The couple exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Caspian moved first, lunging forward with a feint to test his father’s reflexes. Ulric deflected the blow effortlessly, his sword moving like an extension of his arm.

  Sylra circled to the king’s flank, her movements swift and precise. She darted in with one of her daggers, aiming for an opening, but Ulric twisted and parried, forcing her to retreat.

  “You fight well,” Ulric said, his tone almost approving. “But is it enough?”

  Caspian pressed the attack, his twin blades striking in rapid succession. The hall echoed with the clash of steel as he drove his father back step by step. Ulric’s defenses, however, were impenetrable. He countered each strike with precision, his movements fluid and controlled.

  Sylra seized the opportunity, darting in again to slash at the king’s exposed side. This time, her blade found purchase, grazing his armor and drawing a thin line of blood. Gasps erupted from the crowd, but Ulric merely grunted, his expression unchanging.

  “You have spirit,” he said, his voice calm despite the cut. “But spirit alone does not win wars.”

  The king retaliated with a powerful sweep of his sword, forcing Sylra to dive out of the way. Caspian intercepted the next blow, their blades locking in a test of strength. “You underestimate us,” Caspian growled, his muscles straining against his father’s.

  Ulric smirked. “Do I?”

  With a sudden surge of strength, he broke the lock, sending Caspian stumbling. Sylra leapt to his defense, her daggers flashing as she deflected a blow aimed for his chest. Together, they fell into a rhythm, their movements synchronized as they worked to exploit the gaps in Ulric’s defenses.

  Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Sweat dripped from their brows, and their breaths came in ragged gasps. Yet they fought on, their determination unyielding.

  Finally, in a moment of coordinated brilliance, Sylra feinted high while Caspian swept low, his blade connecting with the back of his father’s knee. Ulric staggered, and Sylra’s daggers crossed at his throat in a flash.

  The hall fell silent.

  Ulric froze, his sword lowering as he regarded the pair with an unreadable expression. Then, slowly, he smiled—a rare, genuine smile that softened his stern features.

  “You’ve proven your point,” he said, his voice steady despite his defeat. “Your bond is strong, your convictions unshakable. I will honor our agreement.”

  The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound echoing through the grand hall as Caspian and Sylra stepped back, their weapons lowering. They exchanged a glance, relief and triumph shining in their eyes.

  Ulric sheathed his sword, nodding to his son. “You’ve earned this, Caspian. But remember—victory comes with responsibility. Protect what you’ve fought for.”

  Caspian nodded, his arm slipping around Sylra’s waist. “We will.”

  As they left the hall together, the weight of their victory settled over them. The road ahead would not be easy, but they would face it as they always had—together.

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  The Stumbling Wyvern was alive with celebration. The warm glow of lanterns bathed the room in golden light, and the air was thick with the sounds of laughter, music, and clinking tankards. The scent of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and spiced ale filled the tavern as patrons crowded the tables, sharing in the joy of a hard-fought victory.

  Sylra moved between the guests, her smile brighter than anyone had ever seen. She wore a deep emerald dress—a gift from Caspian that accentuated her fiery hair and amber eyes. Though she tried to maintain her usual hostess duties, every step she took was met with congratulations, laughter, and the occasional boisterous cheer.

  Caspian sat at a central table, his tunic rumpled but his expression radiant. His twin swords rested against the chair beside him, a reminder of the battle that had led to this night. A steady stream of adventurers and locals approached to shake his hand or offer their thanks. He accepted each gesture with a humble smile, though his gaze often wandered to Sylra, his pride in her clear.

  Old Gregor raised his mug high, standing unsteadily on his chair. “A toast!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din. “To Prince Caspian and Sylra, our champions of love and stubbornness!”

  The room erupted into cheers, mugs clashing together as ale spilled over the edges.

  Calen and Mira joined the toast, their faces glowing with happiness. Mira leaned against Calen, her arm looped through his. “It’s not every day you see a prince fight for love,” she said with a grin.

  “And win,” Calen added, lifting his drink.

  At the bar, Sylra finally found a moment to breathe. She leaned against the counter, her cheeks flushed from both the heat of the room and the emotions of the evening. Caspian appeared at her side, slipping an arm around her waist.

  “Taking a moment to admire your kingdom?” he teased, his voice low and warm.

  She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she looked around the room. “I wouldn’t call it a kingdom. But tonight... it feels like home.”

  Caspian turned her gently to face him, his expression softening. “You’re incredible, you know that? You’ve built something here that’s worth fighting for. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”

  Sylra’s smile wavered, emotion catching in her throat. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “We did it together, Caspian. This isn’t just my home anymore—it’s ours.”

  The moment was interrupted by a familiar voice. “Oi, lovebirds!” Old Gregor called, waving them over. “Don’t get too cozy. You’ve got a tavern full of people who want to celebrate with you!”

  Laughing, they returned to the center of the room, where the crowd welcomed them with open arms.

  The music grew louder as a bard struck up a lively tune, his fingers flying over the strings of his lute. Patrons began to dance, forming circles and pairs as the rhythm picked up. Caspian, emboldened by the moment, grabbed Sylra’s hand and pulled her into the center of the room.

  “Caspian, I’m terrible at dancing!” she protested, laughing as he spun her.

  “Then I’ll lead,” he said with a grin, twirling her again before pulling her close.

  Despite her protests, Sylra found herself swept up in the music, her laughter mingling with Caspian’s. Around them, the patrons clapped and cheered, their joy infectious.

  As the night wore on, the celebration showed no signs of slowing. Stories were shared, songs were sung, and toasts were made in abundance. The Stumbling Wyvern felt alive, not just as a building but as the heart of a community united by love, loyalty, and resilience.

  Sylra and Caspian stole a quiet moment on the balcony overlooking the bustling tavern. The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the warmth inside. Sylra leaned against the railing, her hand clasped in Caspian’s.

  “What now?” she asked softly, looking up at him.

  “We relax and take it all in. You have my father’s blessing. This is a huge deal. I can barely wrap my head around it. . We’re officially partners now: Caspian spoke

  “Whatever the future holds, we’ll always be together” Sylra said as they both gazed at the stars of the quiet moonlight.