My P.O.V - Council Hall

  The city of Divina had become a war machine. Smithies burned through the night, hammering steel into swords, spears, and arrowheads. Young men, barely past boyhood, lined up to be conscripted, while the old, hardened veterans drilled them relentlessly. The walls groaned under the weight of repairs, and every granary was being filled to its limit. Horses were rounded up, carts loaded with supplies, and the streets bustled with an air of grim determination.

  This wasn’t just preparation. It was desperation.

  Word had arrived—Eadric was only five days away. A storm on the horizon, and we were just men scrambling to hold our walls before it struck. I knew the battle ahead could not be fought in the open. A field battle against Eadric’s army would be suicide. His forces outmatched us in both numbers and experience. Our only hope lay in these walls, in dragging him into a siege and making him bleed for every inch.

  “Everything is going as planned, Alaric. Good work,” Ser Gildas said, standing beside me as we overlooked the bustling city.

  “I’ll call it a success when we survive it,” I muttered, scanning the streets below. “Until then, it’s just a delay of execution.”

  Ser Gildas sighed. “You’ve been running on nothing but willpower for days. You need to rest, lad. Once Eadric arrives, you won’t have the luxury.”

  “I am not tired, Ser Gildas.” My fists clenched unconsciously. “I am ready. This is the first time I have a real chance against him.”

  Gildas didn’t argue further, though I knew he wanted to. Instead, he just stood beside me in silence as the sound of marching boots and hammering steel filled the air.

  Moments later, the heavy doors of the council hall swung open. Duchess Irene entered, followed closely by Ser Rodirik. Gildas and I turned to greet them, offering a respectful bow as they took their seats.

  “Are the preparations on schedule?” Irene asked, her voice calm but laced with tension.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” I replied.

  Rodirik, ever the cautious one, leaned forward. “I hear Her Majesty is unwell.”

  I stiffened at the mention of the Queen Dowager. “So I’ve heard,” I answered curtly.

  “It’s nothing contagious, I hope?”

  “As far as I know, it is not.”

  Rodirik nodded, seemingly satisfied. Irene, however, tilted her head slightly. “Send our regards, then.”

  I met her gaze. “I don’t plan on seeing her.”

  There was a pause. A heavy silence. I could feel Gildas glancing at me, but I didn’t care.

  Irene studied me for a moment before nodding. “Then at least send Aria our regards.”

  That, I did not refuse. With that, they left, and I was left staring at the map of Divina, the weight of the coming days pressing down on me.

  Leo's P.O.V - Training Grounds

  The sound of clashing steel filled the air as I swung my sword, only to have Ser Midryn, my sworn protector, shake his head in disapproval.

  “Your stance is off, Your Highness,” he said.

  I exhaled sharply, frustration boiling over. “Damn it! I hate this. I should be on the throne, not wasting my time in this damned city.”

  Midryn remained composed, though I could see the amusement flickering behind his eyes. “You are right, Your Highness. But as Lord Varus wisely pointed out, now is not the time. A coronation means nothing if no one supports you.”

  “As if I needed to be reminded,” I snapped, gripping my sword tightly.

  Midryn hesitated for a moment. I caught the shift in his expression and narrowed my eyes. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know if it holds any truth, but I overheard something in the city yesterday,” he said cautiously. “There are whispers… rumors that the Messaine Empire is involved in this rebellion.”

  My grip on the sword tightened. “The Messaine Empire?”

  Midryn nodded. “The words came from a commoner, so I cannot confirm its validity.”

  I mulled over his words, my mind racing. If the Messaine Empire was truly backing Eadric, then this rebellion was no longer just a civil war—it was something far greater. If they had a hand in this, then Eadric wasn’t just fighting for the throne. He was selling Gulvia to foreign hands.

  And that was something I could not allow.

  “Did you tell anyone about this?” I asked, my grip tightening around the hilt of my sword.

  “No, Your Highness. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Varus already knows.”

  I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “That man probably knows what time you take a piss.”

  Ser Midryn smirked but didn’t reply. I turned back to the training dummy, driving my sword into it with renewed frustration. The sound of steel striking wood filled the courtyard as I worked out my anger.

  “But I am still worried, my prince,” Midryn continued, his voice lower now. “We cannot allow Alaric to put Aria on the throne. Gulvia has only had one queen, and her reign was a successful one but her death causes devastating civil war between her own children.”

  I scoffed, rolling my shoulders. “That was seventy years ago. All because Robert the Bastard named his daughter heir.”

  “She was a fierce ruler,” Midryn admitted, stepping closer. “The Iron Queen, they called her. But the realm nearly tore itself apart over her claim. Gulvia is not meant to be ruled by a woman. And now, with these rumors of Eadric making deals with the Messaine Empire…”

  I exhaled sharply, my patience wearing thin. “If Eadric is truly selling our lands to foreigners, then I will be the one to stop him. Messaine Empire thinks we are weak. I will remind them that Gulvia is still a force to be reckoned with.”

  Midryn nodded approvingly. “You must move carefully, Your Highness. The people will not rally behind you unless they see you as their rightful king.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “And they will. When this war is over, there will be no doubt. Alaric will fall, Eadric will burn, and I will sit on the throne.”

  Midryn’s smirk returned. “Now that is the king Gulvia needs.”

  I smiled coldly, gripping my sword tighter.

  Soon, the realm would bow. And if anyone stood in my way—Alaric, Eadric, or even Aria—I would cut them down.

  My P.O.V - Personal Quarters

  I sat in my quarters, flipping through the worn pages of The Great Battles of Gulvia, a history of war in Western Errissia. Every great battle, every turning point that shaped the realm, was written here—King Arthur’s Conquest, King Alexios’ brutal eight-year campaign against the Messaine Empire, Robert the Bastard’s bloody civil war, and Queen Reila’s disastrous War of the Descendants.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  What fascinated me most was King Alexios' Great Invasion of the East. With an army of seventy thousand, he had crushed an empire unknown to many in Gulvia. Yet his conquest died with him—his son Aldrick lost the eastern provinces within a decade, and the realm was plunged into chaos as Robert the Bastard rose against his own brother for the throne.

  The weight of history pressed against me. Wars never truly ended, only shifted into new battles with different names.

  Before I could read further, the tent flaps were thrown open.

  “Damn it, Aria, I told you to knock,” I said, not even looking up.

  "Knock? On my brother’s door? That would be a first," she teased, though her expression was serious.

  I set the book aside. "What is it?"

  "It’s Mother. Her health has worsened," she said quietly.

  I felt no immediate emotion—only a hollow acknowledgment. "I see. Did the court physician say anything?"

  "Nothing definitive," she admitted. "But it doesn't look good."

  I exhaled sharply. "If she dies, she dies. The kingdom will not weep for her, and neither will I."

  Aria frowned but said nothing. She had long since given up trying to make me feel differently about our mother.

  Before she could speak again, the heavy stomp of armored boots echoed outside. The tent flaps were thrown open a second time.

  "Alaric," Ser Gildas said, catching his breath. His face was grave. "Riders were found in the nearby village."

  I was already moving. I grabbed my armor, buckled my sword belt, and strode out.

  "How many?" I asked as I marched toward the council chamber. Aria and Ser Gildas followed closely.

  "Four that we know of. They tried to disguise themselves as merchants, but the villagers caught on. They’ve been captured and are being held at the outpost," Gildas explained.

  "Scouts for Eadric?" Aria asked.

  "Most likely," Gildas confirmed. "We need to question them immediately."

  "We will," I said. "But first, I want Duchess Irene and her council present. If Eadric is already this close, we may have less time than we thought."

  As we entered the hall, I pushed aside all thoughts of the Queen Dowager and the past. There was only the present, only the war that awaited us.

  My P.O.V - Council Hall

  The council chamber was filled with the familiar and powerful figures of Duchess Irene’s court. Seated at the high table was the Duchess herself, regal and composed, though the tension in her posture was clear. At her side sat Ser Rodirik of House Gardner, her stalwart Grand Marshal, his calloused hands resting on the pommel of his sword.

  To her right sat her councilors: Lord Edric Henson, the shrewd and calculating steward, Lord Solomon Janowist, the ever-pragmatic treasurer, and Lord Gendry Harrison, the silver-tongued diplomat. But tonight, there were new faces as well—Count Royland of House Marwan, a veteran of many wars, Count Genedarius of House Serrano, known for his deep coffers and even deeper ambition, and the newest allies to Irene’s cause, Countess Nadia of House Reiss and Count Gilbert of House Valerius, both having recently pledged their support.

  As for my side, only Ser Gildas, my most loyal knight, and Aria, ever determined to be involved, stood beside me.

  Duchess Irene was the first to speak, her voice cool but firm. “I expected Duke Eadric to be close, but not this close. The village where the riders were captured is only half a day’s march from Divina.”

  I leaned forward, my hands resting on the table. “We need more time. But Eadric is not a man to grant us mercy—he will strike soon and strike hard.”

  Countess Nadia, poised and elegant, raised her hand to speak. “We are doing everything we can, Lord Commander Alaric. I oversaw the construction of the outer wall yesterday—we are nearly finished.”

  “That is good news,” I acknowledged, “but we must be clear—those walls will not hold him forever. They are meant to delay his assault, to force him to suffer casualties before he reaches the main defenses of Divina. The longer he is kept outside, the weaker he will be when he finally assaults the city.”

  Ser Rodirik, arms crossed over his broad chest, nodded. “We conscripted nearly a thousand young men today. That brings our numbers to around eight thousand strong. It is not the army I would have wished for, but it is enough to make Eadric bleed before he takes this city.”

  I nodded but remained silent, allowing the others to speak.

  Duchess Irene turned her gaze toward Lord Solomon. “What of our treasury?”

  The treasurer adjusted his robes and cleared his throat. “Our coffers are well prepared for war, Your Grace. We have enough gold to sustain our army, but I strongly advise against spending further on hiring more men. The most important thing now is provisions—gold will not feed an army when the siege begins.”

  There was a murmur of agreement around the room.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “We can fight, but if we cannot eat, we will not last. Thank you, Lord Solomon.”

  “My pleasure, Lord Commander,” he replied with a slight bow of his head.

  Duchess Irene’s expression turned grim. “Then we must act quickly. The village of Parwan must be evacuated immediately—I will not have innocent lives caught in the crossfire. Scouts must be sent near Cynest to monitor Eadric’s movements. And we need spies within his camp.”

  I straightened. “I’ll see to that personally.”

  She met my gaze, searching. “I trust you will.”

  Then, turning back to the council, she continued. “The soldiers within the city must be drilled without rest. Give them sleep in shifts, but they must be prepared for when Eadric arrives. Alaric, I want you to push them as hard as you can. When the time comes, I do not want frightened boys standing on our walls—I want warriors.”

  I clenched my fist and nodded. “It will be done.”

  Silence hung in the chamber for a moment as the weight of the situation settled on us all.

  “Then that is all,” Duchess Irene said, her tone final. “The council is adjourned. I expect reports immediately.”

  One by one, the council members rose and dispersed, their minds burdened with the war that was nearly upon us.

  I remained seated for a moment, staring down at the map of Divina and the surrounding lands. The storm was coming. And when it arrived, I would be ready.

  Duke Eadric's P.O.V - Somewhere Near Cynest

  The camp had grown unnaturally quiet. Even with the hustle of soldiers preparing their equipment and their tents, the air felt heavy, as if the weight of what was to come had already begun to press on us. I paced back and forth in my tent, the sound of my boots muffled by the thick carpet beneath me, my thoughts a chaotic storm that I couldn’t control. We were two days from Divina—two days from the decisive battle, but instead of the anticipation I should’ve been feeling, all I could feel was this suffocating dread gnawing at my insides.

  Alaric’s tactics had always been sharp. I knew he would be waiting for us. He would be digging in his defenses, preparing for the siege. But there was something else, something more troubling in the back of my mind. I had felt it when we started this campaign—this sense of being trapped between two forces I couldn’t control. The deal I made with the Messaine Empire was a mistake, a mistake that might cost me everything. If I won, I would be their puppet. If I lost, the invasion would be inevitable.

  "Lord Eadric," Ser Hector’s voice cut through my dark musings. "We need to march tomorrow. Lay siege at Divina before we get delayed any further. We can’t afford to wait any longer. Winter’s coming, and it’ll change everything."

  I stopped pacing and looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like hours. He was right. We couldn’t afford any more delays. The weather would turn soon, and fighting in the snow would be disastrous. But something about the situation didn’t sit right with me. The constant marching, the tension among the soldiers—it all felt like a powder keg waiting to explode.

  Before I could speak, a messenger entered the tent, looking as though he had ridden for days without rest. His face was pale, eyes wide with the exhaustion of someone who had traveled far and fast.

  "My Lord," he gasped, dropping to one knee.

  "Speak," I ordered, my voice a bit sharper than I intended. My mind was already elsewhere.

  The messenger didn’t hesitate. "My Lord, I bring grave news. It’s Lady Selena—she’s dead."

  The words hit me with a force I wasn’t prepared for. I felt the blood drain from my face, my chest tightening in an instant. I blinked, trying to make sense of the message. My thoughts scattered, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

  "Dead?" My voice cracked, but I couldn’t stop it. "No... she was supposed to be waiting for me. She was... she was supposed to survive this."

  Edward stepped forward, a confused expression on his face. "Father, are you sure? Is this—"

  "I’ve ridden nonstop, without rest," the messenger interrupted, his voice steady despite his exhaustion. "I’ve delivered the news to you as quickly as I could. Lady Selena is dead, my Lord."

  A cold numbness swept over me. I stood motionless for too long, my mind reeling. The weight of the moment hit me like a boulder, and my body seemed to go slack. Selena, my wife—gone. I had left her when she needed me most. I had been so consumed by the war, by the campaign, that I hadn’t been there to hold her hand in her final moments.

  I slammed my fist down onto the table, the wood splintering beneath the force of my anger. "Damn it! I shouldn’t have left her side! What kind of man am I?"

  Edward took a step back, his voice wavering as he tried to find the right words. "Father, we must continue the campaign. The men are counting on you. You’ve made a commitment. You can’t just—"

  "Shut up!" The words tore from my throat before I could stop them. "I should have been there! I should have been by her side, not out here, leading a godforsaken campaign! This... this war, this kingdom—it doesn’t matter if I’ve lost her."

  Silence followed my outburst, the weight of my grief hanging thick in the air. I could feel the eyes of the others on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. All I could think about was Selena—her warmth, her smile, her kindness. I had failed her. I had failed to protect her. And now, all that remained was a hollow, aching emptiness inside me.

  "We need to retreat," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. "I need to see her. I need to be with her one last time."

  Ser Hector’s voice was firm, unwavering. "We can’t, my Lord. You already broke the morale of Irene and her people. We can’t afford to give them more time to prepare. If we retreat now, we’ll be giving them the upper hand. They’ll grow stronger, and we’ll lose this opportunity."

  I clenched my jaw, my fists trembling with the effort to keep my anger in check. "I don’t care about Irene or her people right now. I need to see my wife. I owe her that much. I should have been there for her when she needed me. Now, I won’t let her death be for nothing."

  Ser Hector’s eyes hardened, but he didn’t move. He stood his ground, his loyalty to me evident in his posture, but his concern was just as clear. "My Lord, I understand your grief. But you cannot let it cloud your judgment. If we pull back now, we risk everything. Alaric won’t hesitate to take advantage of this weakness. You know he’ll strike. You know he’ll attack us at the moment we falter."

  "I don’t care!" I shouted, finally losing my grip on my emotions. "I want to see her. I will not let her die alone in that cursed place."

  Edward stepped forward, his voice softer now, as if trying to reason with me. "Father, listen to yourself. This isn’t you. You can mourn later. But right now, Divina—this kingdom—it needs you. If you abandon it now, it will never recover. Your soldiers, your people—they’ll never forgive you. And neither will she."

  His words cut deeper than any sword ever could. My eyes burned with unshed tears, my fists still clenched at my sides. I wanted to scream, to lash out, but all I could do was stand there, trembling with rage and grief.

  "Get out of my way, Hector," I spat, my voice low but deadly. "I’m leaving, and no one is stopping me."

  Ser Hector stood still for a moment, his expression torn. He didn’t want to disobey me, but he knew what this would cost. "My Lord, please—"

  "Do not question me, Hector. I gave you an order."

  There was a long pause before he nodded stiffly. He didn’t agree, but he knew there was no point in arguing anymore. He would follow me, no matter what.

  "Prepare the men for retreat," I ordered, my voice cold. "We leave for Auria immediately."

  Ser Hector's P.O.V

  I watched as Eadric turned, his back to me, the weight of his grief and his decision pressing down on him like a suffocating force. It hurt to see him like this—broken, unraveling in front of me. He had always been a warrior, a leader, a king. But now, he was a man lost in his own sorrow, unable to see the path before him.

  The soldiers murmured among themselves, some of them confused, others disheartened. They had followed him for so long, trusted him, and now... now they saw a king who had turned his back on them. A king who had abandoned his duty in favor of a personal loss.

  And yet, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. I had fought beside him, bled beside him. I had seen the man he used to be—the man who would have never hesitated, never faltered, in the face of adversity. This wasn’t him. But there was nothing I could do to fix it. Nothing anyone could do.

  I turned away from the camp, my heart heavy with the knowledge that we had lost more than just the battle. We had lost our king. And soon, we would lose everything else.

  Alaric would never let this pass. He would strike hard and fast, and when he did, we would be vulnerable. But Eadric was already gone—lost to his grief. And I feared it was too late to save him, and too late to save the kingdom.

  THE TALE OF QUEEN: QUEEN REILA THE IRON QUEEN

  Queen Reila, born to Robert the Bastard, the forgotten king of old, was the first queen to rule over the Kingdom of Gulvia. Crowned at the tender age of fourteen, she ascended to the throne in a time of turmoil and despair. The kingdom was fractured, its strength depleted, and its people scattered. But Reila, young as she was, possessed an iron will and a mind sharper than any blade. For seven long years, she fought tirelessly to restore Gulvia to its former glory.

  The Eastern Continent, once a vital part of the kingdom, had been abandoned. The soldiers stationed there had been sent home, leaving a void that threatened to swallow the realm. Yet, through sheer determination and cunning diplomacy, Reila struck a crucial bargain with the Messaine Empire, securing peace and stability for her kingdom. Her reign was marked by unyielding strength, as she rebuilt the foundations of a fractured empire and forged a path of prosperitythat few had believed possible.

  Her success, however, came at a great personal cost. Reila ruled for 36 years, becoming the longest-reigning monarch in Gulvia’s history. Yet, her reign was cut short by illness at the age of 50, a cruel twist of fate for a woman who had fought so hard to secure her legacy. Though she passed from this world too soon, her reign had been a beacon of hope for her people, and her accomplishments would never be forgotten.

  But peace, it seemed, was never meant to last. Her death sparked a bitter and bloody conflict—the Reign of Ash and Blood, as history would come to call it. Her two sons, Prince Aldran, the rightful heir to the throne, and his younger brother, Prince Arthur, turned against each other in a fierce civil war that tore the kingdom apart. What had been built with blood, sweat, and sacrifice was now shattered in the name of ambition and power.

  The clash between the two brothers became the most devastating conflict Gulvia had ever seen, a war that stained the land with the blood of its own people. The ashes of a once-prosperous kingdom now lay in the shadow of a brutal, fratricidal struggle, and the Iron Queen’s legacy, once a symbol of unity and strength, was now overshadowed by the destruction left in the wake of her sons' rivalry.

  Thus ended the reign of the Iron Queen, a ruler who had risen from the depths of despair to restore her kingdom, only for her death to ignite a storm that would consume everything she had fought to protect.