The council chamber had long since emptied, but the weight of its echoes still clung to me as I walked alone down the polished corridor. My heels tapped quietly against the marble, a sound too soft to match the storm of thoughts tumbling through my mind.
The discussion had ended with no resolution—just more promises of "consideration" and "further debate." Empty words spoken by men too afraid to act and women too focused on appearances to see the danger growing beneath their feet. Except for Father. He had listened. As he always did. And he hadn't dismissed me. That, at least, had anchored me through it all.
But even that couldn't keep the unease from settling in my chest.
The golden light of early evening spilled through the long windows, washing the halls in a gentle warmth that contrasted too sharply with the coldness I felt inside. I should have returned to my chambers, changed from the council gown, done anything to unwind. But instead, I turned down the old corridor that led to the east wing library—the smaller one no one ever used. The one I used to hide in as a child.
I needed silence. The kind only a forgotten library could offer.
But when I reached the doorway and pushed it open, I found I wasn't alone.
Alexander stood near the tall window, half bathed in sunlight, his profile sharp against the gold-glass sky. His armor had been replaced by a simple navy tunic and dark trousers, but he still held himself like a knight—guarded, alert. His eyes met mine almost immediately.
I blinked, caught off guard. "Do you always appear where I least expect you?"
He smiled faintly, just enough to dimple the corner of his mouth. "Or maybe you just haven't figured out where to expect me yet."
I stepped into the room, letting the door fall shut behind me. "You were in the council chamber."
He nodded once. "Your father asked me to observe. He wants someone he trusts to read between the lines."
"And he chose you?" I raised a brow. "What exactly does he think you'll see?"
"More than most in that room want seen." He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if he were still reading me the way he had back in the courtyard. "You noticed the lord's son, didn't you? The one who bristled at the mention of the Raven-Wolf rift."
I folded my arms. "You noticed too."
"I make it my business to notice the things others ignore," he said. "And something about him tells me he's not the only one quietly questioning the way things are going."
I paced slowly between the shelves, trailing my fingers along the spines of old leather-bound volumes. "It's easier for the council to pretend the division is natural. That the split between houses is something inevitable."
"But you don't believe that."
I stopped walking, turning to face him. "No. I don't."
Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn't quite comfortable. There was tension here now—an edge to the quiet, like a string pulled tight, waiting to snap.
Alexander broke it with a question, his voice low. "So, what will you do, Ria, when the time comes to choose a side?"
I didn't answer right away. The fading sun caught the dust in the air, tiny golden motes dancing between us like fireflies. I felt the weight of the crown I didn't yet wear pressing down already. The sides were forming. Lines being drawn. And I stood at the center, a girl born of Dragons and Ravens… with Wolves and Serpents pulling further away.
"I don't want sides," I said finally, quietly. "I want something better."
"Then maybe it's time you start building it."
I looked at him again—and this time, I didn't look away.
There was more than understanding in his gaze now.
There was belief.
And that… that was far more dangerous than anything else.
-
The fading sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting honey-gold streaks across the stone floor and wrapping warmth around my shoulders like a half-forgotten memory. I stood near the glass, staring out at nothing in particular, my reflection ghosted there—dark hair soft around my face, eyes too wide for the thoughts I was holding.
Behind me, I could feel Alexander still watching. He hadn't moved since the council ended.
"He was sitting near Lord Halwin," I said, finally breaking the quiet. "Blonde hair, brown eyes. Too young to be here unless he's someone's heir."
Alexander stepped closer, the sound of his boots soft against the polished floor. "I noticed him. Didn't look much like Halwin."
"No," I murmured. "He didn't."
There was something strange in the way the boy carried himself. Reserved, but not meek. Careful, but not afraid. His eyes hadn't wavered when the Lords debated the Raven-Wolf tensions. He'd stared right ahead, jaw tight. And though he said nothing—I knew that look.
"I want to know who he is," I said, turning to face Alexander fully. "Where he's from, what house he belongs to, what he stands for."
His expression didn't shift much—maybe a flicker of curiosity in those hazel eyes—but he inclined his head. "You think he's a threat?"
"Or something else." I folded my arms across my chest. "He didn't like the direction the council took today. I saw it in his face. And I can't stop thinking… what if he isn't alone?"
Alexander gave a thoughtful hum. "You think he might share your views."
"I think he's hiding what he believes. Just like I've had to." My voice dropped. "And if there are others like that—others who don't want the Houses to be at odds—we need to find them."
"Quietly, I assume," he said.
"Discreetly," I corrected. "I don't want my father asking questions yet. Not until we know more."
He nodded again, slower this time, like he understood more than I said aloud.
I looked at him then—really looked—and for a second, the weight I carried felt lighter. He didn't ask why I was so cautious. He didn't tell me to leave it alone. He just listened.
"Thank you," I said, softer than I meant to.
He smiled faintly. "You know I'm going to find out everything, right? Including what kind of wine he drinks and what color his slippers are."
I couldn't help it—I laughed, a small thing, brief but real. "You do that."
The last of the sun dipped behind the hills, casting a deep violet glow across the sky. The air was cooler now, the edges of evening creeping in.
As the silence returned between us, I found myself staring out the window again, my thoughts turning over like pages in an old book.
If he really did feel the same way—if others did—then maybe I wasn't alone in this.
Maybe the story hadn't ended. Maybe the best parts hadn't even been written yet.
And I would be there to write them.
Alexander was nearly at the door when I spoke again, the words rising before I even thought to stop them.
"Wait."
He turned, pausing in the archway with one hand still resting on the carved frame. The fading light haloed him from behind, catching the curls of his dark hair, softening the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes found mine—steady, questioning.
"Meet me tomorrow," I said. "Noon. In the northern garden. I want to know everything you find out."
He nodded once, no hesitation. "I'll be there."
Then, with the ghost of a smile, he slipped out of the room and into the quiet of the corridor beyond.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
-
I lingered in the corridor long after Alexander had disappeared from view, the gentle hum of torches casting golden halos against the cool stone walls. The council chamber door eased shut behind me with a soft thud, leaving the echoes of politics and unspoken truths where they belonged—for now.
The evening air was thick with jasmine and the faint scent of old rain on stone, the castle winding down into its quiet rhythm. I turned, letting instinct guide me instead of duty, and my feet carried me toward the one place that still felt entirely mine.
The library.
It stood like a secret nestled within the heart of the keep, tall arched windows drinking in the last of the sunlight. The golden rays of mid-evening painted the bookshelves in hues of amber and bronze, catching motes of dust in lazy spirals as if time itself had slowed.
I stepped inside without hesitation.
There was a stillness here that I craved, the kind only a room full of forgotten stories and whispered knowledge could offer. The scent of vellum, wood polish, and ink clung to the air. My fingers trailed along the spines of the books like old friends, tracing the familiar titles, pausing on the worn edges of ancient tales.
I didn't need to read tonight—not yet. It was enough to walk through the hush of this place, to feel the silence wrap around me like silk.
A full-length mirror stood tucked near the fireplace, and as I passed it, I caught a glimpse of myself in the fading light. The baby blue gown I wore shimmered like moonlit water, hugging my waist before spilling gracefully around my ankles. My hair, long and chestnut-brown, cascaded over my shoulders in gentle waves, a few tendrils catching the dying light like threads of bronze.
My eyes—soft yet sharp—glimmered with quiet thought, even as weariness tugged gently at the corners. Even upset, there was something steady in them. Something that refused to dim.
After a while, the library grew darker, the sun now only a memory behind the distant horizon. I left with a book tucked beneath one arm, letting the hush of the corridors guide me back to my chambers.
The maids were already waiting, but I waved them off gently. I didn't need their help tonight.
I stood before the vanity, brushing my own hair until it lay smooth and luminous down my back, catching the light like silk. The glow from the hearth cast a warm radiance over my skin, the delicate angles of my face highlighted with a quiet elegance I seldom paused to acknowledge.
The gown slipped off my shoulders like water, and I exchanged it for a simple silk nightdress, soft and pale, almost translucent in the firelight. I extinguished the candles one by one until only the glow of the moon remained, streaming in through the window and pooling silver across the floor.
I moved to the window and looked out.
The stars had begun to claim the sky, ancient and bright. Somewhere beyond those clouds were truths yet to be uncovered, alliances to be mended… and perhaps, someone already gathering pieces on my behalf.
I pulled the covers back and slipped into bed, the sheets cool and smooth against my skin. My book lay untouched on the nightstand.
Tonight, I didn't need stories.
I had enough of my own.
And tomorrow… they'd begin to unfold.
-
The courtyard echoed with the clash of steel against steel, the scent of morning dew long gone—burned off by the sun and the heat of movement. My boots scraped against the stone as I pivoted, sword raised, the weight of it familiar in my grip. Sweat trickled along my spine, sticking the thin linen of my undershirt to my back beneath the reinforced leather vest.
"You're leaving your right side open again," Father said, circling me with calm precision.
He looked nearly untouched by the last four hours—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark brown hair streaked with silver, his face stern but never cold. We looked alike, everyone said. Same eyes, same angled cheekbones, same mouth that only smiled when no one was looking. But while I carried fire beneath my skin, he was all stone and steel—measured, composed, dangerous in silence.
"I'm testing you," I replied, breathless but not backing down.
He raised a brow. "You'll forgive me if I don't fall for that excuse. Again."
His blade struck, faster this time. I blocked, but the jolt rattled down my arm. My muscles screamed, but I kept my stance. One slip and he'd knock me on my back without hesitation.
"Don't fight your sword," he said. "Become it."
I gritted my teeth, forced the tension out of my shoulders, and moved with the swing instead of against it—our blades hissing as they scraped. He gave a small nod of approval, the closest I'd get to praise in the middle of a sparring session.
We moved again, circling. The courtyard had emptied earlier—servants passing through with wide eyes and quick steps, not daring to interrupt. Even the guards had learned to stay back when we trained.
By now, my arms were sore, breath shallow, and the sun had risen high enough to cast sharp shadows under the arches.
The sundial showed nearly noon.
I let the moment break, stepping back, dropping my blade to rest the point against the ground. My father lowered his as well, though his stance stayed solid.
"Not bad," he said at last. "You're getting faster."
"I'd hope so after four hours."
He gave a short laugh—barely audible, but there. "Then go. I know that look."
"What look?"
"The one that says you have something else on your mind and you're too proud to admit it."
I didn't argue. I just wiped my brow and grabbed my water flask.
As I sipped, the smallest flicker of unease stirred in my chest—like a whisper I couldn't quite hear.
Alexander.
His name arrived uninvited, again.
Why was I thinking about him? It wasn't important. He was a knight. I was a princess. We had exchanged maybe two real conversations. Just enough for him to surprise me. Just enough for… something.
No. I frowned at myself, slinging my practice sword over my shoulder.
It's nothing. A random feeling. Not worth noticing.
Still, I smoothed a dusty smudge from my cheek and tugged my vest a little straighter—not because I cared how I looked. Just instinct. Just habit.
"You've got that look again," Father said without turning around.
"I'm fine," I muttered.
He said nothing, but there was a knowing in his silence.
I offered a quick salute and turned toward the door.
Whatever this odd flutter was, it would pass. I didn't have time for strange emotions and wandering thoughts. I had a meeting. A mission. And a knight waiting to report.
And that was all he was.
Just a knight.
By the time I reached my chambers, the hallways had filled with more movement—maids passing with linens, stewards murmuring about schedules, and the clatter of dishes being cleared from late breakfasts. The castle had fully awakened.
I peeled off the leather vest with a grunt, tossing it onto the bench near my wardrobe. My arms ached in that satisfying way that only came after a morning of sparring, and I could still feel the heat of exertion clinging to my skin.
Noon wasn't far off.
I should've been thinking about the council boy, the one Alexander was looking into. I should've been reviewing my notes on the recent border disputes, maybe rereading that passage from the book about the old alliances.
But my mind kept drifting.
Back to him.
To Alexander, with his sharp eyes and the way he didn't flinch when I spoke my thoughts aloud. As if he respected them.
Stop it, I told myself, reaching for the washbasin. I splashed cool water on my face, watching droplets trace down my cheeks in the mirror.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered. "It's just a meeting."
I pulled a light blouse over my head—soft ivory linen, loose enough to breathe, but fitted at the waist. I didn't want to look like I was trying too hard. Not that it mattered. Why would it?
Still, I chose the blue-gray sash instead of the simple leather belt. Subtle. Clean. Commanding, if I stood right.
Get it together, Ria.
I slipped on soft boots, combed my fingers through my damp curls until they fell in loose waves, and pinned a single silver clip into the side to keep the strands from my face.
When I stepped back from the mirror, I looked like myself—but not the tired, dust-covered version from training. More composed. More like the daughter of the man who led the council.
More like someone worth listening to.
The sun streamed in through the high windows, casting pale gold across the floor as I stepped out of my room. The light made the stones glow, made everything seem gentler than it was.
But I knew better.
There were questions to ask, loyalties to untangle, and secrets I hadn't begun to uncover.
Alexander would be waiting for me in the study by now.
And for reasons I still didn't understand—reasons I refused to name—I found myself walking a little faster.
-
By the time I reached the northern garden, the sun had climbed high enough to warm the tops of the hedges, but the wind still carried a bite. Spring hadn't quite committed to being gentle yet.
The path curved around flowering shrubs just beginning to bud—white blossoms, tight with promise, dotted the edges. The marble fountain in the center of the garden burbled quietly, a soft counterpoint to the silence that had settled over the space.
Alexander was already there.
He stood near the edge of the colonnade, arms folded behind his back, eyes scanning the small, enclosed courtyard like he was cataloging threats. Or maybe just thinking too hard. His hair—long and dark, the curls catching in the light—looked like it had been raked through once or twice by a restless hand.
He turned when he heard me approaching, and gave the faintest nod. Not stiff. Not formal. Just… acknowledging.
"I wasn't sure you'd actually show," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. "What part of 'meet me at noon' sounded uncertain?"
He gave a half-shrug, half-smirk. "The part where you're a princess. You lot tend to make requests that are more like whims."
I folded my arms. "And yet here you are."
He inclined his head slightly. "Here I am."
We stood in silence for a breath, then two. I found a spot on the low stone wall edging the garden and sat, smoothing my tunic absently.
"Well?" I prompted. "What did you find out about the boy?"
Alexander leaned against one of the stone pillars, one hand resting on the hilt of the blade at his hip. "Name's Caelen. Caelen Fenwick. Son of Lord Jorren of Wyrdfield."
I blinked. "Wyrdfield? That's west of the riverlands—close to Raven territory."
"Exactly," he said. "Which makes his comments in the council room yesterday more interesting."
I raised an eyebrow. "He didn't like the Ravens breaking away from the Wolves."
"Not just that," Alexander said, his voice turning more serious. "Caelen doesn't think the entire separation of the houses—the Dragons, Wolves, Ravens, and Serpents—is necessary. In fact, he's vocal about it. Says it's a ridiculous ideal that's keeping everyone apart for no reason. He believes the kingdoms should reunite, that they're stronger together. He wants to see a united land, no more divided factions."
I sat up straighter, considering this. "So, he's not just against the Ravens and Wolves being separate. He wants all of it—Dragons, Ravens, Wolves, Serpents—to come back together as one."
"Exactly." Alexander looked down at me, gauging my reaction. "He says we've been divided for too long. That the old ways—where each house held its own power—are just slowing us down, keeping us from progressing. He thinks the only way to move forward is to unify, to put aside the old grudges and form a single, stronger kingdom."
My pulse quickened. The very thing I'd wanted. The dream I'd harbored in silence, buried deep under the weight of my duty and my family's expectations. But hearing it come from Caelen's mouth… it was unexpected.
I thought about it for a long moment, staring down at the stone path beneath us. "He's right, though. Isn't he?"
Alexander didn't respond immediately, just watching me quietly, as though giving me space to process the idea.
"It's exactly what I've been thinking," I continued, almost to myself. "All these years… the houses keeping to their own. Separated. There's too much power, too much land, too much influence tied up in old ways of thinking. It's holding us back."
"I agree." Alexander's voice was firm, but quiet, as though he was sharing something vulnerable. "But a lot of people don't see it that way. Some of them believe the separation is necessary to preserve their power. Or their traditions. There are a lot of old alliances and old grudges at play here."
I exhaled, pushing the hair back from my face as I stood. The air felt cooler now, but the weight of the conversation pressed against my chest, warming me.
"We need to be careful," I said. "Caelen may want a united kingdom, but I don't know if he can be trusted. If he's truly serious, or if this is just another attempt to manipulate the balance for his family's gain."
Alexander didn't flinch. "I don't trust him, either. But that doesn't mean his goal is wrong. We'll have to watch him carefully, see how he moves. If his intentions are genuine, it could be the beginning of something important."
I nodded, still lost in thought. "What if it is the right path? What if uniting the houses is the only way to save the land from falling further into chaos?"
Alexander stepped closer, his voice quieter now, as though sharing a secret. "If it is… then I'll stand with you. But we need to be sure. We need to be prepared for everything."
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine it. A united kingdom. A land where the houses stood together again, as they once had. A world where the dragons, ravens, wolves, and serpents fought for each other, instead of against each other.
It was a dangerous thought. A foolish one, perhaps. But it was a dream I'd carried for a long time. One I wasn't ready to let go of.
"I'll keep an eye on Caelen," I said finally. "But we have to move cautiously. No rash decisions."
"Agreed," Alexander said, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We'll take it one step at a time."
And as we stood there, the wind swirling around us, I realized for the first time in a long while that maybe—just maybe—there was a chance. A real chance for something better. A future where the divisions between the houses could be healed.
And it felt like it was within reach.
-
As I stood in the quiet of the northern garden, the cool breeze brushing my face, my mind raced. The weight of the conversation we'd just had, the potential for something greater, loomed over me. Alexander was right—there was something there, something Caelen's ideal of unity could stir. But, of course, there were risks. The world had fractured for a reason, and the scars of old battles and betrayals were not so easily healed.
But there was a flicker of hope, a fire I hadn't allowed myself to entertain in years. What if it was possible? What if, against all odds, the houses could come together again, stronger than ever?
I glanced up at Alexander, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. His sharp eyes met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. He wasn't just agreeing with me because it was the right thing to do. He believed in it, too.
"I'll let you know if I find out anything else," he said after a long pause, breaking the silence.
I nodded. "Keep watching him. We need to know where his loyalties lie, and if his intentions really are for unification."
"I will," Alexander replied. "You're not alone in this."
The weight of his words settled in, a comfort I hadn't realized I needed.
As the day stretched on, the warmth of the sun continued to seep into the garden, but I could feel the heaviness of the burden ahead. The tension of trying to balance the old world with the future I envisioned gnawed at the edges of my thoughts. But there was a part of me, deep inside, that yearned for the peace the world had once known—the unity, the trust, the strength in togetherness. I couldn't forget it, and I wouldn't.
"I'll see you at the council tomorrow," I said, brushing past him, my voice quiet but firm. "And keep your ear to the ground about Caelen. We can't be too careful."
He gave a short nod, his eyes softening for just a moment, before he turned and disappeared into the maze of hedges that led back to the castle.
I watched him go, then turned back to the garden. My heart still ached for something I couldn't quite name, some unfulfilled desire for a world that seemed lost. But today, with the prospect of Caelen's dream of unity aligning with my own, I felt the stirrings of something hopeful.
With a deep breath, I turned away from the garden, heading back toward the castle. The sky had shifted, the sun beginning to sink lower in the horizon, casting long shadows across the courtyard.
The day seemed to slip away faster than I realized, and before long, I was alone in my chambers again, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. My thoughts circled back to Caelen and his intentions, to the fragile hope of a united kingdom. It was a dream that had always seemed impossible—but now? Maybe it wasn't so far out of reach.
I paced around the room, restless, trying to shake the unease in my chest. What if I was wrong about him? What if I was just grasping at straws, imagining a world that could never exist? No, I refused to think that way. Not after everything I'd seen, everything I'd been through. I had to believe that unity, true unity, was possible.
As the evening stretched on, I prepared myself for the coming day. There was still much to do, still much to learn about Caelen and his true intentions, and about how I could play my part in whatever was coming.
I settled in front of the mirror, brushing out the tangles in my hair and preparing for bed. The night air was cool against my skin, and the quiet of the castle wrapped around me like a blanket. But sleep wouldn't come easily—not with the weight of the future pressing against my mind.
Tomorrow would bring more questions, more decisions. And no matter what, I had to be ready.
The next morning arrived far too quickly.
I had barely closed my eyes when the soft light of dawn began to creep through the curtains. I blinked awake, the feeling of unrest still heavy in my chest. It was a little after seven. My body felt sluggish, as though the weight of my thoughts had seeped into my bones.
I pushed myself out of bed and moved toward the window. The sun was just rising, casting a pale gold light over the courtyard below. The world outside seemed so calm, so peaceful in its early hours, yet inside me, there was only uncertainty.
Today was another day to fight, to strategize, to prepare for the unknown. But it felt like there was more on the horizon than just the usual council meetings and royal obligations.
I sighed and turned away from the window. There was no time to waste. Alexander would be looking for me soon, and there were things to discuss. The delicate threads of power that hung over my family, my kingdom—they needed to be handled with care.
I dressed quickly, pulling on a tunic and leggings, gathering my thoughts as I did so. I needed to be sharp today. No distractions, no doubts.
I was Ria, daughter of the king, the heir to this fractured kingdom. And I would not let it stay broken.
-
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as I made my way through the castle's stone corridors, each step deliberate, but my mind still buzzing with the possibilities ahead. The courtyard had quieted as the evening approached, the flurry of activity fading as the shadows stretched across the marble pathways. The air was thick with the scent of spring flowers and damp earth, the sound of distant voices carrying faintly.
I reached the northern garden where Alexander had promised to meet me. The place was serene, as it always was—trees casting long shadows, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze, and the stillness of the fountain at its center, water trickling over stone with a rhythmic calmness. It felt like the perfect backdrop for what was to come. It was a place where thoughts could gather, where ideas could solidify.
Alexander was already waiting for me, standing near the fountain, his back to me, his posture relaxed but watchful. His dark hair was tousled from the breeze, and his eyes—those intense hazel eyes—were scanning the garden as if he were waiting for something, or someone. His presence was familiar, yet still, I found myself noticing little things about him. The way he moved, his natural ease in a world that always felt a bit too heavy.
"Alex," I called, stepping closer.
He turned, his eyes meeting mine, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced with a smirk. "Princess. On time today, I see. I was starting to think you'd leave me waiting."
"Not this time," I replied, matching his tone with a lighthearted grin. "You've got information for me, don't you?"
"Always," he said with a chuckle. "But let's walk while I talk."
We began to stroll around the garden, the cool evening air brushing against my skin, but I barely noticed the temperature. My mind was focused entirely on the task at hand.
"You were right about Caelen," Alexander started, his voice low, careful. "He's been making waves. People are listening, and they're taking his ideas seriously."
I nodded. "He wants unity—wants the kingdoms to work together again. But the question is—what's his angle? And who else is really behind him?"
"Most of the noble houses seem to like his rhetoric. It's the kind of thing that sounds good in speeches. Unity, peace… you know, all the things we should be striving for, but haven't been able to in decades." He hesitated. "But there's something more to him, Ria. I can't quite put my finger on it yet."
"Something dangerous?" I asked, the word tasting foreign on my tongue, but necessary.
"I'm not sure," he admitted, his gaze flickering over the garden, his brow furrowing slightly. "But he's not the only one pushing for the return of the old ways. I've been hearing whispers, especially among the younger lords and ladies—some of them think that a united kingdom is the only way to restore balance. And if we're not careful, it'll become more than just words."
The gravity of his words settled in my chest. More than just words. I had to agree with him. The notion of unity was alluring, yes, but it was also fraught with danger. The world hadn't fractured into its current state without reason. Old wounds ran deep, and those who wanted to see them healed had to walk a very fine line.
"I didn't expect Caelen to be so... vocal about it," I said after a long pause. "But I'll admit, part of me is starting to see the appeal of it. But do you think he's truly genuine, or is he just looking for power?"
"He's genuine in his desire for change," Alexander said thoughtfully, "but that doesn't mean he isn't dangerous. There's always a price to pay when you want to rewrite history."
I couldn't argue with that. The houses—Dragons, Ravens, Serpents, Wolves—had once stood united, but somewhere along the way, everything had fractured. And though I had always felt the weight of the old world, I never realized just how much of it had shaped me. My beliefs, my actions, my every move—it was all in response to a world that was no longer whole.
"If he wants to unite the kingdoms... he'll have to start by proving the old alliances are worth rebuilding," I said, my voice firm, my thoughts sharpening. "But he can't do it alone. I need to know if I can trust him—if I can trust anyone involved in this."
Alexander looked at me, his gaze steady, unwavering. "I'll find out more. I'll keep watching. But it's not just about trusting him. It's about understanding who else might be behind this movement. Who else stands to gain from it."
I nodded, my mind already racing through the possibilities. I had my own part to play, of course. This was not just a matter of politics. There was something bigger at stake here—more than just the houses, more than just the fractured kingdom. I felt it in the air, in the tension that had been building for years.
"Whatever happens," I said, turning to face him, "I'm not backing down. I won't let my kingdom fall into chaos again. Not without a fight."
Alexander gave a small, approving nod. "Good. I didn't think you would. But just remember—there's always more than one way to fight. Sometimes, it's not the sword that will win the day."
I looked at him for a long moment, studying his expression. There was something more in his eyes now, something deeper—an understanding, a shared purpose.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
His lips twitched into a faint smile. "We'll see soon enough. But just know... you're not in this alone."
The words hung in the air between us, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to feel the weight of them, to believe them. We weren't alone. Not anymore.
We walked in silence for a while longer, the shadows of the garden growing longer with each passing moment. The evening air had turned cooler, but I didn't feel it. My thoughts were elsewhere, spinning around the potential of what could come next.
Soon enough, Alexander's quiet voice broke through the stillness.
"I'll be ready for whatever comes, Ria," he said, his gaze flicking toward me with a determination that mirrored my own. "And I'll make sure you are, too."
I didn't know where this path would take us, or what kind of future we were stepping toward. But one thing was clear.
We were in this together.
And that might just be the thing that tipped the balance.
-
The crisp morning air still lingered as I made my way through the castle, my mind heavy with the conversation I had just had with Alexander. His words about unity and the possibility of change replayed in my head, like a spark that refused to die. But there was no time to dwell on it now. I had a council meeting to attend—one that would shape the very future of the kingdom.
After our talk in the northern garden, I quickly excused myself, promising Alexander I'd see him later, but my thoughts continued to swirl. I had to focus. I had to be present.
Entering the council room, I felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle into my shoulders. The large oak table at the center of the room had been set, the parchment and quills waiting for the decisions that would be made. My father, seated at the head of the table, was already in deep conversation with Lord Terris. The room buzzed with the quiet murmurs of the council members as I took my seat beside my father.
His gaze flickered over to me as I settled into my chair, a small, approving nod the only acknowledgment. My mother was once again in attendance, though she was seated further down the table, looking as if she'd rather be anywhere but here, though her presence was demanded. As usual, her beauty overshadowed everything else—her perfect, long blonde hair cascading down her back, her green eyes distant but observant.
I quickly shifted my focus to the room at large, noticing the presence of someone who had not been expected: Alexander. Standing by the wall, his presence stoic and calm, was the knight I had just spoken with. I hadn't anticipated him being involved in this council meeting, but there he was, eyes scanning the room with quiet intensity.
Before I could contemplate his presence further, my father's voice rang through the room, stilling the whispers of the council members.
"Let's begin," he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. "We have matters to discuss that cannot wait any longer."
As he spoke, I couldn't help but wonder what role Alexander was going to play today. His unexpected appearance here gave me pause, but I pushed the thought aside as my father continued.
"The fragmentation of the great houses has reached its peak," he said, his tone firm. "The dragons, ravens, wolves, and serpents—our kingdom is slipping further into chaos. If we don't act now, we risk losing control. We cannot afford another decade of strife. We must unite the houses under one banner once again."
I leaned forward slightly, listening intently. The mention of unity, something I'd secretly dreamed of for so long, made my heart beat a little faster. I had thought I was the only one who saw the need for healing, for putting the broken pieces of our land back together. But hearing my father say it out loud… It made me realize that maybe, just maybe, we were on the same page.
"But unity will not come easily," my father continued. "There are too many factions—too many old grudges. Some will never accept this."
Lord Terris, always the realist, spoke up. "So, what do we do? Do we force the hands of those who resist? We cannot allow ourselves to be divided any longer."
"We'll need strategy, persuasion, and strength," my father replied. "This isn't something that can be done with words alone. We need to show them that this is the only way forward."
I wanted to speak up—my thoughts a flurry of ideas—but I hesitated. My father had always been the one to make the final call. But there was something in me, some unspoken resolve, that urged me to speak now.
"I agree," I said, my voice steady, even though a ripple of uncertainty ran through me. "But we also need to be careful. The lines that divide us aren't just about power—they're about trust. We can't just demand unity; we have to build it, piece by piece."
The room fell silent for a moment, and I could feel the weight of their attention. I quickly glanced at my father, unsure of how he would react. His expression was unreadable for a moment, and my heart skipped.
Then, to my surprise, he nodded slowly. "You're right," he said. "Trust will be key. Perhaps there is more we need to consider than just force and negotiation."
My gaze shifted briefly to Alexander, who was watching the exchange quietly from his spot by the wall. I felt the weight of his gaze, but I couldn't tell if he agreed with me or simply observed. He had not spoken yet, and I wasn't sure if he planned to.
"We will have to reach out to each house individually," my father continued. "And, if we must, we'll offer incentives, promises of shared power. This must be done with diplomacy, but also with strength behind it."
Lord Terris raised an eyebrow. "And who do we send? How do we approach the ravens? The wolves? The serpents?"
My father didn't hesitate. "We need to start by finding common ground. I will meet with the leaders of each house in due time. But first, we must understand what the people truly want. We need intelligence, and I trust we have resources in place to gather that."
My mind flitted back to Caelen, the boy I had learned about, and his own thoughts on uniting the houses. Could he have the answers we needed? Or was he simply another voice among many? But then, I realized that my own thoughts, my father's words—none of them would matter if we didn't take action.
The council meeting continued, but I was lost in my thoughts, the implications of what was being said swirling in my mind. If only it were as simple as just speaking the words. We would need more than diplomacy and promises. We needed the people, and that's where the true challenge lay.
As my father moved forward with his discussions, I couldn't help but think about Alexander again. He had asked questions earlier, listened attentively, and stood at the ready. Whatever his role here was, it seemed clear that he wasn't just a knight. Something more was at play, and I felt an odd sense of alignment between our goals.
Maybe, just maybe, there was hope yet for the kingdom. And for me.
-
The council meeting ended with the usual murmur of voices, as the various lords and ladies shuffled from the room, discussing their duties and assignments. I lingered for a moment, deep in thought about everything that had been said. My mind was still racing with the possibility of unity between the houses and the role I could play in it. But there was a small part of me, a very quiet part, that couldn't shake the feeling that something—someone—was missing from the discussion. Alexander's presence, the way he observed everything so intently, felt more important than I could place. But for now, I couldn't dwell on that.
As I turned to leave the council room, I heard voices just outside the door. My father's voice, low and commanding, mixed with the sharp tones of my mother. Curiosity pricked at me, and without meaning to, I paused, staying just out of view of the doorway.
My mother's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "I don't understand why you let her do this, Kaerin." Her words were laced with frustration, the kind of frustration that had been building for years. "She's your daughter, not a… not a—"
I didn't need her to finish the sentence to know what she was implying. "Not a man," I thought bitterly to myself.
"She's my daughter, hunny," my father replied, his tone firm, yet patient. "She has a mind of her own, and she's learning to use it."
"But she speaks out of turn," my mother spat, her voice trembling with barely controlled anger. "She contradicts me in front of the court. She doesn't even know how to be a proper lady. She's—"
"You're overreacting," my father said, though I could hear the faintest edge in his voice now. "She is learning. Ria isn't like other girls. And I'm not going to hold her back because of that."
I could hear my mother's soft, indignant huff. "It's disgraceful, Kaerin. You've let her become this… this wild thing, and now she'll never learn her place. She doesn't respect the rules, the way she should. How are we supposed to present her to the court, to other houses, when she behaves like this? Do you know what people will say when she speaks out of turn again? What they'll think of us?"
I bit my lip, feeling a strange mixture of anger and something else—something I couldn't quite place. My mother's words stung. They always did. But it wasn't the first time she'd said things like this.
My father's response came slower this time. "She's not like the other girls, My love. I understand your concerns, but she will learn in her own way. I will not stifle her."
"That's where you're wrong, Kaerin." My mother's voice was quieter now, almost sad. "She's too much of you. And that's the problem."
I stood there, frozen, my heart thudding in my chest. Too much of him. The words echoed in my ears, but I couldn't understand what she meant. Was it because I thought like my father? Was it because I wasn't like the delicate, refined women who walked through the courts with their heads held high, their mouths closed in perfect obedience?
For a moment, there was silence, and then I heard my father sigh. "She'll learn. She's not a lost cause."
I felt my throat tighten. My mother was always so quick to point out my shortcomings. She never seemed to understand that I didn't want to be a mere ornament at court. But even more, I could feel the pressure of her words, heavy on my chest.
"I just hope, for both our sakes," my mother continued, her voice softer now but still filled with frustration, "that you're right. Because if she keeps speaking like this, acting like this, she'll never find her place."
The words stung more than I cared to admit. I pushed them aside quickly, anger rising in my chest. How could she think so little of me? And why couldn't she see that this was me—this was who I was?
I stepped back, not wanting to hear any more of this conversation. My heart was racing, my hands shaking slightly as I silently turned away from the door. The moment I had heard the first hint of my mother's discontent, I knew it was a conversation I wouldn't be able to win.
I walked down the hall in a daze, my mind whirling with what I had overheard. My mother's disappointment was nothing new, but today, it felt heavier. As I made my way back to my chambers, I couldn't shake the tightness in my chest. I had always been a disappointment to her in some way—too independent, too loud, too unruly. But I couldn't change who I was. I couldn't stop speaking my mind just to please her. Could I?
As I entered my room, I leaned against the door for a moment, my thoughts tangled. But there was nothing I could do but push the weight of the conversation aside, at least for now. I had to focus on the bigger picture—the council, the house leaders, the unity we were trying to form. I had no room to be bogged down by petty concerns about being "lady-like." And yet, my mother's voice haunted me, even as I pushed it away.