The sun dipped below the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the marble halls of Velgrave's royal palace. King Alaric of Elaria stood in the grand chamber, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on the ornate tapestries that depicted Velgrave's storied past. The weight of his decision pressed heavily upon him.
King Theron of Velgrave entered, his presence commanding. "Alaric," he greeted, his voice measured.
Alaric turned, nodding. "Theron. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
Theron gestured to a nearby table, where a decanter of wine awaited. "Let's dispense with pleasantries. What brings the King of Elaria to my court unannounced?"
Alaric hesitated, then spoke, "Elaria is on the brink. Vex's forces grow stronger each day. My advisors counsel war, but I see the futility. I propose a union—Elaria becomes a vassal state under Velgrave. In return, you provide military support to quell Vex's uprising."
Theron raised an eyebrow, swirling the wine in his glass. "A bold proposition. And what of your people? Your legacy?"
Alaric's gaze dropped. "Better a legacy tarnished than a kingdom in ruins."
Theron considered, then nodded. "Very well. We'll draft the terms. But know this, Alaric—Velgrave does not tolerate weakness."
——————————————
King Theron motioned for the chamber doors to be closed, then poured himself a second glass of wine before leveling his gaze on Alaric.
"There's something you should know," he said, the edge in his voice colder than diplomacy typically allowed. "Vex came to Velgrave."
Alaric's eyes widened, the color draining from his face. "What?"
"She arrived without warning" Theron sipped slowly. "She didn't ask for permission. She didn't need to."
Alaric swallowed hard. "What did she say?"
"She said she didn't want war with Velgrave. That she has no interest in conquest—for now. Her words were regal, polite, precise… but make no mistake. Every word was a warning."
He leaned closer. "She made it clear she remembers everything. She said if we dare to stand in her way—if anyone does—they'll be burned down to ash. And gods help us, Alaric… I believe her."
There was a long pause. Alaric looked as though he'd aged a decade in the span of a minute. "Then you know why I'm here. I can't win against that. I won't even pretend to try. If you don't help me… she'll make an example of us."
Theron folded his hands, thoughtful. "She's not seeking our heads yet. She's seeking acknowledgment. But if we delay… if we insult her by resisting… that grace will disappear."
Alaric exhaled shakily. "Then you understand why I offer vassalage. Elaria will kneel if it means survival."
Theron nodded. "Good. But don't mistake this alliance for safety. You're already playing catch-up."
............
Rhydir, Crown Prince of Velgrave, had never been one to settle into the calm stillness of the palace. The weight of his lineage was often an invisible but ever-present force upon his shoulders, but today, it was different. Today, something in the air felt wrong. A subtle unease that twisted in the corners of his mind, pulling at the edges of his thoughts. It was as if the winds of the kingdom had shifted, and he could feel the coming storm before it even broke.
He had heard whispers from the servants, casual words caught in passing, of meetings behind closed doors—of his father, King Theron, discussing matters that were meant to remain hidden from him. Rhydir could feel the pressure building, the hunger for answers gnawing at his insides. The walls of Velgrave's palace were cold, unyielding—reminders of a kingdom's power, but also of its isolation. He knew there were things happening within these walls that were meant to be kept from him.
His steps were quick as he strode down the long marble corridors, the soft echo of his boots bouncing off the ancient stone. His sharp gaze darted across the flickering torchlight as he approached the war chamber—his father's council room. It was where the kingdom's most important decisions were made, the heart of Velgrave's political machinery. Today, however, Rhydir felt as though he were walking into a trap.
The heavy wooden doors loomed ahead. Without hesitating, he pushed them open. The sight inside was exactly what he had feared—his father, King Theron, seated at the head of a large wooden table, engaged in conversation with none other than King Alaric of Elaria. At the other end of the table, the Duke of Westmoor, Malric, was seated, his face tight with concern.
Rhydir's entrance was sudden, his boots thudding heavily on the stone floor as his gaze swept the room. His voice rang out, cold and sharp. "Father, what is the meaning of this?"
King Theron looked up, his brow furrowed in surprise at his son's sudden interruption. "Rhydir, this is a matter of state. It's not for your ears."
Rhydir's lips curled in a sneer as he stepped forward. "A matter of state? Or a matter of betrayal?"
The room fell into an awkward silence. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, as Rhydir's eyes locked onto his father's. The words came out like venom. "You're aligning with Elaria. The kingdom that seeks to destroy her."
Theron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a rare moment of unease showing on his face. "It's not as simple as you think, Rhydir."
"Not simple?" Rhydir's voice rose, anger dripping from every word. "You're willing to sacrifice Velgrave's honor and integrity for a fragile, false peace. For a kingdom that would see her burn. That would see Vex—the woman I—" His throat tightened, but he pressed on, "—I will not stand by and watch her be destroyed, not for the sake of politics."
King Alaric, ever the diplomat, tried to interject, his voice smooth but laced with arrogance. "Prince Rhydir, this alliance ensures peace. Without it, we risk total war."
Rhydir's eyes narrowed, fury brewing in his chest. "Peace built on betrayal is no peace at all."
Theron stood abruptly, his hands gripping the sides of the table as if to steady himself. "This is politics, Rhydir. You're thinking with your heart, not your mind. Sacrifices must be made."
Rhydir shook his head, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. "No. Not like this. Not Vex." His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with the force of his rage. "I will not be a part of this treason. You're selling your soul for a temporary alliance. And for what? To maintain your fragile hold on power?"
Theron's expression hardened, the weight of years of rule pressing down on him. "You do not understand. You are not yet king. You do not understand the responsibility of leadership, Rhydir."
"And you don't understand what it means to protect what matters most!" Rhydir's voice cracked with emotion, his restraint finally slipping. "I will not betray her, not for your damn politics!"
Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the room, his anger seething, burning in his chest like an unquenchable flame.
⸻
The night was thick with the weight of his decision. Rhydir's steps were heavy as he made his way back to his chambers. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more chaotic than the last. He could still feel his father's cold, calculating gaze on him, the sharp sting of his words echoing in his ears.
As he reached his door, he heard the sound of a soft knock. His pulse quickened. It was too late for anything official, too late for courtly manners. His eyes narrowed as he opened the door to reveal Seraphine, the royal spymaster, standing before him. Her face was unreadable, a mask of stoic professionalism, but Rhydir saw the subtle tension in her shoulders.
"Your Highness," she said quietly, her voice low and careful. "I was… hoping to speak with you."
Rhydir stepped aside, his gaze flickering with curiosity as he allowed her in. He couldn't place why he felt an unsettling feeling in his gut when she was around. But there was something else in the air now, something thick with the weight of unspoken words.
"What is it, Seraphine?" he asked, his voice flat, betraying none of the emotion that had just threatened to spill over.
She hesitated for a moment before speaking again, her words careful but loaded with intent. "I'm sure you heard of the alliance. With Elaria."
Rhydir's jaw tightened at the mention of the kingdom that had caused him so much torment, and that he now saw as the key to his heart's torment as well. "I heard. I don't agree with it."
"Neither do I," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Rhydir's brows furrowed as he studied her, confusion clouding his thoughts. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," she paused, her eyes flickering with something close to regret, "I do not agree with the crown prince's approach. I do not agree with this alliance. With Alaric's kingdom. I would rather see Velgrave rise with honor."
Rhydir stared at her for a moment, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "You—" He trailed off, not knowing how to finish that sentence. "Why are you telling me this?"
Seraphine's gaze softened, a glimmer of sincerity flickering in her eyes. "Because you are not the only one who sees through the lies. I know who you are, Rhydir. And I know what you stand for."
She stepped closer, and for a brief moment, Rhydir thought he saw a flicker of something more—a bond , a comradeship that had never been there before. It felt strange, but for reasons he couldn't quite understand, he trusted her. Perhaps because he had seen the ruthlessness she wielded, the loyalty she had to Vex and her nation, the sharp intelligence behind her every word. Maybe, just maybe, she could be the ally he needed in this fight.
Rhydir's lips curled into a tight, controlled smile. "And what do you suggest, Seraphine?"
She met his gaze steadily, no hesitation in her voice. "I suggest we stop playing politics. I suggest we find a way to make things right."
Rhydir's breath caught in his throat. There was no mistaking the meaning of her words. And for the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of hope, however small.
But hope was a dangerous thing, wasn't it? It had always been Vex who had inspired hope in him, Vex who had made him believe that he could fight for something beyond his duty. And yet, even in the face of betrayal, Rhydir could not stop caring. He could not stop loving her.
"Vex won't give up," he murmured, almost to himself.
"She doesn't have to," Seraphine replied. "Not if we stand with her."
⸻
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken promises and dangers yet to come. Rhydir looked up, his gaze hardening with resolve. The decision had been made. There would be no turning back now.
"I will make sure of it," he said firmly.
Seraphine nodded. "I will help you."
......
The fire crackled behind them, casting long shadows along the chamber walls. The silence between Seraphine and Rhydir had stretched, not uncomfortably, but with weight. Decisions had been made. Loyalties declared. And yet, something still scratched at the back of Rhydir's mind.
He turned his head toward her, eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, but in curiosity.
"You switched to her side pretty fast."
Seraphine raised an eyebrow. "Did I?"
"You were never exactly… fond of people," Rhydir said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "And you didn't trust her at all during the rebellion."
"I didn't know her," Seraphine replied plainly, her tone clipped and matter-of-fact. "Now I do."
Rhydir folded his arms. "That's it? You meet her once, and suddenly you're willing to throw your support behind her like she's some divine revelation?"
"She's not divine," Seraphine said, her voice dry. "She's competent. Ruthless. Smart. And she doesn't waste time pretending to be anything she's not."
He tilted his head. "So you like her because she's you?"
Seraphine gave him a flat look. "Don't be ridiculous. She's much prettier."
Rhydir blinked.
Seraphine didn't elaborate.
"…Right," he said slowly, eyes narrowing in that way that said he was now re-evaluating everything he thought he knew. "So this is admiration?"
Seraphine exhaled. "This is strategy. She's the only one worth backing. But yes—if you're asking if I respect her, I do. And if you're asking why I trust her, it's because she doesn't lie. Not even when it would benefit her."
He studied her in silence for a beat longer. Then—"Do you always throw your political weight behind pretty women who set kingdoms on fire?"
There was the briefest twitch of her lips—barely there, almost not a smile. "Only the ones who could kill me with a look."
Rhydir snorted despite himself. "So that's your type, huh?"
"Better than yours," she said, coolly. "Yours likes to break kingdoms and hearts. Mine just breaks kingdoms."
He gave a low, appreciative hum. "You know, you could've just said you're not into men."
"I'm not into most people," Seraphine corrected. "But yes. I don't like men. They're too loud, too self-important, and they bleed arrogance like it's perfume."
Rhydir smirked. "And women?"
"They bleed ambition," she replied. "And usually smell better."
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "You're something else, Seraphine."
"And yet, here I am. Risking my neck for your bloody fire goddess."
Rhydir glanced at her then, more serious. "Why really? You could've walked away."
Seraphine's gaze lingered on the flames. "Because I've served kings who killed for power they didn't deserve. I've watched women be devoured by the courts they built. And then she walks in—bleeding, burning, vengeful—and I realize… maybe we were always just waiting for someone like her."
A quiet settled between them again.
"You're not afraid?" Rhydir asked.
"Of her?" Seraphine glanced his way. "Of course I am. That's the point."
He nodded once, slowly. "She scares me too."
"She should."
His jaw flexed. "But she's mine to fear."
Seraphine paused, studying him. Rhydir didn't flinch, didn't look away. His voice dropped—calmer, but steel underneath.
"And gods help the next bastard who thinks they can touch her like she isn't."