The hiss of steel slicing through air was the only sound in the training yard, followed by the sharp crack of my blade slamming into the wooden post.
I didn't stop. I didn't want to stop.
Each strike echoed through the open stone corridor like a drumbeat of war. My war. Against my thoughts. My feelings. Him.
The post was scarred now—splintered at the edges, deep grooves sliced through the middle where my strikes had landed again and again. My arms burned from the effort, but I welcomed the pain. Pain reminded me I was still in control. Still capable of drawing lines, even when it felt like my heart had crossed every one.
I gritted my teeth and swung again. Clang. The blade hit too low and sent a jolt up my shoulder. I winced but didn't stop. My tunic clung to me, damp with sweat, and strands of hair stuck to my forehead, but I didn't care how I looked. I didn't care about anything except the memory I couldn't get out of my head.
The moment I'd whispered fuck it in the woods.
The moment I kissed him.
The heat. The weight of his body pressing into mine. The way our mouths fought like our swords had—urgent, hungry, desperate.
And gods help me, I had wanted it. Wanted him.
I growled and slammed the sword again into the post, harder this time, feeling the wood crack deeper beneath the impact. The vibration ran up my arms, making my fingers tingle, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
I was supposed to be better than this.
I was a princess of the ravens, heir to a kingdom caught in the delicate web of politics and alliances that could break with one wrong move. My life wasn't mine to give away on impulse. I was supposed to be untouchable—disciplined, focused, controlled. Not some naive girl tangled up in a knight's arms beneath the trees, trembling at the way he looked at me like I was more than a title.
"Gods, what was I thinking?" I muttered, pacing away from the post, my breathing harsh.
The wind stirred the hem of my dark tunic, carrying the scent of sweat and damp earth. The skies above had grown heavy with clouds, dull gray pressing against the edges of the horizon like a storm waiting to strike. The air felt charged, like the aftermath of a spell. Like the moment after a kiss, where the world holds its breath and waits for the fall.
I gripped the hilt of my sword tightly, turning it in my palm, trying to find my center again. But everything inside me was off-balance. My chest still carried the phantom weight of his hands. My lips still tingled with the memory of his mouth, of the fire between us that had felt so real I couldn't breathe.
I wanted to scream. To hit something that would break this time.
Instead, I stood in the center of the practice ring, panting, my pulse wild in my throat.
"I let this happen," I whispered to the wind, the words trembling. "I let him happen."
And I hated that a part of me didn't regret it.
Even now, alone and furious and afraid, I could still see him—those hazel eyes, the way they'd burned into mine with something more than duty. The way he'd hesitated, like he didn't want to stop any more than I did. Like we'd both crossed a threshold we couldn't come back from.
But what future was there in it?
He was my knight. Sworn to protect me, not love me. And I was the princess of a kingdom already hanging by threads, waiting for the judgment of dragons and wolves, serpents and stars. There was no place for feelings here. No room for weakness.
I looked down at my hands, my palms blistered and red from gripping the sword too tight.
I had to bury this. Whatever it was between us, it had to die here—in this yard, in this silence, in the shadow of my own foolishness.
I clenched my jaw, forcing a deep breath into my lungs as I raised the sword again. My muscles screamed in protest, but I welcomed the ache.
Let it hurt. Let it burn away every last trace of that kiss.
Because if I didn't kill the feeling now, I wasn't sure I'd survive what came next.
The blade trembled in my grip now.
Not from exhaustion—though the ache in my arms was beginning to settle into my bones—but from the weight of what I was trying to outrun. I swung again, slower this time, my breath ragged, my stance wavering. Every strike felt like it was carving a part of me out. I wanted it to. I needed it to.
But it wasn't working.
No matter how many times I struck, I couldn't silence the memory of his hands on my waist, the way he'd looked at me like I was something sacred. Something he shouldn't touch—but couldn't stop himself from wanting.
It was wrong. And gods help me, it felt so right.
"Get it together," I hissed under my breath, pushing sweaty strands of hair from my face. "You can't feel this. Not now. Not ever."
But the words didn't hold power—not enough. Because I already had. I had felt it, and it had burned through every wall I'd spent years building. And it would happen again, unless I found a way to kill it at the root.
I lowered my blade, letting the tip sink into the dirt at my feet. My shoulders hunched forward as I bent slightly, catching my breath. The fire in my chest had shifted—less fury now, more of a slow, heavy ache. It felt like longing. It felt like grief.
What am I supposed to do when the man I trust most... is also the one who makes me feel like I could lose everything?
I knew it wasn't going to be easy. I knew these feelings wouldn't simply vanish because I wanted them to. They would cling to the corners of my mind, haunt my dreams, bleed into every stolen glance and shared silence.
Alexander was no ordinary knight. He wasn't like the rest—aloof, respectful, dutiful to a fault. No. He saw me. He made me feel. And that was dangerous.
Because I could survive an enemy's sword. I could endure betrayal, politics, power plays. But this—this pull between us, this raw and aching need—it would unravel me from the inside out.
And still...
Still, I wanted him.
I tightened my grip on the hilt again, teeth gritted, forcing my spine straight. "No. You are Ria of the Ravenspire. You do not fall. You rise."
The words echoed around me, fierce and hollow at once.
I didn't see her at first.
I didn't hear the quiet creak of the door leading to the corridor beyond, didn't notice the faint presence watching from the shadowed archway at the far end of the hall. My back was turned, my mind too loud, my chest still heaving with the remnants of a storm I hadn't fully weathered.
But she stood there—silent, unmoving—her pale dress barely catching the light, her hands folded before her as though she were no more than a memory passing through stone.
My mother.
Not truly there. But something of her.
Watching me.
And I didn't even know it.
-
Queen Lysara's POV
I stood at the edge of the archway, cloaked in silence, watching my daughter battle ghosts she could never name aloud.
The clang of her sword echoed across the stone, sharp and fast and angry. It was the sound of someone trying to silence something inside themselves. I knew it well. I had once made that same sound in this very chamber, years ago, when I was young and foolish and still believed I could shape my heart into something more manageable.
She moved like fire—too raw, too bright, too untamed. And gods, it frightened me.
But I didn't step forward. I simply watched.
Ria had changed. It wasn't just in the fierce determination on her face or the way her body moved with strength she hadn't had before. No—this was something deeper. The poise in her spine, the pain in her expression, the conflict in her eyes. She was carrying something she didn't know how to name yet.
And I had a feeling I knew what—or who—it was.
I wasn't blind.
The way Alexander looked at her was not the way a knight should look at his charge. It was… reverent. Hungry, restrained, dangerous. And my daughter—my clever, emotional, impulsive daughter—looked right back.
As if she didn't care what it meant.
As if she was willing to burn for it.
My jaw clenched, and I exhaled slowly through my nose, steadying the storm that wanted to rise in me. This was not the path I had wanted for her. I had spent years preparing Ria to be the kind of ruler who didn't let her heart override her judgment. Love, desire—they were luxuries of peasant girls and poets. Not of queens.
Not of princesses who had to keep kingdoms from falling apart.
But here she was—so much like me it hurt.
I pressed a hand against the cool stone of the doorway, a tether to keep myself from walking in and dragging her from the chaos she was so desperately clinging to. She had to feel it. She had to let it break her a little, or she'd never learn.
Still… my heart ached.
I hadn't held her since she was small enough to fit into the crook of my arm, her hair soft as smoke, her eyes like mirrors of the sky. She had always been fire and spirit. And I had been the storm that tried to shape her.
But fire does not bend to the wind. It rages.
And Ria… she was raging now.
A soft breath escaped me, barely audible. I let my fingers trail from the stone, drawing back into the shadows. She hadn't seen me. She didn't need to. Not yet.
But I would be watching.
And when the time came—when her heart put the future of this alliance, of this kingdom, at risk—I would not remain silent.
Even if it meant breaking the heart I helped raise.
-
I walked the long corridor in silence, the sound of my footsteps muffled by the velvet runner beneath them. Behind me, the sound of Ria's training still rang faintly, a rhythmic fury of blade against wood, like the beat of a heart trying to outrun itself.
She reminded me so much of myself. Too much, perhaps.
I knew that look in her eyes, that desperation to fight what was already unraveling inside. And I knew what waited at the end of that path—heartbreak, guilt, sacrifice. But also a secret sweetness so fleeting and devastating, it would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Just as it haunted me.
I hadn't spoken his name aloud in years. Gods, sometimes I thought I'd forgotten it on purpose. But the memory of him never left. Not truly. It lived in the smallest moments—a whisper of laughter, the scent of horses and iron, the press of summer heat against my skin.
Tavian. The blacksmith's son.
I had been seventeen. Headstrong. Reckless. I used to sneak out of the palace grounds at dusk, my hair tucked beneath a hood, my slippers exchanged for worn riding boots. He would meet me at the edge of the woods near the old mill, a crooked grin already on his lips as if he'd known I'd come long before I did.
Tavian had hands like stone but touched me like I was something made of silk. We talked about faraway places, simple lives—dreamed of running. Of leaving the politics and the blood and the crown behind. He said he'd build us a house with his own two hands. I believed him.
We kissed beneath stars, made promises in the dark. Foolish promises. Beautiful ones.
And then… I met Kaerin.
Not by choice, at first. Arranged, formal, political. The young prince with a sharp mind and a guarded heart. I was meant to be his queen, and I knew what that meant. No more sneaking into woods. No more stolen kisses by the forge. No more Tavian.
I broke it off on a rainy afternoon. I didn't cry. I didn't let myself. I stood there, soaked through, and told Tavian I was leaving with the prince. That we were to be married. That I couldn't live in fantasy anymore.
He never begged. Just nodded. Said, "You were never mine to keep, Lysara. Only to love."
And I did love him.
But love doesn't always survive reality.
Kaerin became my husband. We grew into something steady, something unshakeable. Not fire, not lust—but something enduring. A partnership. And yes, in time, a love of its own kind. One forged through hardship and loyalty.
But a piece of my heart had remained behind, hidden in those woods with Tavian.
Now, watching Ria—my brilliant, impulsive daughter—fall into the same impossible tide, I felt something inside me fracture. She was walking toward a love that could never survive the weight of the crown.
Just like I had.
But the difference was… Ria didn't know yet that she would have to choose. And when the moment came, I didn't know which would hurt more—seeing her walk away from the man who made her feel alive…
Or watching her try to keep both her heart and her kingdom, and lose them both in the process.
- - -
Ria's POV
My breath came in sharp, fast bursts as I lowered my fists, the sting in my knuckles muted by the adrenaline still coursing through me. Sweat dripped down my temple, soaking the collar of my tunic. My chest heaved, and I took a shaky step back, staring at the wreckage before me.
The training pillar—the one I'd been hammering my anger into—was no longer standing.
It lay shattered in uneven chunks at my feet, splintered wood and stone scattered like broken bones across the ground. The center beam had cracked in two under the force of my last blow, and now all that remained was dust and ruin. I stood over it like a warrior at the end of a battle, victorious and trembling.
Except I hadn't won anything. Not really.
I wiped my forearm across my brow and backed away further, the weight of what I'd done catching up with me. I hadn't even realized how long I'd been at it—how hard I'd been striking, over and over, as if breaking something outside of me would somehow fix the chaos within.
But the storm inside me raged still. No matter how hard I fought, I couldn't beat it into submission.
"Damn it," I whispered, voice hoarse from the effort and emotion.
I dropped to the ground, sitting in the dust and remains, breathing heavily, eyes burning. I let my head fall into my hands, my fingers threading through the damp strands of my hair.
I shouldn't have kissed him.
Gods, I shouldn't have kissed him.
It had felt so right in that moment—his body so close, the tension burning between us, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing he could see. I'd let it pull me under. I hadn't wanted to stop. And that was the worst part of it.
Because I couldn't be the princess who fell in love with her knight. That wasn't a story that ended well. That was a scandal waiting to erupt. A weakness waiting to be exploited.
And yet… I wanted him. Not just because he was beautiful or strong or kind. But because when I was with him, I felt like I could breathe. Like I didn't have to be perfect. Like the weight of all this—alliances, crowns, war, expectations—it didn't have to crush me.
But that didn't make it right. It just made it harder to forget.
I ran my fingers along the cracked edge of one of the fallen beams, grounding myself in the splinters. The pain helped. A little. It reminded me of what was real.
I couldn't let this happen again. I had to be stronger than this.
I had to be who they needed me to be.
Just as I was about to rise, something shifted at the edge of my awareness. A faint sound—soft footsteps fading down the corridor outside. I turned toward it, but the hall beyond the open training doors was empty.
Odd.
Shaking the thought off, I exhaled and forced myself to stand, brushing off the dust from my tunic. I'd clean the wreckage later. Or not. Let the ruined pillar serve as a warning to myself—of what happens when I let my heart rule my head.
But gods… even knowing that, it still hurt.
The corridors were quiet as I walked, shadows stretching long across the stone walls from the flickering sconces. My boots echoed with every step, a steady beat that matched the dull thrum of my pulse. I should've gone to the bathhouse first, cleaned the sweat and dust from my skin, but I didn't have the strength to care. I just needed to be alone. Truly alone.
By the time I reached my chambers, I was trembling. Not from exhaustion, though my muscles ached with every movement. No, this shaking came from something deeper—something tight in my chest, just under the surface, waiting to spill out.
I shut the door behind me with more force than I meant to, the click of the lock somehow too loud in the silence. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting my room in soft amber hues, gold lacing through the blue velvet curtains and pooling against the cold marble floor.
My eyes landed on the gown I'd worn at the council meeting—still laid out across the chaise. Blackish-blue silk with raven feathers dancing through the fabric. The fur-lined collar of the dire wolf resting over the shoulders like a crown of shadows. A queen's gown, if ever there was one.
A leader's.
But all I saw now was the way he had looked at me when I wore it. Like I was made of stars and storms. Like he couldn't decide whether to worship me or run.
Gods, why did I let myself fall like this?
I pressed the heel of my palm to my forehead and sank down onto the edge of my bed. I felt heavy. Splintered. Like I'd cracked down the middle in the forest, and now I was bleeding emotions I didn't have the luxury to feel.
This couldn't happen again. I couldn't keep walking toward something that could ruin us both.
But… I didn't want to walk away either.
"I'm a fool," I whispered to the empty room.
I reached for my cloak at the end of the bed and pulled it around me—not because I was cold, but because it felt like armor. Like maybe if I wrapped myself tightly enough, I could hold the pieces of me together.
I walked to the window and leaned against the frame, pushing the curtain aside to see the gardens below. Moonlight painted everything silver. Peaceful. Untouched.
What a lie.
Everything in me was storm-tossed.
I thought about the old kingdoms. The alliance I'd begged for. The weight of everything riding on the next three days. If I faltered now—if I let myself be distracted by stolen glances and impossible feelings—I could doom the very peace I was trying to protect.
And yet…
When he touched me, I felt alive.
I swallowed hard, hands tightening against the windowsill.
This had to stay between us. Buried. Forgotten.
Because if I let my heart win now… I wouldn't survive the cost.
The wind stirred outside, rustling the branches beyond the window. A lone raven cawed in the distance—a sharp sound that broke the stillness and made my breath hitch.
And then came a knock.
Soft. Barely more than a tap.
I froze.
For a heartbeat, I didn't move. Didn't breathe. I didn't want to see anyone. Not Talia. Not a courtier. Not even Alexander—especially not Alexander.
But something in me—traitorous and trembling—hoped it was him.
I turned from the window slowly, fingers still curled tightly into the fabric of my cloak. I stepped toward the door, each footfall echoing too loudly in my ears.
Another knock. A little firmer this time.
I hesitated just a moment longer before pulling it open.
It wasn't Talia. And it wasn't Alexander.
It was my father.
King Kaerin stood tall in the doorway, his silver-streaked hair falling loose around his shoulders. His expression wasn't stern—not exactly—but it was heavy. Measured. And when his eyes fell on mine, something in them softened.
"Ria," he said gently, his voice low. "You left the training yard without a word."
I stepped aside without answering, and he entered, the door shutting with a dull thud behind him.
He didn't speak right away. Just looked around the room. Took in the crumpled gown on the chaise, the fading fire, the haunted look I must've had on my face.
"I didn't think you'd still be awake," I murmured, arms folded over my chest like I could shield my thoughts from him.
He turned his gaze to me, and for a moment, he looked more like the father I remembered from my childhood than the king the world saw now. "I rarely sleep these days. Too many ghosts in the dark."
I understood that more than I could say.
He moved to the hearth, placing a hand against the carved mantle, eyes on the low-burning flame. "I saw what you did in the training chamber."
My throat tightened. "I needed to let something out."
He nodded, still watching the fire. "I know. And I'm not here to lecture you. You're carrying a weight heavier than most would ever understand."
I felt the words build in my chest—questions, confessions, pain I couldn't release. But I couldn't bring myself to say anything. Not yet.
"You're scared," he said, not unkindly. "Not just of war, or the council, or Halvaran. You're afraid of yourself. Of what you feel."
I went still.
Slowly, I met his gaze. "You don't know what I feel."
"No," he said, voice quiet but sure. "But I see it. I saw it in the way you stood at that council table. In the way you look when you speak of peace. And in the way you looked in that gown."
His eyes searched mine, careful now. "You wore your heart into that chamber, Ria. On your sleeve, in your spine, in every word you said. And the room felt it. That's why they listened. Because you believed it."
I wanted to cry. Gods, I wanted to just break. Instead, I sat down at the edge of the chaise, my fingers playing with the embroidered feathers of the gown beside me.
"I'm supposed to be stronger than this," I whispered. "I shouldn't let my emotions get in the way. Not now."
Kaerin walked over and knelt before me, something I couldn't remember him doing since I was a girl.
"Your emotions are not your weakness," he said. "They are your power. Your fire. They make people follow you, because they see themselves in you. You feel for them."
I looked down at him. "And what if those emotions make me do something… I can't take back?"
His eyes held mine. Steady. Unflinching.
"Then you face the consequences with the same strength you faced the council. With the same heart."
We stayed like that for a while—no more words needed. Just a father and daughter caught in the eye of the storm.
Finally, he rose to his feet and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Get some sleep, Ria," he said gently. "Tomorrow… the real work begins."
And with that, he left, the door closing quietly behind him.
But sleep would not come.
Because deep down, I knew.
Tomorrow wouldn't be easier.
And neither would forgetting Alexander's lips on mine.
-
I hadn't slept a wink.
The quiet of the night was oppressive, each tick of the clock echoing in my ears as I sat curled on the cushioned window seat, gazing out over the sprawling courtyard. The early morning light had barely touched the horizon, yet here I was, still awake, tangled in thoughts I could barely sort through. The soft whisper of the wind through the cracked window was my only company, the faint scent of the night's rain lingering in the air.
My mind couldn't stop racing.
The dress, still draped across the wooden screen in the corner of the room, was a constant reminder of the promise I'd made. Raven feathers embroidered onto deep, blackish-blue fabric, and fur from a dire wolf lining the collar. My father had seen it as a statement. A show of strength. A declaration that the Old Four were no longer just relics of a past age—they were the future.
And I had agreed to stand by that.
But the weight of it all—of the future that was now tied to this decision—pressed on my chest like a vice.
I knew what was at stake.
Today, the envoys from Halvaran would arrive. Today, the real work began. We would find out if they were truly willing to join us, if my vision of uniting the Old Four had a chance.
I thought of the council—how hard it had been to get them to listen. And yet, despite the doubts, the whispers, and the sharp words, I had pushed. The alliance was no longer a dream. It was something real, something we had to see through.
My heart hammered in my chest as I rose, the cold stone floor biting my feet. I moved slowly, the tension from yesterday's council still sitting heavy in my bones. I couldn't afford to falter today. Not when everything was hanging in the balance.
Another knock at the door, this time sharper. "Come in," I called, my voice hoarse from too many sleepless hours.
Talia stepped in, her face soft but with an edge of concern. "The envoys have arrived, Princess. Your father awaits you in the Hall."
I nodded, trying to steady my breathing. "I'll be there shortly."
The Great Hall was a grand space, an ancient room that had seen the weight of countless decisions and the passage of time. Sunlight streamed in from high windows, casting a golden glow that made the stone walls shimmer, the banners of the Old Four fluttering gently in the breeze. Wolf. Dragon. Serpent. Raven. They were everywhere, surrounding us with their history, their power, their promises.
And at the center of it all, my father stood tall, the weight of the silver crown on his brow as he addressed the room. His figure, regal and strong, was a constant reminder of the mantle he carried—and, today, of the responsibility that was slowly becoming mine.
But it was not him that drew the attention of the room when I entered.
As the doors opened, the murmurs stopped. All eyes shifted toward me, and the room seemed to still. I could feel every gaze upon me—the nobles, the foreign dignitaries, the guards—all of them watching, waiting for me to take my place in the unfolding drama of this moment.
I didn't look back as I walked forward. I couldn't afford to show my hesitation. I had to be every bit the princess they expected me to be. Strong. Resolute.
But as I moved toward my father, I could feel the eyes of the envoys from Halvaran on me, too. Lord Rannis, the eldest envoy, stood at the front of his delegation, flanked by his younger companions. His eyes studied me, sharp and calculating, the way a predator watches its prey.
"You wear the symbols of the Old Four, Princess," he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "Bold."
"They're more than symbols, Lord Rannis," I replied. My voice was steady, though my heart pounded harder with every word. "They are a promise. A vision for a united future. The Old Four, working together again."
There was a pause. Rannis's eyes narrowed, and I could feel the weight of his judgment. But I didn't flinch. I couldn't.
"I've heard the talk," Rannis continued. "Unity is a dream, not a reality. You ask for the impossible, Princess."
"No," I said, my voice cutting through the doubt in his tone. "I ask for survival. For the chance to preserve what we've built. If we don't unite, if we don't stand together, Thaiyocuria will fall apart. And so will Halvaran. All the kingdoms. There will be nothing left but war."
Murmurs spread through the room, but I ignored them, my gaze fixed on Rannis. "I've seen the signs. I've seen the unrest. If we wait until it's too late, it will be bloodshed. It will be chaos."
He didn't speak immediately, instead turning to his companions. The silence stretched as he considered my words, then he looked back at me. "And why should we believe you? A princess with such grand ideas? Why should Halvaran risk everything on your vision?"
My heart skipped, but I stood my ground.
"Because I've already bled for this. Because I believe in it more than any of you could imagine. I am asking you to join us, not as a matter of pride, but as a matter of survival."
I saw it then—the shift in his eyes. The slightest change. A crack in his certainty.
Rannis stepped forward, bowing his head ever so slightly, not in submission but in respect. "Perhaps… you may be right, Princess. Perhaps this unity is worth considering."
I turned to my father, who gave me a brief, approving nod.
The room broke into applause. Soft at first, hesitant, but as the weight of the decision sank in, it grew louder, more confident. A real alliance was being forged right here, in this ancient hall.
I caught Rannis's gaze one last time. There was still doubt in him, but he had agreed.
And that, I thought, was enough.
--
The council chamber was still buzzing with energy as lords and ladies debated, some speaking in hushed tones, others loudly expressing their opinions on the terms of the newly forged alliance. The tension in the room was almost palpable, but I barely noticed it. My mind was elsewhere.
I had done it.
The Old Four had united, and Halvaran had pledged their willingness to join us. We had achieved what so many had deemed impossible. The pieces had finally fallen into place, and I had been the one to set it all in motion.
Lord Erich of the Serpents was speaking loudly about the need for a grand feast. "The people need to see that we are strong and united. The alliance must be celebrated," he boomed.
"Yes," Princess Aerith of the Dragons added, her voice calm but firm, "but we must also be careful. Halvaran will be watching closely. A celebration is a message, yes, but we must make sure it doesn't come across as arrogance."
I could barely hear the words they were saying. My mind was still racing, caught between disbelief and an overwhelming sense of triumph. The weight of it all—the countless hours of planning, the years of sacrifice—had led to this moment. The Old Four were united once again, and I had been the one to make it happen.
Lord Carcin of the Ravens spoke next, his gaze flickering to me. "Perhaps a more subdued affair," he suggested. "A quiet dinner, with selected guests, so as not to appear as if we are flaunting our strength."
It was all happening so quickly. I nodded in agreement to whatever was being said, not entirely focused on the discussion. I wasn't thinking about the celebration or the feast. I was thinking about what this meant for the kingdoms of Thaiyocuria. What this meant for my people.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Father's voice cut through the noise.
"That will be enough for today," he said, his tone commanding the room's attention. "All decisions regarding the celebration and the specifics of the alliance will be finalized by the end of the week." He turned to me. "Ria, I'd like you to be involved in the planning. After all, this alliance was your idea."
I nodded, my lips pressing together in a smile, though it felt strange, as if my face couldn't quite keep up with the emotions swirling inside me. "Of course, Father."
The council members slowly began to file out, one by one, the room growing quieter with each departure. I remained standing near the massive oak table, my heart pounding in my chest, barely able to comprehend what had just happened. The decision had been made. The agreement was in place.
As the last of the council members left, I took a step toward the door. My feet felt like they were moving on their own, the weight of my thoughts almost too heavy to bear. I could barely process the triumph, the success of it all. But deep down, I felt the realization slowly settle over me: I had done it.
I stepped into the hallway, the long stone corridor stretching before me like a path I had never truly noticed before. The cold air from the open windows chilled me, but it didn't matter. My skin tingled with the adrenaline of what I had just accomplished.
I had fought for this. For this moment.
As I walked, each step felt surreal, like I was moving through a dream. My heartbeat was steady, but it felt as though it was pounding in my chest, echoing through the stone walls. The corridor was bathed in the soft, flickering light from the torches on the walls. Each flame seemed to flicker in time with the rush of thoughts in my mind.
When I reached my chamber, I paused.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the door handle, the reality of it all sinking in like a tidal wave. The alliance had been secured. The Old Four would be whole again. My heart raced at the thought.
I opened the door and stepped inside, but once I was alone in the quiet of my room, the emotions I had been holding in came rushing to the surface. The door clicked softly behind me, the sound almost muffled in the stillness of the room.
I didn't try to hold it back anymore.
I collapsed onto the floor, my knees drawn up to my chest, and the tears started to fall. They came quickly, too fast to control. I hadn't realized how badly I had needed to cry, how much this had all been weighing on me until this very moment.
I had done it. I had fought for this. And now, it was done.
"I did it…" The words came out in a whisper, hoarse and trembling. "I really did it."
The sobs wracked my body, and I let them. The joy, the relief, the exhaustion—it was all too much. I hadn't realized how long I had been holding everything in until now, until I was alone, until I could let go.
This moment was mine, and it felt like a release of everything I had been carrying for so long. The future was still uncertain. There were still challenges to face, still battles to win. But for now, for this one moment, I allowed myself to fall apart.
The dream I had worked for, the dream I had fought for—it was real. And I had made it happen.
The sobs slowly faded, turning into soft, almost rhythmic breaths. My tears were still warm on my cheeks, but the ache in my chest was beginning to ease. The reality of everything started to settle around me like a blanket, heavy but comforting.
I had fought so hard for this—for the alliance, for my kingdom, for a future where we could stand strong again. And I had finally done it. I had set the wheels in motion, and now, there was nothing left but the uncertainty of the journey ahead. But in that moment, I couldn't focus on that. I could only focus on the fact that the impossible had been made real.
I wiped my tears away, trying to steady my breath. My hands were still trembling, but I wasn't crying anymore. The weight of what I had done was still there, but it was a different kind of weight now. It wasn't a burden. It was a victory.
A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I froze, my heart skipping in my chest. Who would be coming now?
"Ria?" It was Father's voice, deep and reassuring. "Can we speak for a moment?"
I quickly stood and wiped my face, feeling the heat of the tears on my skin. I straightened, trying to regain some semblance of composure before opening the door.
"Of course, Father," I said, my voice sounding steady, though my heart was still racing.
I opened the door to find him standing there, tall and broad in his regal attire, his face softened by the warmth of the day's success. He looked at me with a mixture of pride and something else—something that felt like relief, but more than that, a quiet admiration.
"You're alone?" He asked, glancing past me into the room. "No council members, no celebrations?"
I smiled, though it was small. "I needed a moment alone to think," I admitted. "To process everything."
Father nodded, stepping into the room. "It's all moving very quickly now," he said, his voice low, as though speaking to himself as much as to me. "The envoys from Halvaran will be here soon to finalize the terms. And after that, we prepare for the celebrations."
His eyes softened, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. "You did well, Ria. You've brought us this far. You've done more than most could have dreamed."
A surge of warmth filled me at his praise, and I suddenly realized how much I had needed it. My father, the king, was proud of me. Despite everything, despite the doubts I had carried for so long, he was proud. And that made the weight of the world seem just a little bit lighter.
I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "It's not over yet. We still have a long way to go."
Father's lips quirked into a half-smile, a hint of something wry in his eyes. "Of course. But you've already proven what you're capable of, Ria. Now, we'll see it through to the end. Together."
I nodded, a silent promise hanging between us. The future was still uncertain, but at least now, I had the support I needed. The path ahead would be difficult, but for the first time in a long while, I wasn't afraid of it.
He stayed with me for a while longer, talking softly about the logistics of the coming days, the finalization of the alliance, and the tasks that lay ahead. But I didn't hear much of what he said. My mind was already starting to race again, picking apart the possibilities, preparing for what was to come.
Eventually, though, he left me to my thoughts, with a soft, reassuring touch to my arm before he disappeared back down the hall.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, letting the weight of the day settle on me again. The room around me felt quieter now, more still than it ever had been. The hum of the torches flickering along the walls was almost too loud in the silence.
But then something shifted in the air. I could feel it. It was as though all of the tension, the uncertainty, the pressure of everything that had led me to this moment, had suddenly fallen away. And in its place, there was something else—a sense of purpose, of clarity.
I had done what I set out to do. The alliance had been formed. The people would be protected. The Old Four were united.
And yet, as the thoughts rolled through my mind, something else lingered there, just beneath the surface.
Alexander.
The memory of him lingered like a whisper in my mind, his words, his presence, the way he had looked at me when we stood together in the training grounds. There was something about the way he made me feel—something that stirred deep within me.
But now was not the time to focus on that. I pushed it aside, even though the ache was still there, buried beneath the joy and relief. The path I had chosen, the duty I had accepted, required all of my focus. There could be no room for distractions now.
But even as I told myself that, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if things were different. If I wasn't a princess, if I wasn't bound by duty and responsibility. What would it be like to not have to carry the weight of an entire kingdom on my shoulders?
I shook my head, willing the thoughts away. It was foolish to think that way. I had a responsibility. The alliance was what mattered. The future was what mattered.
And yet, as I lay back on my bed, the weight of everything finally catching up with me, I couldn't stop the thought that crept into my mind:
Maybe it's time I let myself feel something more.
---
Kaerin's POV:
I sat at the long, polished table, my hands folded before me, the flickering light from the torches casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. The quiet of the evening almost seemed too peaceful for the enormity of the task we had ahead of us, but that was the way things were in the castle after such a significant event. The council meeting had ended, and now, Ria and I were alone, discussing the upcoming celebration.
I watched her, seeing how her eyes sparkled with determination as she spoke. It was hard to believe that this was my daughter—the same young girl who had once clung to my side in the gardens, asking me questions about the stars. Now, she sat across from me, discussing plans to unite the Old Four kingdoms, to bring an end to the feuding that had plagued our lands for centuries. And she was doing it with a strength and resolve that left me in awe.
"So, what exactly do you want for the celebration?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, but I could already see the wheels turning in her mind.
Ria's lips curled into a smile, a rare thing for her these days, but one that I cherished when it appeared. "I want flags, Dad. Flags of all the kingdoms—ours, the Ravens, the Dragons,the serpents, and the Wolves. I want them hanging everywhere, on every wall, draped from the ceiling, showing everyone that we stand together, united."
I nodded slowly, impressed by her clarity. She wasn't just thinking about the moment; she was thinking about the message it would send to the people, to the world. Unity. Strength. It wasn't just about a celebration—it was about showing that we could stand as one, despite the divisions of the past.
"Flags... I like it," I said, my voice low with approval. "It will be a powerful symbol of our unity."
And it would be, I realized. The more she spoke, the more I understood the deeper meaning behind her choices. This wasn't just a celebration of the alliance. It was a statement. A declaration that we had made something lasting, something significant, something that would be remembered. I'd never seen Ria so focused, so determined.
"And what else?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
Her face brightened even more. "I want it in the Old Ballroom. The one we haven't used since... since your wedding."
The mention of Lysara hit me like a blow to the chest. The Old Ballroom. It had been a place of joy, of light, of love—our wedding, the night we'd promised ourselves to each other forever. I hadn't stepped foot in that room since.
But as Ria spoke, I realized she was right. It was the perfect choice. The ballroom represented the past—the beginning of something new—and now, it could stand as a testament to the new future we were forging. It was time to reclaim it, to honor what had come before while stepping boldly into what we could achieve together.
"The Old Ballroom, hm?" I said, my voice thick with thought. "It's been so long. But you're right... it's a fitting choice. Perhaps it's time we use it again. There's no reason to let the past linger in the shadows when we're forging something new."
I could see the relief in Ria's eyes as she heard my words. She was so much like Lysara in that moment—determined, fiercely intelligent, and driven by a vision of a better future. But she was her own person, too, and I felt a sense of pride swelling in my chest. She was my daughter, my heir, and she was already starting to shape the world in her own image.
Ria nodded, her face glowing with satisfaction. "Thank you, Dad. I just want everything to feel... meaningful. We've been through so much to get here, and this celebration needs to reflect that."
"Very well," I said, smiling warmly at her. "The Old Ballroom it is, and the flags will be displayed proudly. This will be a celebration no one will forget."
Ria's excitement bubbled up again. "And, Father, the food—we need to make sure it represents all the kingdoms, too. We can't have a celebration without a feast!"
I chuckled softly, the sound filling the quiet room. "I'll have the kitchens informed immediately. I'm sure they'll be thrilled."
She grinned, the warmth of the moment wrapping around us like a protective cloak. I looked at my daughter, truly seeing her for the first time as the woman she was becoming. She had grown so much—far beyond the princess I'd once known. She was a leader now. And she would shape the future of this kingdom.
"What else?" I asked, my voice softer now, with a note of finality. I had the sense that she had more ideas, more plans, more dreams to share.
She paused for a moment, considering her words carefully. "I want everyone to be there, Father. The envoys from the other kingdoms, the council, the people. It's important that we show them we are united—not just in the eyes of the nobles, but in the eyes of the people, too."
A swell of pride surged within me. My daughter, a ruler in the making, already understood what it meant to lead. She wasn't just focused on the political implications—she was thinking about the people, the kingdom as a whole. I hadn't expected such maturity at her age.
"You're right," I said quietly, my voice thick with emotion. "This celebration isn't just for the nobles. It's for everyone. We need to show them that they are part of this new future we're creating. They will be the foundation of it."
Ria's smile deepened, and in that moment, I saw the reflection of the future in her eyes. The kingdom would be in good hands. Not just mine, but hers.
As the night wore on, we talked more about the smaller details—the music, the dancing, the timing of it all. Each choice she made seemed more thoughtful than the last. It was clear that Ria was not just taking the reigns of this kingdom; she was setting the stage for something that would outlast all of us.
When our conversation came to a close, I leaned back in my chair, feeling both content and oddly sentimental. "I think you've thought of everything," I said with a smile that could have lit up the entire hall.
Ria looked back at me, her face glowing with the satisfaction of a job well done. "I hope so, Father. This needs to be perfect."
"I'm proud of you, Ria," I said, my voice low, filled with more love and admiration than I could ever express in words. "You've done something incredible here. And I have no doubt that you will continue to do so."
Her smile softened, but there was a quiet strength in her gaze. She wasn't just my daughter anymore. She was my queen in the making.
"I'll do my best, Father," she said, her voice steady and sure.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt a deep sense of peace.
The last bite of my supper was taken, the taste of roasted game still lingering on my tongue as I placed my utensils gently on the plate. The feast had been simple yet satisfying, a quiet moment before the preparations for the celebration would consume all our time.
Ria had already risen from the table, eager to attend to the myriad details that awaited her. Her mind was still alive with ideas, I could see it in her eyes, even as she tried to mask it behind the politeness expected of her. She wasn't like me—content to be in the background. She was driven, and in her drive, I couldn't help but see the future unfolding.
"Go, Ria," I said, my voice gentle but firm. "The evening is yours to plan. You've earned it."
She nodded, offering me a soft smile before she excused herself, leaving the room with the grace of someone who had just taken the first step toward becoming what she was always meant to be. It was a bittersweet moment. In my heart, I could feel the transition taking place—not just in Ria, but in me, too. My daughter was growing up.
As she left, my attention shifted to the woman sitting beside me. Lysara. She was always there, a constant presence in my life, her love and loyalty never wavering. I turned my gaze to her as she finished her meal, the soft clink of her fork against her plate the only sound in the otherwise silent room.
Her eyes met mine, and without a word, she knew what I was thinking. She always did. The bond we shared went far beyond words—an understanding built on years of shared experiences, hardships, and the deep love we had for each other. There was a familiarity in the way she moved, a grace that made even the simplest of tasks seem effortless.
"Are you well?" I asked, my voice softer now, the weight of the conversation earlier still hanging in the air.
Lysara's lips quirked upward in a slight, knowing smile. "I'm always well when I'm with you."
I chuckled, shaking my head lightly. "You always know how to make me feel like the luckiest man in the kingdom."
She reached out to place a hand over mine, her touch warm and steady, grounding me in the present. "You are lucky, Kaerin. And I'm the fortunate one."
We sat in a comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying the closeness we shared. She was more than my queen, more than the mother of my children. Lysara was my partner in everything—the good and the bad, the joys and the struggles.
After a moment, I cleared my throat, my thoughts turning back to Ria. "There's something I need to tell you," I said quietly, my eyes not leaving Lysara's face.
Her expression shifted, a slight crease between her brows as she looked at me with concern. "What is it?"
I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to frame it. But there was no point in holding back. I had to speak my mind. "There are princes from the other kingdoms. The Old Four kingdoms. They seem to have... taken an interest in Ria."
Her eyes darkened, just for a moment, but I could see the protective instinct flare within her. Lysara had always been fiercely protective of our children, especially Ria, the heir.
"Is it something we should be concerned about?" she asked, her voice low but filled with the sharpness I knew so well.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair and rubbing the back of my neck. "I don't know yet. But with the celebration, it might be an opportunity for them to get to know her better. The kingdoms will be watching closely. And if any of these princes see a chance, they may try to form a... closer connection with her. It could be political. It could be personal."
Lysara's gaze never wavered from mine as she absorbed my words. I could see her mind working, weighing the implications, calculating the possibilities.
"I see." Her voice was quiet but resolute. "Ria is strong, Kaerin. She'll handle herself. But I fear that if any of them see her as a prize to be claimed—"
"You fear for her heart," I finished, my tone just as quiet, the truth settling between us like a heavy weight.
She nodded, her hand still resting on mine, though there was a tension in her touch now. "Yes. I fear for her heart. The politics, the marriages... They can be cruel, Kaerin. I don't want her to lose herself in it. Not like I almost did."
I squeezed her hand, my thumb gently tracing the back of her palm. "She's not you, Lysara. She's her own person. She'll do what's right for her, just as you did what was right for us."
Lysara's lips pressed together for a moment, a faint trace of sadness flickering in her eyes. She wasn't wrong, though. She had been caught between the love she had for me and the duties of a queen, the demands of politics. I knew that, and it had broken her in ways that no one ever saw. She had always been strong, but I had seen the cracks over the years.
"I just want to protect her from that," she whispered. "From the same fate."
I nodded, understanding completely. I too wanted to protect Ria—from the weight of the throne, from the heartbreak that would inevitably come when she was forced to make a choice between love and duty. But I also knew that she was not a child. She had the strength of her mother in her, and the wisdom of the years we had both lived through.
"The ball will give us a chance to see what kind of men they are," I said, changing the subject slightly. "If any of them approach her with intentions of marriage, we'll know. And if Ria sees something in one of them... then we'll support her. If not, we'll ensure that she doesn't feel pressured."
Lysara studied me for a long moment before nodding slowly. "You're right. But be careful. Some of these men... they don't play by the same rules we do."
I chuckled darkly. "When do they ever?"
She smiled, her eyes softening. "True enough."
We both fell silent again, the weight of our conversation lingering in the air. There was much we still needed to discuss—much that would shape the future of our kingdom and our family. But for now, we simply sat together, a quiet understanding passing between us. The world outside would always try to pull us in different directions. But in moments like this, when it was just us, I knew we were strong enough to face whatever came our way.
Lysara leaned her head on my shoulder, and I kissed the top of her head, letting the peace of the moment wash over me.
For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe—just maybe—we had done something right.