The next morning arrived wrapped in a hush of fog, the kind that clung to the palace grounds like a whispered warning. I stood at the window again, my fingers grazing the cold glass, watching the mist settle over the gardens like a veil. Everything looked softer out there—muted and still. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to vanish into it. To become something weightless, unburdened. Free.
But I knew better. Freedom came with a cost. One I'd already paid for in blood and silence.
A knock echoed through the chamber, firm but careful. I didn't need to ask who it was.
"Enter," I said, my voice barely louder than the wind.
The door opened, and there he was—Alexander. The morning light caught the edge of his armor, giving him a faint gleam despite the dull weather. He always moved with such purpose, each step confident and controlled. But it was his eyes I looked for—the way they found mine almost instantly. There was something different in them this morning, something softer. As if he could feel the shift inside me, too.
"Good morning, Princess," he said, giving me that slight, formal bow he always did.
"Alexander," I replied, and gods, his name felt too familiar on my tongue. I quickly turned back toward the window, hoping he didn't hear the catch in my breath.
He stepped closer, just enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence behind me. It grounded me. And unsteadied me all at once.
"There's been word from the dragons," he said quietly. "A message arrived this morning."
I turned to face him then, every muscle tensing. "What kind of message?"
He held out a folded piece of parchment. "Coded. Your father's scribes are still deciphering the full meaning, but the essence is clear: they're not pleased with the progress of the alliance. There's talk of a faction breaking away. One that doesn't recognize the authority of the council."
I took the parchment, though I didn't open it right away. My mind was already racing. The alliance was fragile—threaded together by ambition and desperation, not trust. The dragons had always been proud, but if they splintered now, it would set off a chain reaction that could unravel everything.
"They want to undermine the unity," I whispered. "Of course they do."
Alexander nodded. "And they'll look for any sign of weakness to justify it."
I lifted my gaze to his again. "And what do they see when they look at me, Alexander? Do I seem weak?"
His expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes burned brighter.
"No," he said firmly. "They see someone who scares them. Someone they can't control."
A strange heat bloomed in my chest, warring with the chill that had lived there for so long. His words struck something deep inside me, something I'd tried to bury—the need to be more than just a symbol. The longing to matter beyond my crown.
I stepped toward him before I could think better of it.
"Do you believe in me, Alexander? Truly?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn't speak. But when he did, the words felt like armor wrapping around my soul.
"I'd follow you into the fire, Ria," he said. "Because I know you'd walk through it to save us all."
His use of my name—just my name—made my pulse stutter. I hadn't expected that. I hadn't expected any of this.
I nodded slowly, grounding myself with a deep breath. "Then we face this fire together."
He gave the smallest smile. "Always."
And gods help me... I wanted to believe that. More than anything.
The fire in the hearth crackled behind us, soft and steady, a heartbeat in the silence.
Alexander hadn't moved. Neither had I.
I stood there, just a breath away from him, staring up into those unflinching hazel eyes. Eyes that didn't look at me like I was a fragile thing, or a symbol, or a burden wrapped in silks and duty. No. He looked at me like I was real. Like I was seen.
And I hated how much I needed that.
"I keep thinking," I murmured, my fingers brushing the edge of the parchment he'd given me, "that if we can make this alliance work—if the wolves, the dragons, the serpents, and the ravens can finally stand as one—then maybe we can be more than just survivors of our own kingdoms. Maybe we can become protectors of something greater."
Alexander didn't interrupt. He just listened, the way he always did—with stillness, with care. Like my words were stones being set into place, building something sacred.
"This continent," I whispered, my voice cracking, "Thaiyocuria is bleeding from the edges. The outer kingdoms—those who've never known what it means to be fractured, those who thrive off gold and conquest and pride—they're watching us. They see our weakness. And they think it's only a matter of time before they can sweep in and take what they want."
I looked back toward the window, the fog still hugging the land like a secret. "If we don't unify now... there will be war. A war that will last for generations. One that will swallow us whole."
"You really believe it's possible?" he asked quietly behind me.
I turned back to him, surprised at how gently the question landed.
"I do," I said, without hesitation. "Not because I've seen proof. But because I have to believe in something. And if I don't believe in this—this fragile hope we're building—then I'm no better than the ones who thrive off the chaos."
Alexander's gaze didn't waver. "You're not like them. You never were."
I wanted to believe that too. But doubt was a stubborn thing.
"Maybe not," I said softly. "But sometimes I wonder if I'm strong enough to hold all of this together. To be what they need."
His brow furrowed slightly, and he took a single step forward. Close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek, warm and steady.
"They need your fire, Ria. Your defiance. Your belief in something better."
I blinked, and my voice came out barely audible. "And what if it breaks me?"
His hand lifted—hesitated—and then brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. The touch was feather-light, but it lit something deep inside me.
"Then I'll be there to put the pieces back together."
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
It wasn't just what he said. It was the way he said it. As if the vow wasn't made out of duty or honor or loyalty. But something else. Something unspoken and dangerous and beautiful.
"I'm not supposed to need you," I whispered.
"I know," he said. "And I'm not supposed to feel this either."
The words hung between us like a held breath, too sacred to break.
I looked at him—and for the first time, I let myself feel the full weight of what was happening between us. The tension. The pull. The quiet truth threading between each heartbeat.
He wasn't just my knight anymore.
And I wasn't just a princess.
We were something else. Something blooming in the shadows, between the firelight and the fog. Fragile, yes—but real.
"I don't know how we survive this," I said. "Any of it."
He smiled, barely. "One step at a time."
I nodded, my chest aching with the truth of it.
Maybe that's all we had. One step. One moment. One fragile thread holding the future together.
But for now, that was enough.
Before I could speak again, before I could even name the thing blooming between us, there was a sharp knock at the chamber door.
I stiffened, the moment shattered like thin glass. Alexander stepped back, his hand falling away from me, and just like that, the space between us felt hollow. Cold.
"Princess Ria?" came Talia's voice, muffled but unmistakably urgent.
I turned toward the door, trying to catch my breath, to steady my voice.
"Yes?"
Talia stepped in without waiting for permission, her cheeks flushed and eyes wide. She curtsied quickly, but didn't wait for formalities. "Apologies, Your Highness, but you're needed in the council chamber. Now."
Alexander was already moving toward the door, instinct and discipline sharpening his posture.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice lower than I intended. I was still trying to shake the weight of what had almost happened, of what was still echoing in the space between Alexander and me.
Talia's gaze darted between us, noting—of course she did—the closeness, the shift in air.
She didn't comment on it. Gods bless her.
"There's been a message from the southern border. A rider came through the mountain pass an hour ago. He's from the Kingdom of Halvaran."
Halvaran.
The name alone was enough to make my blood chill.
"They're sending envoys," Talia continued. "They're requesting an audience. three days time."
Alexander turned, his eyes locking with mine. Both of us knew what this meant.
Halvaran—one of the great kingdoms outside the old Four. The ones who bathed in gold and wore conquest like a crown. The ones who smiled while they planned how to devour us.
"They're testing us," I said under my breath. "They want to see if we're fractured still. If the wolves and ravens are just a temporary performance."
Talia gave a stiff nod. "And if we are, they'll push."
"They won't just push," Alexander muttered. "They'll bring war."
I inhaled slowly, burying everything that had happened a moment ago deep inside me. The warmth, the fluttering, the ache—it had to go. It had to wait.
Because the game was moving again. And I didn't have the luxury of being just a girl standing in a room with a man who made her heart race.
I was a princess. A tactician. A flame balancing between kingdoms. And now, it seemed, I'd have to burn brighter than ever.
"Let them come," I said, my voice steel now. "We'll show them the Four Kingdoms are not what they once were. We'll show them unity."
Alexander gave me the faintest nod. "And if they don't believe it?"
I met his gaze, the fire returning to my spine.
"Then we'll make them."
-
I had changed into something more fitting before making my way to the council chamber. The gown they brought me was one I hadn't worn in months—not since the last summit of the Great Houses. A deep, blackish-blue dress woven with threads so dark they shimmered like ink under moonlight. Embroidered raven feathers swept across the bodice and sleeves, delicate but strong, like the wings of my house. Black fur—dire wolf, from the northern border—lined the collar, its touch coarse and wild, a quiet tribute to our alliance with the wolves.
The gown fell just to the bottom of my ankles, allowing my boots to be seen—black leather and velvet, heeled but sturdy. Not the delicate slippers expected of a princess, but something made to carry me across stone floors and battlefield dirt alike.
As I walked through the marble halls, I felt the fabric shift around me like armor. Regal. Shadowed. A raven wrapped in wolfskin.
Alexander followed a few steps behind, silent as ever, though I could feel his presence like gravity—anchoring me as we approached the great chamber.
The doors loomed ahead, tall and imposing, carved with the sigils of every major house. Light spilled from within, torchlit and warm, but the weight in the air was cold and pressing. I knew what awaited me inside. I knew the battle would not be fought with blades today, but with words sharp enough to bleed.
And I would meet them head-on, dressed not just in finery—but in meaning.
As we reached the heavy wooden doors of the council chamber, Alexander stepped forward and pushed them open with the ease of someone who had walked these halls a thousand times. The moment I entered, the room fell into a stunned silence. All eyes turned toward me, and I could feel the weight of their gaze on me, their expressions filled with shock and awe.
I had chosen my gown carefully—For a moment, the air in the room seemed to thicken, as if my entrance had shocked more than just their sense of decorum. The men seated at the council table glanced at one another, some clearly taken aback by the sight of me. There was a subtle shift in the energy—a mixture of respect, admiration, and something more than just political formality.
Father sat at the head of the table, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took me in. I could see the flicker of approval in his gaze, but there was also something else, an unspoken understanding that the weight of this moment would not be lost on anyone here.
I took a breath, adjusting the hem of my gown and glancing at Alexander, who gave a subtle nod, standing just behind and to my left. His presence was a silent reassurance that, despite the gravity of the situation, I wasn't truly alone.
I moved to my seat at the table, which was positioned just to my father's right—a symbol of the position I was slowly growing into, whether I was ready for it or not. As I settled into the chair, I could feel the eyes of the council members on me, measuring, evaluating. They were not the only ones who had noticed the gown. The whispers were already beginning, and I could sense their surprise, perhaps even their admiration, though some would never openly admit it.
Father's voice broke the silence. "Ria," he began, his tone measured and calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it, "this council has gathered to discuss matters of state, matters of great importance. The alliance with the Wolves, the Serpents, and the Dragons is our best chance for peace—for the survival of this kingdom and all of Thaiyocuria."
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, though I could feel the weight of the words pressing against my chest. The alliance wasn't just a political maneuver—it was my hope for the future. If we could bring the old kingdoms together, if we could create something stronger than the greed and bloodlust that had defined them for centuries, we might be able to stave off the threat posed by the other factions—those driven by a dangerous hunger for power and gold. If the wolves, the dragons, the serpents, and the ravens could unite, we might just have a chance to prevent a war that could tear the continent apart.
Father's eyes met mine, his gaze firm. "But there are still forces at work, forces who would see this peace fail. I want your voice to be heard here, as the princess who will one day sit upon the throne. Your vision for this kingdom will shape the path forward."
I felt a shiver of responsibility stir within me. It was one thing to speak of ideals in private, another to face the council and declare them. The men and women seated around the table were not easily swayed by talk of peace or unity. They wanted power. They wanted control. They wanted the kingdom to remain theirs.
I could already feel their eyes boring into me, as if waiting for me to make my move.
A voice spoke from the far side of the table, cutting through the tension like a blade. Lord Delrick, a lord from the Serpent territories, was a man who wore his doubts plainly. His eyes were sharp and calculating, and his voice even sharper. "Princess Ria," he said, leaning forward slightly, "your idealism is well and good, but this alliance—this so-called peace—is it truly in the best interest of the kingdom? Do you honestly believe that these barbaric factions will lay down their claws and teeth for a handful of promises?"
I could feel my pulse quicken at his challenge. His words were a reminder of the fragility of the dream we were attempting to build. The wolves, the serpents, and the dragons were not known for their trustworthiness, let alone their willingness to compromise.
I met his gaze, not letting the weight of his accusation sway me. "I believe we have no other choice," I said, my voice steady but carrying the conviction of my beliefs. "The kingdoms of Thaiyocuria are on the brink of chaos. The pride and greed of those who stand outside this alliance will lead to war—wars that will bleed this land dry for centuries. If we do not act, the bloodshed will be unimaginable. But if we unite, we can create something greater than all of us. We can save this continent."
The room was silent for a moment, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. Some of the council members exchanged glances, while others seemed to retreat inward, calculating their next move.
Lord Delrick snorted softly, though I could tell my words had landed somewhere deep within him. "We shall see, Princess. But peace does not come without sacrifice. And not everyone will be willing to pay that price."
I held his gaze, refusing to back down. "Then we will make them see. We will show them that the price of peace is worth the cost of avoiding endless war."
Father's gaze softened, though his expression remained as commanding as ever. "Well said, Ria. But know this, my daughter. Your path will not be easy. The road to peace is fraught with peril, and the shadows are long. You will face opposition—not just from those who would tear us apart, but from those who fear change."
I nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle on my shoulders. This wasn't just about alliances or kingdoms. It was about the very future of our world.
Just then, the chamber doors opened again, and one by one, the other council members began to filter in. I could feel the room shift, their attention now split between me, my father, and the political chess game unfolding.
It was time. The game was about to begin.
-
As the last of the council members took their seats, the atmosphere in the room grew more tense, more charged with the expectation of the coming debate. I could feel the weight of my gown—of my role—pressing down on me, but I stood taller, steadying myself for the battle of words I knew would follow.
Lord Viran, a high-ranking member of the Dragon House, leaned forward, his eyes sharp with skepticism. His demeanor was that of someone who had long been accustomed to power, and he did not easily entertain ideas that threatened the established order.
"Princess Ria," Lord Viran began, his voice smooth but laced with disdain, "I must admit, I find it difficult to see the merit in this so-called alliance between the four ancient kingdoms. What you propose is an alliance of necessity, born from fear, not a shared vision. The Dragons have thrived in their independence for centuries. We have no need to bind ourselves to the Wolves, the Serpents, or the Ravens."
I felt a flicker of frustration, but I held my ground. This was the exact kind of argument I had anticipated—and one I was prepared to counter. I turned my gaze to Lord Viran, refusing to let the weight of his words shake me.
"I understand your reservations, Lord Viran," I began, my voice clear and firm. "But this alliance is not born out of fear. It is born out of necessity. We face a threat greater than our individual power. The Kingdom of Halvaran is growing stronger by the day. They see our divisions, our weaknesses, and they will exploit them. If they believe we are fractured, if they see us as weaker than we were before, they will strike."
A murmur passed through the council, but Lord Viran scoffed, his sharp features contorting in disbelief. "Halvaran is not interested in the petty squabbles of the old kingdoms. They are focused on their own growth, on consolidating their power within their borders. There is no reason to believe they will look beyond their own realm."
I shook my head slowly, refusing to back down. "You underestimate the ambition of King Tarven. He is no fool. He knows that our internal struggles make us vulnerable. And once the alliances we are forging begin to crumble—once he sees the weakness in our unity—he will move. This is not a matter of speculation. It is a matter of historical fact. Every time we have been divided, we have fallen prey to invaders. Our pride and our greed have made us ripe for the picking. If we do not stand together now, we risk everything."
Lord Viran's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "And what of the strength of the Dragons? Are you suggesting that we are not capable of holding our own? That we should rely on the Wolves and the Serpents to protect us?"
His tone was venomous, and I could feel the challenge in it. But I was resolute. I had come too far to back down now.
"I am not saying the Dragons are weak," I said, my voice unwavering. "I know the strength of your people, Lord Viran. But strength alone is not enough to secure the future of this land. The Dragons, for all their power, cannot stand alone against the tide of ambition and greed that is sweeping across the continent. This is not about relying on others—it is about recognizing that the future of all our kingdoms is intertwined. If one falls, the rest will follow."
A long pause stretched through the room as the council members processed my words. I could feel the tension rising, and I knew this was a pivotal moment. I had to push forward, to drive home the reality of what we were facing.
"If we do not unite, Halvaran will not hesitate to attack," I continued, my voice growing more forceful. "And once that happens, no kingdom will stand alone. The Ravens, the Serpents, the Wolves—all of us will be dragged into the conflict. It will not be a matter of if, but when. And when that war comes, it will not be a short one. It will be a war that ravages the land, that leaves our children with nothing but the scars of what we failed to do today."
The room had gone completely silent. I could feel the weight of my words hanging in the air, pressing against the council members. There were murmurs from the other seats, a mix of doubt and contemplation. Lord Viran's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with what to say.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice less certain than before. "And you believe that this alliance—this... union of the old kingdoms—will be enough to deter King Tarven?"
I nodded slowly. "I believe it is our only chance. If we stand together, unified, Halvaran will know that they cannot take us on piecemeal. They will think twice before attacking. But more importantly, it will send a message to the other kingdoms—the kingdoms that do not yet know whether they will side with us or with our enemies—that we are not weak. That we will not allow ourselves to fall again."
There was a moment of stillness, and then, to my surprise, Lord Viran leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching mine. For the first time in this meeting, I saw a flicker of something resembling respect in his gaze.
"You make a compelling argument, Princess," he said, his tone less dismissive, though still guarded. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the strength of the old kingdoms together will be enough to hold back the tide. But know this, Ria," he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "The Dragons will not simply bow to your will. We will not join this alliance without assurances that our interests will be protected. Our strength has been earned through centuries of blood and sacrifice. You would be wise to remember that."
I nodded, meeting his gaze steadily. "I would never ask you to bow to anyone, Lord Viran. This alliance is not about submission. It is about mutual respect. Each kingdom has something to offer, something to protect. Together, we can create something stronger than any of us can achieve alone."
The silence that followed my exchange with Lord Viran felt thick, like the room was holding its breath. Each of the council members sat with varying expressions of doubt, contemplation, and even, in some cases, grudging respect. I knew this was only the beginning—one argument, one session, but it was a pivotal moment. The pressure in my chest was mounting, but I couldn't afford to falter now. Not when so much was at stake.
Lord Viran's posture softened just slightly. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the carved wooden armrests. "Mutual respect," he repeated slowly, his eyes narrowing. "I admit, that does make sense. But what assurances can you offer, Princess Ria? What guarantee do we have that the Wolves and the Serpents will keep their word? You may have convinced me that we are stronger together, but can the same be said for all of us?"
I had anticipated this question, and I was ready. The challenge was not just convincing the Dragons; it was showing that unity wasn't just a grand idea—it was a necessity, and one that all the kingdoms needed to feel the weight of.
I stepped forward, my gaze sweeping over the room. "This alliance is not built on idealism or promises. It's built on survival," I said firmly. "Each kingdom will have a say in the terms. The Ravens, the Wolves, the Serpents, and the Dragons will negotiate their interests, their needs, their protection. But we will do it together, as equals. And if one kingdom falters, the others will rise to defend them. We do not stand alone."
The words felt heavy as they left my mouth, but I could sense the subtle shift in the room. Some of the more neutral council members were nodding in agreement, perhaps not fully convinced yet, but the idea was taking root.
Lord Viran's lips curled into a thin smile, but it was not one of victory. It was the smile of a man who was used to seeing others scramble for his approval.
"And you believe," he said slowly, leaning in just slightly, "that the Wolves, with their... more primitive ways, will agree to such an arrangement? That the Serpents, with their webs of lies and deceit, will abide by such noble ideals?"
I could see the skepticism in his eyes, but I refused to be swayed. "The Wolves have pride," I answered with confidence. "And the Serpents—though we have our differences—know when to show their fangs and when to stand back. This alliance will be about balance, Lord Viran. It will not be perfect, but it will be our best chance to secure peace."
There was a ripple of murmurs from the council members. The Serpent ambassador, who had been silent until now, shifted in his seat, his yellow eyes glinting with interest. He had long been a slippery figure in court, one whose motives were as shrouded in mystery as his homeland's twisting forests. But even he seemed to recognize the logic in my words.
"You speak as though peace is within our reach, Princess," the Serpent representative, Malthas, said quietly, his voice almost a hiss. "But we have seen countless alliances crumble in the face of ambition. How do you propose we keep Halvaran at bay while we wrestle with our own internal politics?"
I turned to him, locking eyes with his unsettling gaze. "Peace is a fragile thing, Malthas. But it is not impossible to hold. We will keep Halvaran at bay not by denying our ambitions, but by showing them that we will not fight among ourselves. We will demonstrate that we are not divided. That we will unite, not as one, but as four—each kingdom retaining its identity and its strength, but sharing a common purpose. That is what will stop Halvaran in its tracks. Not our weapons, not our power, but our unity."
Malthas seemed to consider this for a long moment, and when he spoke again, it was with a measured tone. "Perhaps there is some merit in your words, Princess. But I will not put my trust in this alliance until I see its results." His gaze flickered toward Lord Viran, and for a moment, I saw something unspoken pass between the two of them—a shared doubt, a hesitation that hadn't been there before.
I could feel the tension in the room growing, the scales tipping slightly in my favor. Lord Viran's eyes flicked toward my father, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. My father, though known for his calm and measured approach, was not someone who easily showed his emotions. But now, I could sense the quiet approval in his gaze. He trusted me, perhaps more than anyone in this room. That alone gave me the courage to continue.
Lord Viran sighed, his tone still skeptical but tinged with reluctant acknowledgment. "You make your case well, Princess. But the path you propose is fraught with danger. If any of the kingdoms falter—if the Serpents decide to turn on us, or the Wolves act in their own self-interest—then what?"
"Then we act together," I replied. "We act as one. We may not always agree, but the point of this alliance is not just to stand together in victory—it is to stand together in the face of any threat. If one kingdom stumbles, the others will catch them. And if one turns against us, then we will all turn against them."
Lord Viran raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by my determination. "And you believe the Wolves will willingly be part of such an arrangement? They are not known for their willingness to follow orders."
A faint smile touched my lips. "The Wolves are led by their pride, Lord Viran. But I believe that when they see the danger we face from Halvaran, they will recognize that pride cannot protect them from an invasion. They will choose survival over stubbornness."
There was a long, tense pause as the room absorbed my words. Then, slowly, Lord Viran nodded, though not with full conviction. "Perhaps... Perhaps you are right. The Wolves, at least, are a practical people. They may see the logic in your proposal. But this is no small thing you ask. It will require compromise from all of us."
"I know," I replied, meeting his gaze directly. "But it is the only way forward. We either stand united, or we fall. There is no other choice."
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, Father's voice broke the silence.
"I believe Princess Ria has made her case," he said, his tone grave. "The council will deliberate further, but we are at a crossroads. We must choose whether we stand together or risk everything."
I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, though the battle was far from over. But for the first time in the meeting, I sensed a shift. I could feel the council members considering the idea more seriously, weighing the consequences of their decisions.
The room had gone quiet again, but this time, it felt different. The tension was still there, but there was also something more—a flicker of hope, perhaps, or the dawning realization that my words were not just a plea, but a necessity.
Father stood, his eyes sweeping over the council one final time. "We will reconvene in three days' time. I suggest you all think carefully. Our future—and the future of Thaiyocuria—depends on the choices we make now."
The heavy oak doors of the council chamber creaked open, and one by one, the council members filed out, their conversations low and tense as they left. The air felt charged with the weight of the debate, each person carrying the lingering uncertainty about the alliance. The murmurs of disagreement and uncertainty still echoed in my mind, but for now, it was quiet—only the faint crackling of the hearth and the distant shuffle of footsteps breaking the silence.
I watched the last of the members leave, their backs straight, their expressions unreadable, and a part of me wished I could know what they truly thought. Would they stand behind my proposal, or would the weight of old grudges and old fears tear this fragile hope apart?
Once the doors closed and the last of the council was gone, my father sighed deeply, the exhale soft but heavy with unspoken words. He stood there for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the flames dance in the hearth, deep in thought.
I stood still for a moment longer, my heart still racing from the tension of the discussion. The silence between us felt different now—more intimate, less formal. It was rare for us to share this kind of quiet, but it was as though the walls of the chamber had softened, allowing us to speak freely without the heavy eyes of the council upon us.
Finally, my father turned toward me, his expression weary but resolute. "You've made your case, Ria. But the real test will be what comes next."
I nodded, my stomach tightening. "The envoys from Halvaran. They'll be watching closely. They'll want to see if the alliance is truly forming, whether this... fragile unity will hold."
Father's gaze grew sharper, the lines of his face hardening into a mask of controlled authority. "Halvaran has always seen us as weak. They believe that if we cannot keep our own house in order, we'll be ripe for conquest. That's why they've sent these envoys—almost like vultures circling a wounded prey."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I knew my father's words weren't an exaggeration. The Kingdom of Halvaran had always been a looming shadow on the horizon, its ambition unyielding, its armies vast. The idea of them watching us now, testing the resolve of the four kingdoms, made me uneasy.
"We must show them that we are strong," I said quietly, stepping closer. "Not just for ourselves, but for the rest of the continent. If Halvaran sees us divided or weak, they will not hesitate to strike. And that could lead to more bloodshed than we can afford."
Father met my gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and concern. "You're right. Halvaran's envoys will be watching with more than just interest—they'll be looking for any cracks, any signs that we are not truly united. In three days' time, they'll want an audience. They'll want proof."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and foreboding. I could almost hear the ticking of the clock, marking the time until that fateful day when we would face the envoys and have to prove that our alliance was not just a fragile dream, but a tangible reality.
"We can't afford to fail," I murmured. "Not now."
Father's eyes softened slightly, and he stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I know, Ria. But you've done more today than any of us could have expected. The path will not be easy, but you've started something that could change the fate of this kingdom—and the entire continent. Whatever happens, you have my full support."
I looked up at him, seeing the weight of his words settle into me. There was more at stake now than ever before, and the burden of it seemed to double when it came from him. My father, the king—my protector and guide.
"I won't let you down," I promised him, my voice steady but full of determination.
He nodded, his expression firm. "I know you won't. But remember, Ria, you will not be alone in this. The alliance may be fragile, but it is real. And we will need every kingdom's full cooperation to stand against Halvaran's ambition."
I nodded, the plan becoming clearer in my mind. Three days. We have three days to have evidence to convince Halvaran, to show them that the kingdoms could stand united. But more than that, we have three days to prove to ourselves that we could weather the storms ahead.
"Let's make sure we're ready," I said, my resolve hardening like steel.
Father gave me a small, approving smile, though I saw the anxiety that still lingered in his eyes. "We'll be ready, Ria. You've set this in motion, and I will stand beside you every step of the way."
As I turned to leave the council chamber with my father, the weight of the coming days pressed on me. The envoys from Halvaran were coming, and with them would come the final test. The truth of our alliance would be laid bare for all to see. Would we stand strong? Or would we fall apart under the pressure?
I didn't know. But one thing was certain: I would fight to the end to ensure that the kingdoms stayed united. For if they did, maybe—just maybe—we could save this continent from the war that threatened to tear it apart.
-
As my father's words settled in the air between us, I didn't move immediately. The weight of the upcoming challenge, the responsibility that lay on my shoulders, was still heavy in my chest. I looked at my father, the man who had always been a pillar of strength for me, and a quiet thought lingered at the back of my mind—something I hadn't said aloud in years.
"If Mom were here..." I began, my voice softer than I intended, the words almost slipping out before I could stop them. "She would've disapproved of me talking about these matters. She would have said that it was... not my place, that I shouldn't concern myself with such things."
The silence between us stretched longer this time, the kind of silence that came with unspoken truths. I glanced down, then back up at my father, his face unreadable for a moment.
I could see the way the mention of my mother hit him, the fleeting sadness that flashed across his eyes, but he didn't shy away from it. His expression softened as he looked at me.
"She would have wanted you to be safe," he said quietly, his tone carrying a gentle weight. "She would have wanted you to be the princess they expected, to remain untarnished by the harsher realities of ruling. But she also understood what it meant to fight for what was right. And I believe," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "I believe she would have been proud of you, Ria. Even if she didn't always show it."
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat thickening. It had always felt like a silent divide between me and my mother, her expectations for me shaped by a world that seemed at odds with the one I was trying to build.
"I sometimes wonder if she would have stood by me," I said quietly, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "If she would have agreed with this... all of it."
My father's gaze never wavered. "She would have stood with you because you are her daughter," he said firmly. "But it's your path now, Ria. It's your kingdom. Your decisions. And I stand beside you because I know you can make the right ones."
I held his gaze for a long moment, the faintest trace of doubt still gnawing at the edges of my resolve. But there was something in his eyes, something steady and unwavering, that made me believe—if even just for a moment—that I could carry this weight.
"I will make it work," I said finally, my voice gaining strength. "We will make it work."
He nodded, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a deep sense of understanding between us. Despite the loss, the gaps in our history, there was still a connection. We were standing together, in our own way, trying to save what was left of this kingdom.
Father's hand settled on my shoulder once more. "Together," he repeated quietly.
I nodded, feeling the truth of those words settle deep within me. Whatever came next, I knew one thing for certain—this was my fight now, and I would face it head-on, no matter what came.
With a final glance at the empty council chamber, we both turned and walked out into the uncertain future that awaited us.