By the time Prince Kaelith arrived at the Grand Hall, the court was already assembled. Torchlight flickered against iron armor. Knights who trained under the famed Zarethrone banner lined the chamber like a river of steel.
Every general, commander, noble, and war-bound soul stood at attention.
His father, King Aldric, was already at the head of the room, his face carved in stone.
Kaelith's boots echoed as he approached the dais, bowing low.
"Father."
The King did not speak immediately. Instead, he held up a parchment sealed in red wax, its edges burned by foreign fire. He unfurled it slowly. The room held its breath.
A declaration of war, Aldric said, his voice like thunder. From the Kingdom of Orvania.
A gasp rippled across the chamber.
Orvania. A realm once allied to Zarethrone until jealousy soured the peace.
They accuse us of arrogance, the King continued. They claim our people have grown soft with pleasure and pomp. That we no longer bleed.
His eyes swept the hall. They seek to prove otherwise. In two days they march.
Kaelith's stomach twisted.
Zarethrone was a kingdom of discipline, not death. Where punishment came by pleasure, not the blade. Even the guilty were not slaughtered. Its laws were cruel but rarely fatal. Bodies broke on silk sheets not on battlefields.
They mistake our grace for weakness, the King said, gripping the scroll. They believe a realm ruled by beauty and restraint cannot rise to war
Silence again. But under it fear.
Kaelith's gaze swept the chamber and saw it mirrored in the others.
Then came the worst part.
His father looked at him.
There is a disorder, Kaelith. Something beneath our walls is shifting. This is not just politics, it feels like punishment. A divine one.
Kaelith felt his heart drop.
Punishment.
The word pierced like a blade to his chest.
Is this because of me?
He remembered Hale's mouth on his skin. His hands. His warmth. The soft tremble in Kaelith's voice when he moaned into his shoulder. The oath he'd looked at, touched, and doubted.
You shall never be laid before any man in desire.
And now there was war.
He swallowed hard, hands behind his back.
No one knew what he had done. But still, the guilt was there. Thick and suffocating.
The King turned back to the assembly. Gather the war council. Prepare the gates. Every able fighter must be named and trained by dawn tomorrow.
The commanders nodded. Runners were sent. Chaos began.
Kaelith could barely hear the noise in his mind.
Zarethrone would bleed.
The Crown Prince, deep in his thoughts, began to fear that the trouble or the cause of the coming war might have begun with him, possibly because of something intimate or forbidden that happened in his private chamber. Like his encounter with Hale.
The last of the generals bowed and left the grand hall, their armor clinking like distant thunder.
Silence followed thick, heavy, the kind that pressed on Kaelith's lungs.
Only the King remained at the head of the room, eyes still on the map that now bore markings of war.
Kaelith stepped closer, voice low. "Father."
King Aldric didn't look up. Speak.
Kaelith took a breath. The engagement to Princess Lysandra.
The King glanced at him then, brow lifting just slightly.
Kaelith straightened his spine. Perhaps it should be put on hold. Just until the war has passed. The people will be anxious. The court is distracted. A royal celebration now would feel careless.
The King studied him for a long moment. And that is your only reason?
Kaelith hesitated but held the King's gaze. Yes.
Aldric's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. So be it. I will issue the notice in the morning. For now, the war takes priority.
Kaelith bowed. And he turned to leave.
The Next Morning Princess Lysandra's Chambers
The sun had barely risen when the knock came.
Lysandra stood by the open window, dressed in silk the color of pearl. Her long braid spilled over one shoulder, and a jeweled comb glittered in her hair placed there for the fitting that never came.
She turned as her maid entered, face pale.
Your Highness, the girl said, bowing low. A message from the King.
Lysandra took the scroll, her hands steady as she broke the seal.
She read it once. Then again, slower.
Engagement with Prince Kaelith postponed. Effective immediately. Kingdom to prepare for war.
Her breath caught.
Not canceled but postponed. And yet, the sting burned the same.
She lowered the scroll, her voice flat. Leave me.
The maid hesitated. Shall I cancel the dressmakers?
I said leave.
The door shut softly.
Lysandra turned back to the window, the parchment still clenched in her hand.
Postponed? Or abandoned?
She had played her role perfectly beautiful, desirable, well-spoken, and aligned with the court's ideals. And yet he had asked for time.
Time away from her.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, barely more than a breath. So that's how it begins. With swords or shame.
Her fingers crumpled the message.
Somewhere beyond the walls, horns were being blown. Armor polished. War drums are warming up their beat.
But inside her chest, a new battle had just begun one not on fields, but behind the eyes.
And Lysandra had no intention of surrendering.
Crown Prince's chamber, was soft and golden, but the warmth of it was wasted on Kaelith.
He sat at the edge of his bed, already half-armored, hands tightening leather straps over his forearms. His expression was substandard cold, composed, and distant as if the night before had never happened. As if Hale had never touched him. As if nothing had burned between them in the dark.
The door creaked open.
Good morning, Your Highness. Hale stepped in quietly, his eyes flickering around the room first to the untouched breakfast tray, then to the still-unmade bed, then finally to the prince, who hadn't even turned his head.
He hesitated before speaking further. Your Highness, I heard about the gathering. The war preparations. Is it true?
Kaelith didn't look up.
"Yes."
One word flat and dismissive.
Hale took a few steps closer, his voice lower, almost cautious. They said the other kingdoms are marching already. That we could be attacked any day.
Kaelith rose from the bed, slipping his arms into the heavy shoulder plates, fastening them himself with sharp movements. The eve of the march, he said curtly. We leave for the southern fields.
The silence stretched like a wound between them.
Prepare my armor and ready the horses. We'll move to the training grounds by the second bell.
Hale froze, the chill of that voice deeper than the morning air. He opened his mouth to say something else, anything, but the words caught in his throat.
This wasn't the Kaelith who moaned beneath him. Who clung to him in silence. Who trembled from his touch.
This was the Crown Prince.
And he was nothing more than a servant again.
Kaelith turned to him finally, but his eyes held no softness. Make sure the recruits are lined up. I want them blood-ready by the end of the day.
Yes, Your Highness, Hale replied, quietly, the words stinging in his mouth.
No acknowledgment. No mention of the night before. No trace of it in his voice, his face, or his posture.
It was as if it had never happened.
And perhaps, Hale thought bitterly as he bowed and turned to leave, for Kaelith it had meant nothing at all.
What followed next… shattered everything they thought they had.