Aria's P.O.V - City of Divina

  Another day dawned over Divina, golden light pouring into the grand halls of House Stiedry, where we now sheltered. That morning, my mother, Leo, Duchess Irene, and I gathered for breakfast in the great dining hall. The table groaned under the weight of lavish food—roasted meats, sweet fruits, and warm bread fresh from the ovens. A silent feast, until Leo, for once, decided to speak.

  "I’ve heard Alaric is leaving today, heading south?" Leo said, his voice casual, almost too casual.

  I blinked, surprised. Leo never showed the slightest interest in Alaric’s affairs. And stranger still, he had called him by name—not ‘the bastard’ as he usually sneered.

  "Yes, Your Highness," Duchess Irene answered smoothly before I could.

  "I see," Leo said simply, picking at his food with his knife.

  "Why?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

  "What do you mean? Can’t I be curious about what our dear brother is up to?" Leo replied, his tone dripping with false innocence.

  "It’s just... strange," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. "You never cared for Alaric before. And now you ask about him—and even call him by his name? It makes me wonder."

  Leo leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Perhaps because you get so frustrated whenever I call him what he truly is."

  "Enough," Queen Anna said coldly, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade. "Let us enjoy this morning without another tiresome argument."

  "Yes, Mother," Leo and I murmured in unison, though neither of us meant it.

  The rest of the meal passed in stifled silence, the clinking of cutlery against plates the only sound.

  When we finished, I rose quickly, glancing at Ser Gildas who stood waiting by the entrance. I needed to see Alaric before he left.

  "Come," I whispered to Gildas, and together we made our way through the stone corridors toward Alaric’s quarters.

  But when we arrived, we found his chambers already empty. The bed was neatly made, his few belongings gone. A young maiden tending the hallway curtsied and spoke quietly.

  "My Lady... Lord Alaric left for the Training Grounds early. He said he wished to prepare for his journey."

  I thanked her with a nod, my heart tightening. I had hoped for a few quiet moments, but it seemed even time was slipping away from me.

  "Come, Ser Gildas," I said. "Let us find him before he rides off to war."

  My P.O.V - Divina, Training Grounds

  I was already at the Training Grounds early in the morning, the cold breeze biting at my skin even through the familiar weight of my armor. Across from me, Varus and Ser Rodirik stood, deep in discussion over a worn, hand-drawn map laid across a barrel. For the first time, I would march without Ser Gildas at my side — he had been ordered to remain here in Divina, to command the defenses in case Eadric turned his retreat into an assault.

  "The march to the South will take around twenty days, depending on the terrain," Varus explained, tapping his gloved finger on the winding path sketched on the parchment. "If we encounter problems — mud, river crossings, bad weather — it could stretch to twenty-five days. After that, we'll have roughly two months to convince House Mandela before the first snows bury the southern roads."

  He paused, glancing up at me with a grave look. "Elria and the northern regions might already be feeling the cold, but it will be nothing compared to what’s coming in a month's time."

  Ser Rodirik folded his arms. "Her Grace, Duchess Irene, stressed that we must secure Mandela’s support quickly. Once winter tightens its grip, and if Eadric regathers strength, we won't be able to hold Divina for long."

  I nodded, absorbing their words carefully. "Understood. We march under a veil of secrecy. No banners. No messengers unless absolutely necessary. Eadric knows I am heading south—but he must never know when."

  "Agreed, my lord," Varus said. "I’ve already instructed our best spies to sweep Divina for any treacherous acts. There’s... something foul in the air. Someone is leaking information, but I have no hard evidence yet."

  I narrowed my eyes. "You suspect someone?"

  Varus hesitated, then shook his head. "It’s best not to speak openly here, my lord. Walls have ears. I will tell you everything once we are safely away."

  "Very well," I said, feeling the familiar coil of unease in my gut. "Stay vigilant. I trust you to root out any traitors before they strike."

  Before Varus could respond, I heard soft footsteps approaching. I turned to see Aria and Ser Gildas making their way across the courtyard. Gildas, ever the proper knight, bowed respectfully to us, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  "I heard you are leaving today," Aria said, her voice soft but steady. "We came to bid you farewell."

  Ser Gildas stepped forward. "Take care, Lord Commander. May fortune favor your march—and may House Mandela stand with us before the snows fall." His voice lowered slightly, almost regretful. "I apologize for not riding with you. Her Grace requires me here to oversee the defenses. With you gone, the city’s safety falls to me."

  "Think nothing of it, old friend," I said with a faint smile. "I leave Divina in good hands. I have Varus and Ser Rodirik with me—and you will send word the moment anything changes regarding Eadric’s movements."

  "You have my word," Ser Gildas said firmly.

  Then Aria stepped closer. For a moment, she simply looked at me, her blue eyes clouded with a mix of pride and worry.

  "Take care, Alaric," she said quietly.

  Before I could answer, she threw her arms around me, embracing me tightly. The warmth of her hug cut through the coldness of the morning. I hesitated, then wrapped my arms around her too, allowing myself, just for a heartbeat, to forget the burdens of the road ahead.

  "I'll return," I whispered to her. "I promise."

  When we parted, she smiled—a smile that carried both hope and fear—and stepped back beside Ser Gildas. Varus and Rodirik gave quiet, respectful nods. It was time.

  I turned back to my men, voice steady and commanding. "Ready the company. We march at noon."

  And with that, the final preparations for my journey south began.

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  Leo’s POV — Royal Quarters

  The heavy oak door clicked shut behind Ser Midryn as he entered, bowing swiftly.

  "Your Highness, apologies for the delay," Midryn said, his voice low. "The bastard is leaving today. This could be the perfect moment to send word to Duke Eadric."

  I rose from the cushioned chair by the hearth, setting aside the goblet of wine I’d been sipping. "Do you know how many men he’s taking with him?" I asked, keeping my voice calm, measured. "If we're to make our move, Eadric must know not just that Alaric is gone—but exactly what strength remains here to defend Divina."

  Midryn hesitated, then nodded. "From what I gathered, his host is small, no more than two thousand. Light cavalry and a few seasoned infantry. He rides with Varus and Ser Rodirik at his side."

  I paced slowly across the chamber, hands clasped behind my back, considering. "Not yet," I said finally. "Let Alaric march farther. Edward told me Eadric’s forces have been encamped for three days now—only seven days' march from Divina. If we signal them too soon, while Alaric is still close enough to double back, it would ruin everything."

  Midryn frowned.

  "So we wait?

  I nodded, staring into the crackling fire. "We wait. Another few days. Once Alaric is beyond recall, we send the word—and Divina will be defenseless enough for Eadric to strike."

  A sly smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Victory was within reach now. Father always favored Devran, and even in death, that favor clung to Alaric like a curse on my birthright. But soon, the throne would be mine. Truly mine.

  "And what of the Princess?" Midryn asked cautiously. "Aria grows suspicious. She watches you more closely each day."

  I turned sharply toward him. "I know," I said coldly. "Aria’s heart bleeds for that bastard. She’s loyal to him—but she’s soft, naive. She won't see the dagger until it's already plunged."

  "But, Your Highness... what if she speaks to the Queen Dowager?"

  A flicker of irritation passed through me. "My mother must *never* hear of this," I snapped. "Keep an eye on her. If she strays too close to the truth... deal with it quietly. No mistakes, Midryn."

  Midryn bowed lower. "As you command, Your Highness."

  I moved back toward the table, lifting the goblet once more. I savored the taste of the wine, sweeter now with the knowledge of what was soon to come.

  "Tell Edward to be ready," I said softly. "The Lion's Throne will be mine—and no bastard, no foolish sister, and no dying old knights will stop me."

  Midryn smiled thinly. "Long live King Leo."

  I allowed myself a quiet laugh.

  "Not yet," I said. "But soon."

  My P.O.V

  Once again, we departed the walls of Elria, bound for the southern lands in hopes of securing the support of House Mandela. This time, however, we left in secrecy. Only Aria, Ser Gildas, Duchess Irene, and a few trusted members of her council witnessed our departure. It was better this way — the fewer eyes that saw us leave, the fewer tongues that could betray us.

  As we rode through the southern gate, I turned back one final time. There, standing atop the walls, was Aria. She waved at me, a small smile playing on her lips despite the worry in her eyes. I returned the gesture with a nod before turning back to the road ahead. There was no room for hesitation now.

  The day dragged on, and by nightfall, we were forced to make camp. The men needed rest, and the early bite of winter gnawed at our bones as the temperature continued to drop. Around the campfire, I sat with Lord Varus and Ser Rodirik, warming our hands against the small, flickering flames.

  The wind howled across the plains, carrying with it the heavy scent of frost and distant smoke.

  "It's getting cold, my lords," Varus muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

  "Aye," Ser Rodirik said, blowing into his gloved hands. "And it will only get worse once the snows begin to fall in earnest."

  I nodded silently, staring into the fire as if it could reveal the answers I sought.

  "We must move swiftly," Rodirik continued. "Convince the Mandelas, secure their forces, and march back to Divina before Eadric regroups. Our army is divided, Lord Commander. If he strikes now, he could shatter us."

  "You’ve been quiet, my lord," Varus said, glancing toward me with concern.

  I exhaled slowly. "I am troubled," I admitted. "Eadric... I know him well enough. He will not waste this chance. The moment he confirms I am no longer in Divina, he will move. His goal is not simply to kill me — it never was. It’s to destroy the royal army while it stands isolated."

  "A sound strategy," Varus said grimly. "But also a desperate one."

  "Perhaps," I said. "But desperation breeds dangerous men."

  Rodirik leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Eadric might be a skilled commander, but he is no king. Even if he seizes the throne, he will not hold it for long. The lords may back him now, but loyalty forged in rebellion is a fickle thing."

  "Agreed," Varus said. "House Drakemont may support him today, but once the tides turn... they will abandon him without hesitation."

  I stared into the fire for a long moment, weighing their words.

  "And even if the Drakemonts fall away," I said at last, "we still face a greater threat: Messaine. Eadric has opened the door for them. If we defeat him, it may only invite a foreign crown to claim Gulvia."

  The fire crackled between us, throwing long shadows across our faces.

  "Then we have no choice," Varus said. "We secure House Mandela. We rebuild. And when the time comes, we strike not just for Elria — but for the very soul of Gulvia."

  Silence fell between us after that, heavy with the burdens yet to come. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled into the cold night, and the three of us sat quietly, feeling the weight of destiny pressing upon our shoulders.

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  Duke Eadric’s P.O.V

  The endless march weighed heavy on my bones. Days blended into nights, and yet we had not yet reached Darienport. Each step forward seemed heavier than the last.

  In truth, hesitation gnawed at me. My son, Edward, had shown me the letter sent by Prince Leo Feldyn — a tempting invitation to strike. Yet, my instincts told me to wait. I needed more than just words; I needed certainty before I gambled everything.

  And still, my thoughts wandered. I longed to see my wife one last time, to hold her hand and bid her farewell properly. But I feared I would not have the chance. Duty, once again, dragged me away.

  A knock sounded against the tent's post. Edward entered, bowing his head slightly.

  "Father, His Grace Romulus Drakemont is here to see you."

  I straightened in my seat, pushing aside the gloom. "Send him in."

  Romulus entered, his furs dusted with the frost of the cold wind outside. He gave a slight nod of respect.

  "Apologies for coming unannounced," he said.

  "No apologies needed," I replied, gesturing toward the empty chair across from me. "How are you, Romulus?"

  "Well enough," he said as he sat. "Though... how rude of me. I am sorry for your loss, Eadric. Selena was a fine woman — kind and noble to the end."

  I inclined my head, accepting his condolences silently. I had no words left for grief.

  "There may be a change of plans," I said, shifting the conversation away from mourning.

  Romulus's brow furrowed slightly. "What sort of change?"

  I took the letter from the table, the royal seal already broken, and pushed it toward him. Romulus hesitated, glancing at me for permission. I nodded once. He picked it up and read silently, his eyes narrowing as he reached the end.

  "So... it seems someone wants the throne for himself," he muttered, setting the letter down. "Yet he only promises rewards to the Dariens, not to us."

  I gave a thin smile. "Do not concern yourself with that. As long as Montaklar stands with us, I will personally see to it that Leo rewards you as well. I will *ensure* he understands the value of loyalty."

  Romulus leaned back slightly, thoughtful. "He's shrewd, I’ll give him that. Playing you against his own kin. But he is making sure he alone wears the crown."

  "Indeed. And we will let him think he is winning... until we have what we want," I said, my voice low.

  Romulus grunted approvingly. "Very well. As long as Montaklar remains stable and secure, you shall have the full military and economic support of my duchy. My men will march, and my coffers will open for you."

  "Then we have no reason to retreat anymore," I said, my voice firm. "Selena, may the gods bless her soul, would have understood. I have a duty to our people — and to her memory."

  Romulus stood. "Then I will take my leave. I will oversee the delivery of rations and weapons to your camp personally. Make good use of them."

  "I intend to," I said.

  As he turned to go, I remembered another matter. "One more thing, Romulus. I know your family has close ties with the Marcels through your brother’s marriage. I want you to arrange a meeting with Lord Robert Marcel. We must talk terms."

  Romulus hesitated for a moment. "The Marcels have long prided themselves on neutrality. It will not be easy."

  "I do not need their loyalty — only their silence," I said. "For now."

  Romulus nodded grimly. "I will try."

  "Safe travels, Your Grace," Edward said, bowing as Romulus exited into the cold night.

  As the tent flap closed, I turned to my son.

  "Edward," I said, my voice quieter now, almost weary. "Tonight... have the priests light candles for your mother at my tent. She deserves more than just a hurried prayer."

  Edward bowed his head solemnly. "Of course, Father. I will see to it at once."

  Left alone, I leaned back, staring at the tent’s ceiling.

  The march toward destiny would wait for no man — not even a grieving one.