. “It will be done, Father.”

  I watched him descend back toward the camp where our soldiers prepared for the final assault. Aldrickhold was a stronghold of House Stiedry, but without Irene herself leading its defense, it was little more than an empty shell waiting to be cracked.

  But while Edward dealt with Aldrickhold, I had another matter to attend to.

  I turned to Ser Hector, who stood silently a few paces behind me. He was a man of skill and experience, once loyal to Alaric, but now serving under my banner. He had proven himself capable, but now I would see if he was truly loyal.

  “I have a task for you,” I said, facing him fully. “You will ride north west to make contact with Count Magerius, he is currently besieging Talbeck,”

  Hector frowned slightly. “Magerius? Irene’s vassal?”

  “He is no longer hers,” I corrected him. “He is in open rebellion, and that makes him useful. I want you to secure an alliance with him. Tell him that if he swears fealty to me, he will keep his lands and his title when this is over. If he refuses, remind him that his choices are servitude under me or death beneath my banners.”

  Hector hesitated, just for a breath, before nodding. “And if he deceives us?”

  “Then you will know where his true loyalties lie, and I will send men to correct his mistake.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do not fail me, Hector. This is a test of your loyalty as much as it is a mission. Do this, and you will have your place in the new order I build.”

  Hector bowed his head slightly. “I will see it done.”

  As he strode away to prepare his men, I turned my attention back to the larger game at play. Divina would not fall easily, and I had no intention of leading the attack myself—not yet. Alaric was there, and though I would face him one day, now was not the time. Hector would be the one to take the first step. If he succeeded, I would know I could trust him. If he failed… well, there were always others who could take his place.

  But my concerns stretched beyond Divina. Two great houses still remained undecided in this war—House Mandela and House Marcel. If I could not secure at least one of them, I would be at a disadvantage.

  House Mandela was far to the south, too distant to be of immediate concern. But House Marcel… that was a different matter. Duke Francis Marcel held Varria, a land rich in resources and strategically vital. If I could win him to my side, the balance of power would shift.

  I would not wait for him to come to me. I would act first.

  “Prepare a letter,” I ordered my scribe. “I will write to Duke Francis Marcel myself. If persuasion does not work… then I will take Varria by force.”

  The war was far from over, but with each passing day, I was shaping its outcome. And soon, all of Gulvia would kneel before me.

  Here’s an improved and expanded version of your scene with richer dialogue and deeper characterization:

  My P.O.V - Training Grounds of Divina

  After Irene swore her oath to Aria, a small feast was held in the Great Hall of Divina to celebrate the alliance. Laughter and music filled the air, nobles and knights toasting to their new pact. But I had no interest in festivities.

  Instead, I found solace in the training grounds, the rhythmic clash of steel against wood keeping my mind sharp. The cold night air stung my skin, the sweat on my brow mixing with the dust from the worn floor. Each strike of my blade was measured, precise—a habit forged through years of war.

  Footsteps echoed behind me, halting my movements. I turned to see Irene standing there, arms crossed, watching me with mild amusement.

  “Why aren’t you at the feast?” she asked.

  I lowered my sword, catching my breath. “I’m not fond of crowds,” I admitted. “Socializing isn’t for me, my lady.”

  She smirked. “You are an odd man, Alaric. Most would be drinking and celebrating their victory, yet here you are, working yourself to the bone.”

  I merely shrugged. “War isn’t won by lifting goblets.”

  She stepped closer, her gaze sharp. “That is why I respect you.” She studied me for a moment before continuing, “I agreed to support you in this war, but our fight has only begun. One of my vassals, Count Magerius, still defies me. He has joined Eadric’s cause and besieges my lands. I plan to strike back at dawn. And I want you to lead my army.”

  I froze, taken aback by the offer. “You would entrust me with your forces?”

  She nodded. “You have more battlefield experience than most commanders in this realm. My soldiers will follow you.”

  It was a heavy responsibility, but I had long since stopped questioning why people placed their trust in me. I nodded in acceptance.

  A flicker of satisfaction crossed her face as she handed me a wooden cup filled with ale. “I assume you drink?”

  I took the cup but did not raise it to my lips. “A little, but not tonight. I need a clear head for tomorrow.”

  Irene took a sip from her own cup before speaking again. “My father used to tell me stories about you,” she said, her tone more contemplative now. “He served in the Third Border War. He saw you on the battlefield—just a boy of thirteen fighting alongside men twice your age. Not just any boy, but the king’s son.”

  I looked away, gripping the cup tighter. “There is no honor in that,” I said quietly. “I was forced into that war. It was an exile, nothing more. I never understood why my father sent me there. Perhaps he thought I would die.”

  Irene sighed, swirling the ale in her cup. “And now look at the state of the realm. House Mandela faces the Sami raiders, the one we have invaded six years ago and the lands we fought over in that war are as barren as ever. That war cost us thousands of lives, and for what? No gains, no justice. That is why Eadric fights now. He—”

  I cut her off, my voice edged with bitterness. “Eadric fights for himself.”

  She blinked, surprised by the sharpness in my tone.

  I stepped forward, meeting her gaze. “If he truly cared about the soldiers who died, he would have sought justice through the council, through diplomacy. But he didn’t. Why? Because justice is not his goal—the crown is. He manipulates grief and anger, twists it into a cause, but it’s all a mask for his ambition.”

  Irene held my stare for a long moment before letting out a slow breath. “Perhaps you’re right,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s winning.”

  “Not for long,” I said. “Tomorrow, we take the fight to him.”

  She studied me for a moment longer before nodding. “Then may the gods watch over us, Alaric.”

  I watched as she turned and walked away, her silhouette fading into the torchlight. I stood there for a while longer, gripping the hilt of my sword, listening to the distant sound of laughter from the feast.

  Tomorrow, there would be no more celebrations. Only war.

  After the celebration, the Castle of Divina fell into silence. The great hall, which had been filled with toasts and laughter, was now quiet, save for the occasional footsteps of patrolling guards. The torches flickered low, casting long shadows against the cold stone walls.

  But while the castle slept, I remained awake.

  I never slept before a battle. Not truly.

  There was always a feeling in my gut—part anxiety, part restless anticipation. Perhaps it was the uncertainty, the knowledge that tomorrow could be my last. Or perhaps it was something else entirely, something I had never allowed myself to dwell on.

  I sat by the narrow window of my chamber, watching the darkened city below. The streets of Divina were still, save for the faint glow of a lantern here and there. The wind carried the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs beyond the city walls.

  Then came a knock at my door.

  I sighed. “Come in.”

  The door creaked open, and Aria stepped in, a smirk tugging at her lips. Ser Gildas followed, his expression amused.

  Aria folded her arms as she studied me. “You’re awake. Again.”

  I gave her a look. “And you’re surprised?”

  She chuckled. “Not in the slightest.”

  Ser Gildas leaned against the doorframe. “A soldier who doesn’t sleep before battle. I’d call it foolish if I didn’t do the same in my younger years.”

  I smirked slightly but said nothing.

  Then Aria’s gaze turned mischievous. “I saw you earlier,” she said casually, her tone laced with teasing. “Speaking with Irene.”

  I sighed, already dreading where this was going. “And?”

  Aria grinned. “And I think she’s interested in you.”

  Ser Gildas let out a low chuckle. “Aye, I noticed that too.”

  I scoffed, shaking my head. “Oh, come on. That was nothing.”

  Aria raised an eyebrow. “Nothing? You don’t usually sit and talk with noblewomen, Alaric. In fact, you actively avoid them.”

  I shot her a flat look. “Because I have better things to do.”

  Aria leaned in slightly. “Mhm. And yet, you sat there, listening to her, drinking with her.”

  I frowned. “It was a conversation, Aria. A strategic discussion.”

  “Ah, so discussing war and tactics late at night over a drink isn’t intimate now?” She smirked.

  I groaned. “You are impossible.”

  She laughed. “Oh, look at you. Normally, you’d dismiss the idea outright. But now? You’re flustered.”

  “I am not,” I said, perhaps too quickly.

  Ser Gildas chuckled again. “Irene’s an intelligent woman, lad. And she clearly respects you.”

  I scoffed. “She respects my ability to wage war, nothing more.”

  Aria tilted her head. “Is that what you think?”

  I exhaled. “Even if she were interested, it wouldn’t matter.”

  “Why not?”

  I shot her a sharp look. “Because I am a bastard. A duchess can’t marry someone like me. She’d be the laughingstock of the realm.”

  Aria rolled her eyes. “You are the son of a king, Alaric. That means something.”

  I clenched my jaw. “No. It means nothing. I am a stain on the king’s name, nothing more.”

  Silence settled between us for a moment. Then Ser Gildas sighed.

  “You’re impossible, lad,” he muttered.

  Aria’s teasing expression softened. “I just want to see you live a life beyond all this.”

  I exhaled slowly, my gaze drifting back to the window. “My fate is on the battlefield.”

  Aria shook her head. “I used to think like that too, you know. That my life was meant to be dictated by duty, that I had no choice in what would bring me happiness. But then I realized something.”

  Ser Gildas nodded. “Aye. I once thought the battlefield was all there was, too. But the happiness family brings? It is greater than any victory in war.”

  I looked away, jaw tightening.

  Aria stepped closer. “You can’t understand it because you’ve never allowed yourself to try.”

  I swallowed hard. I had spent my life in war, in bloodshed. I didn’t know what life beyond that looked like.

  And maybe… that was the problem.

  “Justice is a blade that cuts both ways.”

  -King Leofric the Good