The lion is rightly esteemed the king of mortal beasts, and the eagle the sovereign of the air; thus the gryphon, a creature bearing the virtues of both, is considered among the most powerful and majestic beings in all the world. Since the days of old, the gryphon has been chronicled in the annals of learned men as a vigilant guardian of treasures and sacred relics, a protector against the machinations of evil, the curses of witchcraft, and the whispered malignance of secret slander. Emblems of divine power and heavenly guardianship, they are celebrated in sacred writ and profane lore alike.

  The ancient sages relate that the gryphon hath a form partaking of both eagle and lion: the upper portion, that of a noble eagle, and the lower, that of a fierce lion. And true it is, for they be creatures of such figure. Yet let no man think them equal to the lions and eagles known to our lands, for one gryphon is said to be mightier by far, its strength surpassing eight lions of this side of the world and a hundred eagles such as fly in our skies. One gryphon, if fortune favors him, may seize a great warhorse in his talons and bear it aloft to his nest, or else lift two oxen yoked together from the plough, as easily as a falcon takes a dove. Their talons are as great as the horns of mighty oxen or the tines of stags, and men fashion drinking cups from these claws, while their ribs and wing-feathers are turned into bows of unparalleled strength, fit to hurl arrows and quarrels with deadly force.

  In might and grandeur they outmatch lions, and their wings confer advantage over beasts bound to the earth. They contend with wyverns, dragons, and even the fabled phoenix, and oft they prevail, such is their strength. Yet, though they bear wings, their power of flight is less than that of true birds, for they are winged not as the eagle or phoenix but in a manner peculiar to their kind. The palms of their feet are bound with red membranes, whereby they may turn and wield their limbs in flight, making swift revolutions in the air to strike their foes. Thus they are formidable in aerial battle, though their flight be not long nor high as that of the lighter fowls.

  Only the basilisk, that serpent-king of the waters of Morgar, is said to elude the gryphon’s might. For the basilisk, swifter in water than the gryphon is in air, glides like the wind itself, a creature of such cunning and speed that even the gryphon’s strength cannot avail against it.

  …

  Ser Lucius Mandeville's musings on the legend of the Gryphon?

  ???

  Mallowston, 2nd Moon, 21st Day, 1624 Symfora Telos

  …My son hates me; loathes my very presence.

  The young lord doesn't hate you, My Liege.

  Cunning beyond his age he may be, he is still a boy wet behind the ears; he will act unreasonably, more so when fearing for his life.

  With time, his lordship's dread and righteous anger shall fade and he shall surely return to his father's bosom…

  We both know he always does…

  Always will.

  …Sean repaid my benevolence with this?

  For the sake of the friendship between myself and his deceased father, I took him in and raised him as my own; when Levi showed no interest in my title I went as far as to name him my heir…

  And this is how he repays me?'

  My Lord—

  It seems I have been too lax in my ways and allowed the realm to forget the terrors of the Dark Gryphon.

  There would be a price to pay for harming my child so; their debts eternally grave…

  Pleading bloody recompense.

  The grand hall of Mallowston Fort bustled with a vibrant, restless energy, a cacophony of motion and sound that rose and fell like the tide. Servants darted to and fro, bearing platters piled high with roasted meats, crusty loaves, and spiced fruits, their faces flushed with exertion. The air was heavy with the mingling aromas of wine mulled with cloves, crackling pork, and the smoky perfume of the hearth fire, which blazed mightily at the far end of the chamber. Shadows leapt and danced across the sturdy stone walls as the flames licked hungrily at the sooty chimney.

  At the head of the long oaken table, the young lord presided, a figure both resplendent and imposing. His tunic was a rich green, embroidered with silver thread, and his cloak was trimmed with wolf fur, the trophy of some wintry hunt. His dark curls, often left in careless disarray, had been combed and oiled for the occasion, a subtle concession to the noble company gathered in his hall. His sloe-like eyes missed little, darting over his guests with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to measuring those around him.

  The first course had only just been served when a troupe of minstrels strode boldly into the hall. Their lutes and flutes rang out with songs of ancient heroes and their exploits, of love gained and tragically lost, and the guests responded with raucous applause. Some rose to dance, spinning and stamping in the firelight, while others sat back, raising their goblets high to toast the lord and his hospitality.

  In a quieter corner of the hall, four women clustered near the tapestried wall, their needles darting in and out of fabric as they worked at embroidery. Lady Vaiu sat among them, her calm demeanour a sharp contrast to the bubbling laughter of her companions—Lady Junita, her daughter’s governess, Jin, and Lovell, Vaiu’s young niece. They spoke in hushed tones, their conversation as much gossip as it was frivolity, though Vaiu’s keen gaze occasionally swept the hall with the precision of a falcon searching for prey. Aden, the absent queen, and the crown princess were nowhere to be seen, sequestered in the private chambers above.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Vaiu found herself pleasantly surprised by the evening’s gaiety, though her trained mind remained cautious. The young lord, Levi, had proven himself to be more than she had anticipated—a man of unexpected tact and surprising guile. His gaze lingered on her more than once, and when their eyes met, he offered a wry smile before rising from his seat and striding toward her.

  “Fair ladies,” he said, his voice warm as he approached, “I trust you are enjoying the evening.”

  He claimed a seat beside Jin, throwing a roguish arm about her waist. The governess blushed furiously, her glare sharp enough to cut, though she made no effort to escape his hold. Lady Junita leaned close to Vaiu, her voice low and amused. “He has taken a fancy to her,” she murmured. “The poor girl doesn’t know whether to swoon or flee.”

  Levi laughed at Jin’s discomfort, his grin wide and irreverent. “Alas,” he declared with mock despair, “I am but a man, powerless in the face of such beauty. This very morning, she sard me so thoroughly I feared I might miss my own revelry.”

  Vaiu arched a brow, her lips twitching with faint amusement. “How uncouth. I had thought your attentions were fixed on my niece, given the shadow your men have cast upon her every step since she arrived in Mallowston.”

  The young lord’s grin faltered only slightly, his gaze sharpening as it flicked to Lovell. “A necessary precaution,” he said smoothly. “What man of sound mind would allow a maiden of her stature to roam a strange town unprotected?”

  Lovell met his eyes, unimpressed. “Then I must thank you for your vigilance, my lord,” she said dryly. “Though I assure you, I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

  Levi chuckled, offering her a small bow before turning his attention back to Vaiu. “Walk with me,” he said, rising from his seat and placing a kiss on Jin’s hand with exaggerated gallantry.

  Vaiu hesitated, but curiosity won out. She followed him from the hall, through the arched stone doorway, and into the bailey beyond. The night air was crisp, carrying with it the distant sounds of the revelry they had left behind.

  “I must warn you,” Vaiu began, her tone measured, “that your father would not approve of his son pursuing dalliances with his former paramours, much less one as favoured as myself.”

  Levi’s face betrayed nothing. “You misjudge me, my lady,” he said. “Unlike my father, I have no desire to court a woman so dangerously beyond my station. I summoned you because I believe there is merit in forging a mutual understanding.”

  Vaiu stopped, turning to face him fully. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of her face, lending her an almost ethereal quality. “And what understanding do you seek, my lord? I was almost certain you would harbour no interest in The Creed. Or are you merely naive, speaking without truly comprehending the depth of the pond you intend to wade in?”

  Levi shook his head, gazing at the moonlit sky. "At present, I do not presume to avoid entanglement with you or your... Creed. I harbour no quarrel with your order, but how can I be certain of that in the future? I have many plans and need to be certain their execution would not culminate in me blundering into your path or simply making myself a nuisance to be removed by proxy. For this reason, I seek to establish communication now to preemptively avert conflict."

  "...What do you propose?" the matriarch asked, intrigued.

  “I would see a representative of the Creed in my court,” Levi replied. “Someone to act as a liaison, to ensure that my actions and yours do not cross purposes as well as communicating whatever proposals I feel my benefit us both. In exchange, I will offer the Creed legitimacy within my domain—chapels, freedom from taxes, and permission to collect tithes openly. However, does the Creed possess sacred texts or scriptures of some manner?"

  "Aye, we do," Vaiu affirmed, producing a finely crafted tome from her garments. The earl accepted it, flipping through its pages.

  "I do have one condition," he continued. "The version of this scripture used to influence my people must undergo scrutiny and alterations as deemed necessary before it is circulated in the chapels. Additionally, these chapels must be overseen directly by my court to prevent any discord between our organizations."

  "You intend to defile the Creed's sacred text?" Vaiu inquired her tone growing stern. The young lord chuckled, motioning for her to relax.

  "Defile?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Nay, nay. I merely insist that my people are not indoctrinated into believing the Creed holds supreme authority within my domain. That I cannot abide. This is why the Creed has struggled to gain traction in Udoris; no ruler would tolerate such a challenge to their sovereignty. Neither shall I. However, I am willing to compromise, hence the need to amend your scriptures before they are allowed into circulation. A reasonable compromise, if you value this alliance.”

  For a long moment, she regarded him in silence, searching his face for some hidden motive. “I will consider it,” she said finally.

  Levi bowed, a glimmer of triumph in his gaze. “Then we have the beginnings of an accord. As a show of good faith, I shall ordain the erection of the foremost three chapels within mine demesne: Faywyn, Mallowston, and Towleigh. Furthermore, I grant leave for The Creed to promote me as a faithful adherent, thereby enhancing your influence.”

  Vaiu smiled thinly, her mind already racing ahead. She knew him not to be witless; there must be some grand design he aimed to advance for him to give up so much, yet it eluded her scrutiny, vexing her greatly.

  "Then must I offer you thanks," replied the Matriarch, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "To neglect such kindness would be churlish, hence I impart unto you tidings of worth. Lord Tristan, the Lion of Khule, marshals a host of no less than two thousand, set to march eastward to lay claim upon Aden's domains. The full muster of his forces shall be dispatched to you in writing come morn."

  "An host of two thousand, you say?" quoth the earl, a smirk playing upon his lips. His merriment puzzled Vaiu, leaving her mute, pondering its meaning.

  "...A queer fellow you are, Levi," she spoke at last, a smile creeping upon her countenance. "I anticipate our collaboration eagerly."

  ???

  Helsbury, Verum

  The hall of the castle was cloaked in a somber quiet, broken only by the muted clatter of utensils and the occasional rustle of fabric as a servant moved to refill a goblet or clear a dish. Upon the long table, simplicity held sway—modest linen draped the surface, and plain pewter plates bore the fare. The food was hearty, if uninspired: a roasted fowl glistening faintly with fat, accompanied by boiled root vegetables and thick slices of bread. A steaming tureen of stew sat near the center, its earthy aroma mingling with the faint tang of the plain greens that served as salad. Candlelight danced upon the stone walls, casting erratic shadows that played across the worn tapestries.

  "I have decided," King Lendar de Scymeaster said at last, his voice cutting through the subdued atmosphere like a blade. All heads turned toward him, though it was Princess Alina who bore the weight of his words. Her father’s grey eyes, cold and unyielding as iron, locked upon her.

  "You shall wed Prince Everhard," he declared, his tone brooking no dissent. No explanation followed, no tender overture to soften the blow. The words fell heavy, like a sentence pronounced by a headsman.

  Alina felt the blood drain from her face, her chest tightening as though bound by invisible chains. Her fingers gripped the handle of her fork with such force her knuckles turned white. Across the table, her half-brother Brandon let out a low, muffled chuckle, a sound that struck her ears like a whip. She could feel his gaze upon her, sharp and mocking, but she refused to look at him. She would grant him no satisfaction.

  "As you command, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice taut with effort. Every syllable was a small rebellion, masking the storm that roiled within her.

  "Do not disappoint me," the king said, his tone flat and impassive. There was no warmth in the command, no trace of affection. It was not a father’s plea, but a ruler’s demand. The words settled over her like a shroud, sealing her fate as surely as any royal edict.

  Alina lowered her eyes to her plate, staring at the food she no longer had the stomach to eat. For a long moment, her anger burned hot and bright, a flame that threatened to consume her.

  And then, as though doused by an unseen hand, the flame sputtered and died. The anger ebbed, receding like a tide, leaving behind a hollow calm. Her breath steadied. Her grip on the fork loosened.

  She glanced up at the king once more, her expression unreadable. If he noticed the shift, he gave no sign.

  He had spoken, and the world would bend to his will.