"A wise ruler listens twice as much as he speaks."

  -King Leofric the Good

  My P.O.V - Sleeping Quarters, Divina

  Sleep had eluded me again. It always did before a battle.

  As I stepped out of my quarters, the crisp morning air did little to chase away my exhaustion. The castle was already stirring—servants hurried through the halls, banners fluttered in the wind, and the scent of fresh bread mixed with the metallic tang of sharpening steel.

  The Great Hall was already full when I arrived. Duchess Irene and her council—Edric, Gendry, and Soloman—were gathered around the long table, a map of Iza spread before them. Aria and Ser Gildas stood beside me, the only members of my host in attendance.

  Queen Anna and Leo were nowhere to be seen. Typical. Leo had always been too arrogant to bother with military strategy, and the Queen Dowager likely saw this council as a waste of time.

  Duchess Irene’s voice carried through the hall. “Count Magerius continues his siege of Talbeck Castle. If he succeeds, Divina’s right flank will be exposed. Our defenses will collapse.” Her tone was composed, but her fingers curled against the table’s edge, betraying her frustration. “We also have reports confirming that Eadric has taken Aldrickhold.”

  Murmurs spread through the council. Aldrickhold was a strategic fort, and its loss meant Eadric’s forces had gained a foothold closer than we had hoped.

  “How long until he reaches Divina?” I asked.

  “Ten days at least,” Ser Rodirik answered. “But that is not our most pressing issue. If Talbeck falls, Divina will be vulnerable from two sides.”

  “How many men have we raised?”

  Irene exhaled. “Three thousandare ready to march. However, an additional fifteen hundred levies under Count Royland and Count Genedarius remain trapped inside Talbeck.”

  Aria frowned. “And Magerius?”

  Gendry, the diplomat, answered grimly. “More than four thousand men. Far more than he should have.”

  “He’s being funded,” I muttered.

  Soloman, the treasurer, scoffed. “That much is clear. But Eadric wouldn’t waste coin so recklessly on a single siege. Someone else is backing Magerius.”

  “Someone who wants us weakened before the real war begins,” Edric added. “But we don’t have time to find out who. Our focus must be on breaking the siege.”

  I nodded. “I don’t intend to wipe out Magerius’ forces entirely. If we can turn him, we gain four thousand men instead of losing them.”

  Aria stiffened. “Alaric, you want to negotiate with a traitor?”

  “We need his army.”

  She hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. But I don’t trust him.”

  “We don’t have to trust him,” I said. “Only make him useful.”

  “Breaking his siege won’t be simple,” Ser Rodirik noted. “Talbeck’s defenders have held so far, but they won’t last forever.”

  Irene crossed her arms. “Count Magerius is no fool. He knows Talbeck is the key to Divina’s fall. He will not retreat easily.”

  “We make him retreat, then,” I said. “We have the advantage of surprise. If we march at dawn, we can reach Talbeck in two days.”

  Edric nodded. “The men are ready, Duchess. They await their commander’s orders.”

  I met Ser Gildas’ gaze, and he gave me a small nod.

  “Then we march,” I declared.

  As the council was dismissed, Aria grabbed my arm. “Alaric.”

  I turned to her.

  “You… you will be careful, won’t you?”

  I hesitated. “I always am.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “No, you’re not.”

  I sighed. “Just stay close to Ser Gildas. He’ll protect you.”

  She scoffed but didn’t argue.

  The courtyard was alive with movement as soldiers prepared to depart. Banners of Iza rippled in the wind, steel glinting in the sunlight.

  This battle would determine more than just Talbeck’s fate.

  It would decide whether we had a real chance against Eadric.

  And I intended to win this time.

  My P.O.V - Military Camp

  As the march halted for the night, we were nearly halfway to Talbeck. The camp had come to life with the usual sounds of an army settling in—men hammering stakes into the ground to secure tents, the sharpening of swords and spear tips, the murmurs of hushed conversations carried by the night wind. Fires flickered between the rows of soldiers, their orange glow casting restless shadows over the weary but determined faces of those who would fight in the coming battle.

  I stood at the edge of the camp, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The air was still, save for the distant hoots of owls and the occasional howl of a wolf. Despite my exhaustion, my body thrummed with a familiar energy. It was the same feeling I had before every battle—a sharp awareness, an edge honed from years of surviving wars I was never meant to fight.

  War was all I had ever known. On the battlefield, my existence had meaning. Here, no one cared about titles or noble blood. There were no whispers behind my back, no pointed stares labeling me a bastard. Here, there was only steel, sweat, and survival.

  But as I looked at the men around me, I was reminded of the faces of those I had lost in the Third Border War—brothers-in-arms, friends who had laughed with me around the fire one night and bled out in the mud the next. How many of these men would still be standing when the sun rose over Talbeck?

  The thought unsettled me.

  I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned to find two familiar figures approaching—Aidan and Francis. Both were dressed in chainmail with their swords strapped to their belts. Though they bore the exhaustion of the march, their postures remained upright, their expressions respectful.

  "Lord Commander," Aidan greeted with a short bow.

  I sighed. "Aidan, how many times do I have to tell you? There’s no need for formalities."

  "With all due respect, my lord, you command this army," Francis replied. "You deserve the respect that comes with it."

  I shook my head, a faint smirk forming. "You didn’t seem so formal back at Lion’s Crest."

  "We were younger then," Aidan said, smiling slightly. "We’ve learned better since."

  I studied them for a moment, remembering how we had met. Back at Lion’s Crest, they were nothing more than ordinary soldiers—raw recruits barely skilled enough to draw a bow properly. I had taken it upon myself to train them in archery, and in return, they had been the ones to help me escape when the time had come. They had saved my life.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "You both look exhausted," I noted.

  Francis exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Aye, my lord. The march takes its toll, but we endure."

  Aidan nodded. "We're soldiers. We do what needs to be done."

  I glanced at the campfires, where groups of men huddled together, sharing rations and speaking in low tones. "How are the others holding up?"

  Francis straightened his posture. "Most of the men are in good spirits, my lord. They trust you to lead them."

  Aidan crossed his arms. "But there are whispers, as there always are. Some worry that Count Magerius has more men than we expect, that this siege could turn into a slaughter."

  "Do you believe that?" I asked, watching them carefully.

  Aidan was silent for a moment before he answered. "I believe in you, my lord. You haven’t led us astray yet."

  Francis nodded. "We follow you because we know you fight for more than just power. That is why you’ll always have our loyalty."

  Their words stirred something deep within me, something I could not easily name. Trust was a rare thing in my life, and yet these men had given it to me freely.

  "Then let’s hope that trust isn’t misplaced," I murmured.

  Aidan smiled faintly. "If it were, my lord, I doubt we'd still be standing here."

  There was a quiet pause before Francis hesitated and then cleared his throat. "My lord… if I may ask, you haven’t slept, have you?"

  I let out a small chuckle. "No. I never sleep before battle."

  "Superstition?" Aidan asked.

  "Something like that," I admitted.

  The truth was, I didn’t sleep because I couldn’t. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw the faces of the dead, heard their screams, felt the blood on my hands.

  Francis frowned slightly but did not press further. Instead, he shifted the conversation. "Do you believe Count Royland and Count Genedarius can hold Talbeck?"

  I exhaled slowly. "If they hold out, we’ll strike Magerius from both sides and crush him. If they don’t… then we adapt."

  Aidan and Francis exchanged glances before nodding. "Then we will be ready for either outcome," Aidan said.

  The fire crackled beside us, sending a few embers drifting into the night sky.

  Francis offered a small smile. "If we are to fight tomorrow, my lord, we should all get some rest. Even you."

  I scoffed. "You sound like Ser Gildas."

  "Ser Gildas is a wise man," Aidan remarked.

  "Then perhaps I should have him stand in my place and lead the battle," I quipped.

  Francis smirked. "I doubt the men would approve of that, my lord."

  Aidan grinned. "Aye. They follow you, Alaric. Bastard or not, you’re the only commander they trust."

  Their words, spoken with such certainty, weighed heavily on me.

  I nodded once. "Go. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we fight."

  They bowed respectfully before turning away, leaving me alone once more.

  I remained there, staring at the horizon, listening to the quiet murmurs of the night.

  Sleep? No. I would spend this night awake. Because tomorrow, Talbeck would be bathed in blood.

  Duke Eadric's P.O.V - Aldrickhold

  The night sky was thick with smoke, blotting out the stars as flames devoured what remained of Aldrickhold. The fort, once a symbol of defiance, was now reduced to smoldering ruins, its walls blackened and crumbling, its people slaughtered or scattered like rats. The air was dense with the stench of burning wood and flesh, a pungent reminder of war’s cost—a cost I was more than willing to pay.

  Screams still lingered in the distance, those too wounded to flee, too broken to resist. I listened for a moment, the raw agony in their voices blending into the night like a morbid symphony. Some would call it cruelty. I called it necessity. If their liege had chosen wisely, they would not be here, bleeding and burning. I had no sympathy for fools who backed the wrong cause.

  Edward approached, dismounting with a practiced ease. His face was marked with soot, his armor dulled by battle. Yet his eyes—his father’s eyes—burned with something close to uncertainty. He was young, but not soft. That much, I had ensured.

  “The fort is taken,” he reported, his voice firm. “We found a cache of grain and supplies. Enough to sustain our march for another few weeks.”

  I nodded, pleased. “And the prisoners?”

  Edward hesitated, glancing toward a group of captured soldiers and civilians huddled near the ruins. They were guarded by my men, some on their knees, others tending to the wounded. A few children clung to their mothers, their faces streaked with dirt and tears.

  “Mostly civilians,” Edward admitted. “Some of the garrison surrendered once the walls fell. The rest fought to the death.”

  I studied the prisoners for a moment, considering. “Kill the soldiers. Leave a handful of civilians alive to spread word of what happened here.”

  Edward’s expression darkened, but he did not argue. He had learned long ago that war was not about mercy. It was about control. Fear. He turned to one of the captains and relayed the order without hesitation.

  A scream pierced the night as one of the captured soldiers was dragged away. The others soon followed, their fates sealed.

  Edward returned to my side. “And the rest?”

  I turned my gaze northward, toward Divina. “We let the men rest tonight, then we move at dawn. The next fort we encounter will suffer the same fate. We march through Iza like fire through dry grass.”

  Edward wiped a gloved hand across his brow. “The men are weary, Father. We’ve been fighting and marching for days.”

  I shot him a sidelong glance. “Are you growing soft, boy?”

  He straightened. “No, my lord. Only cautious. If we push too hard, we may break them.”

  I let out a short breath, amused. He was not wrong, but he needed to understand that hesitation was as deadly as a dull blade. “The men will rest. But only for tonight. War does not wait for tired soldiers.”

  Edward nodded, though his jaw tightened slightly. He would learn.

  I turned to Ser Leon, a hardened warrior who had served me faithfully for years. “Send out scouts. I want to know if Irene’s forces have made a move.”

  Roderic bowed. “At once, my lord.” He hesitated before speaking again. “And what of the treasury, my lord? We’ve taken much, but wars are won with coin as much as swords.”

  I smirked. “Send word to our allies. House Drakemont will send what is needed. If they hesitate, remind them what will happen if we lose.”

  Roderic nodded and strode off into the night.

  Edward spoke again, his voice quieter. “And what of Magerius? Do you think he’ll accept Hector’s offer?”

  I exhaled sharply. “It does not matter. If he does, we gain another dagger against Irene. If he refuses, we crush him like the rest.”

  Edward was silent for a moment. Then, “And if we win, what will become of Iza?”

  I let out a low chuckle, the firelight casting harsh shadows across my face. “Iza is of no concern to me. Once this war is over, it will belong to the Drakemonts. Let them rule over the ashes.”

  Edward did not respond immediately. He was thinking, weighing my words, perhaps questioning them. But he knew better than to voice doubt.

  I pulled the reins of my horse, turning back toward camp. “Get some rest, Edward. Tomorrow, we march again. And we will not stop until Divina is within our grasp.”

  Edward nodded, but as I rode away, I caught the briefest flicker of something in his eyes. Not fear. Not doubt.

  Something else.

  I would have to keep an eye on him.

  The road to Divina would be long and soaked in blood, but I had no intention of stopping. War was like fire, and I was more than willing to burn everything in my path.

  Here's an improved and expanded version of your scene with more depth, tension, and dialogue:

  Queen Anna’s P.O.V - City of Divina

  Sleep had eluded me for most of the night. My thoughts kept circling back to one thing—why would that bastard suddenly take such an interest in pushing my daughter Aria toward the throne?

  As much as I love my daughter, why him? Why now?

  I do not oppose the idea, of course. Aria is of my blood. But Alaric’s sudden fervor in supporting her is suspicious. He has always been dangerous—cunning, unpredictable. What is his true goal? What game is he playing?

  And then there is Varus—my most trusted spy, a man who has served me in the shadows for years. He was once unwavering in his loyalty to me. But since Devran’s death, he has started singing a different tune. He speaks of Alaric as if he were some great leader, as if he is the only one capable of saving the realm. It sickens me.

  No matter. I will remind Varus where his true loyalties lie.

  I sit in my private chamber, the candlelight flickering against the polished wood of my writing desk. The air is thick with the scent of lavender and old parchment. A cold breeze slips in through the window, but it does little to soothe my rising irritation.

  I just want this war to end. I want my children safe. But that bastard is poisoning my dear Aria’s mind. Damn him. I hope he perishes in this campaign of his. His death would clear the greatest obstacle in my path.

  A knock at the door breaks my thoughts. "Enter," I say sharply.

  Leo strides in first, his golden hair slightly unkempt, his expression hardened with frustration. Following him is Varus, dressed in dark, unassuming garb—his usual attire, blending with the shadows as he always has. His face, however, is unreadable, a mask of calm that I have long learned to distrust.

  “Mother,” Leo begins, his voice edged with barely contained impatience. “You sent for me?”

  I gesture toward the chair across from me, but he ignores it, choosing to stand instead. I turn my gaze to Varus. “Tell me, Varus, when exactly did you begin to believe that bastard is the realm’s only salvation?”

  Varus tilts his head slightly, as if he expected this confrontation. “Your Grace, I have only ever worked for the good of the realm. Prince Alaric—”

  “Don’t,” I cut him off sharply. “Do not call him a prince in my presence.”

  Varus exhales but continues. “Alaric is a seasoned warrior, a tactician with experience few in this kingdom can rival. Like it or not, he is the only one capable of holding the line against Eadric. We need him.”

  Leo scoffs. “Need him? That bastard should have never been brought back from exile!” He clenches his fists. “The throne is mine by right, Mother. Not Aria’s, and certainly not his!”

  “But no one acknowledges you, my prince.” Varus’s voice is even, but his words hit their mark. “That is the problem.”

  Leo turns on him, eyes burning with rage. “Damn you, Varus! You have been whispering poison since my brother’s death. You used to see reason, but now you cower behind that mongrel!”

  “I see reason now more than ever,” Varus replies coolly. “And so did King Devran.”

  I slam my palm against the table. “Enough!” My voice echoes through the chamber, silencing both men. “Varus, you forget your place. You serve me. Not Alaric.”

  Varus bows his head slightly, but I can see the defiance still lingering in his eyes. “I serve the realm, Your Grace. And I only speak the truth. Even the late King Devran, may his soul find peace, saw something in Alaric.”

  A sharp, cold silence follows his words.

  Devran. My beloved son.

  I close my eyes briefly, suppressing the pain that rises at the mention of his name. When I open them again, my voice is lower, more measured. “Alaric is no true son of my husband the late King Valero.”

  “No, but he is a son of war,” Varus counters. “And war is what we face.”

  Leo grips the hilt of his sword in frustration. “You think my blade is useless, Varus? That my claim means nothing?”

  Varus shakes his head. “I think the battlefield cares little for claims, my prince. It cares for strength.”

  I exhale, standing from my seat and walking toward the window, staring out at the darkened courtyard. The torches flicker below, the night watch moving through the corridors of the palace. This war is tearing everything apart.

  I turn back to them. “Leo, support your sister on this matter. If we win, there will be time to decide the future.”

  Leo’s face twists with disgust. “You expect me to bow to Aria?”

  “No,” I say softly. “I expect you to survive.”

  Varus watches me closely, studying my words. He knows me well enough to understand that I am not yielding to Alaric’s influence—I am merely playing the game.

  Leo scowls but does not argue further. He knows when to push and when to retreat.

  I glance back at Varus. “You will continue to serve me, Varus. And you will watch Alaric closely. If he steps out of line, you will report to me immediately.”

  Varus inclines his head slightly. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  But I do not trust him. Not anymore.

  As the door closes behind them, I press my fingers against my temples, willing the ache in my head to subside.

  Devran is gone. My son. My pride.

  Leo is reckless. Aria is too soft-hearted.

  And Alaric—Alaric is an enigma. A threat. A force I cannot control.

  But one thing is certain.

  I will not lose another child to this damn throne.

  "The battlefield is my throne, and my sword is my scepter."

  -King Alexios the Hungry Lion

  TALES OF KINGS: ARTHUR THE CONQUEROR

  Arthur the Conqueror was the first great expansionist king of Gulvia, a warrior and statesman whose ambition shaped the realm. He united the fractured noble houses through both war and diplomacy, laying the foundations of the modern monarchy. His campaigns pushed the Sami people beyond the Endless Mountains and deep into the vast forests, stripping them of the dominance they once held over the land.

  For ten relentless years, Arthur waged his conquest, forging a unified kingdom through blood and steel. His victories extended Gulvia’s borders further than any before him, securing lasting alliances and cementing his legend. Though a warrior at heart, he was also a masterful ruler, ensuring peace through strength. Many kings have since sought to emulate his legacy, but few have matched his vision or his might.