The hall was silent.
Two men stood defiant before the throne: the tyrant in velvet and the upstart in black. Many eyes watched us. Whispers curled around the pillars. The court had assembled not for a trial, but for a judgement.
King Alric seated himself slowly, the weight of age pulling his bones down into the gilded seat. Yet his gaze remained sharp, and when it settled on me, it did not tremble.
"Lord Vihan of Wyvrland. Duke Ravien Malkorr of Hollowfort." His voice echoed despite its gravel. "Two wolves circling the same carcass. Speak now—both of you—and I shall decide which bite the realm can bear."
Ravien bowed his head slightly, a predator masking his teeth.
"My King," he said smoothly, "I stand not for ambition, but for stability. My family has governed the eastern duchy for decades. We've kept your taxes flowing, your roads safe, and your laws enforced. Lord Vihan, on the other hand, has usurped counties by force, rebelled without your leave, and now spreads chaos beneath your very crown."
Lies wrapped in half-truths. Ravien was clever—never giving me the chance to deny the blood, only frame it as rebellion.
I stepped forward. "With respect, Your Grace, I reclaimed what was mine by birth and right. My father, served your crown loyally until Ravien orchestrated his fall. The counties I hold now bled under his taxes and tyranny. I restored order."
Mairelle raised her hand. "Order through steel. Your Grace, we have letters from three merchant houses confirming Vihan's forces seized Branholdt's treasury. Testimonies from abbots forced to swear fealty. He speaks of legacy, but behaves like a warlord."
I smiled thinly. "If the court demands proof, I've brought mine."
Lyra stepped forward from the crowd and laid down a scroll with the royal seal—Alric's own decree from two years past, granting me my father's holdings, contingent on stabilizing them. Arden followed with two ledgers—records of taxes restored, trade routes reopened, local clergy reestablished.
The balance was shifting.
Alric studied the papers for a long moment. "You claim stability. You claim reform. But so does your rival. So let me ask plainly—"
He turned his gaze to Ravien.
"Why, Duke Malkorr, does your spymaster move through Arador under an alias? Why does your army mass near Greystone's border?"
The court rippled. Ravien's jaw flexed.
"My spymaster travels discreetly to avoid unrest. As for my army—"
"They are poised for war," I interrupted. "Not defense."
Ravien snapped his head toward me, venom finally slipping past the mask. "You speak like a child who's never seen real rule. I did what was needed to keep the east from collapsing."
"And I did what was needed to take it back." I replied.
Alric raised his hand. "Enough."
The throne room stilled again.
"I will not see my kingdom torn by ambition masked as justice," the king said. "So I will ask one final question. Just one."
He looked at me.
"Why should the east be yours?"
My heartbeat grew, not faster—just heavier. I stepped forward until I stood alone beneath the golden sun of the throne.
"Because I don't ask them to kneel," I said. "I ask them to stand with me. I was a boy when Ravien's men burned my house and scattered my people. I survived. I rebuilt. And the lords of Branholdt, Greystone, Oakshade—they chose me, not through bribes or fear, but because I came back when no one else would. I buried the old lords with my own hands. I listened. I ruled. And I will keep ruling, because this realm needs more than bloodlines and ambition. It needs someone who remembers what it's like to crawl through ash."
Obviously not all of it was true but the hall was silenced.
Elira's head bowed slightly behind me. Lyra's expression didn't change, but I knew that, for once, she believed the words as much as I did.
Ravien stepped forward, furious. "Your Grace, if you allow this—"
"Quiet," Alric said.
The old king stood. Slowly. Deliberately. And in that moment, the court became a cathedral.
"The east is a scar upon this realm," Alric said. "But scars are memory. I will not erase one with another. Lord Vihan will retain control of Wyvrland, Branholdt, Greystone, and Oakshade. He will be from now onwards, Duke of Wyvrland with it's four county rightfully de jure part of it.
Mairelle's face froze. Ravien didn't move, but the fury in his shoulders was noticeable.
"As for you, Ravien Malkorr… you will disband your border forces. You will remain confined to Hollowfort under watch. Defiance will be treated as treason."
The king sat again.
The court exploded—some in disbelief, others in cheers.
But I didn't move. Because Ravien hadn't looked away. His eyes drilled into mine like nails and in that stare, I saw it:
He wasn't done.
Not by far and neither was I.
Ravien still had two counties which should be mine.
---
The court was dismissed and the rest of the day blurred into ceremonial affirmations. Nobles offering congratulations with sour smiles. Bishops blessing my title with prayers they didn't believe. I kept my answers short, my wine untouched.
That night, back at the manor, Kaelen met me at the gate. She looked more exhausted than I had ever seen her.
"You won," she said simply.
"No," I corrected. "I survived."
Inside, Elira waited by the fire. Lyra stood near the window, arms folded.
"What now?" Elira asked.
I stared into the flames.
"Now I finish what I started."
The fire crackled behind me as Lyra and Elira drifted into quiet conversation. I stepped out onto the balcony of the manor, the cold air of Arador biting against my skin. I thought I could finally catch my breath.
Then I heard the clink of metal behind me.
"I thought I might find you brooding under the stars."
The voice was unmistakable. Cool. Sharp. And far too familiar.
I turned.
Ser Althea Caldwyne stood in the archway, her hair wind-tossed and armor still dusted with road grit and blood—not hers. A scar marked her cheek now, fresh and thin. Her cloak bore the sigil of House Caldwyne.
It has been sometime she we last met. She hadn't changed. Just looked more dangerous now.
"You're late," I said.
"And yet right on time, it seems." Her eyes drifted toward the city lights. "I heard the court nearly tore itself apart today."
"It did. I walked out with the crown's blessing as a Duke now. "
"You always did have a talent for charming old men."
"Only the paranoid ones," I said dryly.
She smirked and stepped forward, boots thudding softly against the stone. She didn't offer a bow, and I didn't expect one. Althea bowed to no one but the King—and only when pressed.
"You look well," she said after a beat. "Or, well enough. I expected you to be angrier. You've always had a flair for dramatics."
I leaned against the railing. "There's still time."
She folded her arms, armor creaking faintly. "The King sent me north with five hundred men, since my father is King's loyalists we obey every order. He told me to make the northern clans kneel. I left a dozen standing—because even barbarians deserve legends. And now I return to find you and Ravien circling each other like wolves in court and being a Duke. "
I glanced sideways at her. "Did you expect anything else?"
She didn't answer right away.
"No," she said eventually. "But I hoped you'd be smart enough not to corner him so soon. He's dangerous, Vihan. Even wounded."
"I'm counting on it." I replied calmly.
She exhaled sharply, a brief puff in the night. "So it's true then. You're not just playing lord anymore. You mean to end him."
"I meant it the first time we spoke," I said quietly. "When you warned me about Ravien and told me to be cautious. I took your advice. I've been cautious for two years. Now I'm done waiting."
Althea turned to face me fully. "You're not the boy I first met in Branholdt."
"No. And you're not the knight I once admired from afar."
Her eyes narrowed—not with offense, but something else. Maybe regret. Maybe challenge.
"You're still reckless," she said. "But… I think you might win."
"I will," I said. "But I won't pretend the cost won't be high."
Silence settled between us again. Comfortable in its tension.
Then she said, "There's talk among the northern vassals. That if Ravien falls, there's a power vacuum not just in the east—but across the kingdom. Alric's grip weakens. The barons sniff for blood. Some think… you might aim higher."
My gaze met hers. "Do you?"
She didn't blink. "I think you'll take whatever the realm is foolish enough to leave unguarded."
That made me laugh, quiet and rough.
"I came here to ask something," she said suddenly. Her tone shifted. More formal. More uncertain.
"Ask."
"If it comes to war—open war—what will you do with Ravien's kin? His children? His wife?"
I studied her. "Why?"
"Because I've seen too many lords win battles only to become the monsters they swore to replace." Her jaw tensed. "Because if I'm to stand beside you one day… I need to know the line still matters."
For a moment, I didn't speak.
Then: "I will burn his banners, not his children. I will end his reign, not his name. The sins are his. The sentence is mine."
Althea looked at me for a long time.
Then she nodded.
"Good."
She stepped back toward the archway.
"When do you return?" she asked.
"Two days. I have some unfinished business here."
She raised a brow. "You mean the drinking contest between your steward and the Iron Bank's representative?"
"Among other things." I replied.
Althea turned slightly, the moon catching in her armor. "I'll be leaving too. The King wants me to tour the border garrisons in the west. Show the lords there that the crown still commands steel."
"A display of power," I said.
She glanced back at me. "No. A reminder. We're not done bleeding yet."
And then she was gone, vanishing into the corridor like a shadow with a purpose.
I stood there for a long while after, watching the stars.
Althea was right. Wyvrland and the east region is mine. But the realm?
The realm was still wide open.