"My queen... a messenger from the border king of Trenvirel has arrived. Shall I grant him audience?" asked a man dressed in regal red and gold, bowing with practiced grace. His robes denoted his rank—chief advisor to the crown—yet they also concealed a harsh truth: one of his hands was missing, folded
discreetly beneath the other sleeve.
Queen Alanna Vila lifted her gaze from the open scroll in her lap. Her throne, carved from white marble and veined with threads of green emerald, glimmered beneath the skylight that poured sunlight down upon her.
The crown atop her brow caught the light and scattered it like fire.
"Bring him in," she said, her voice cool and commanding.
The advisor inclined his head and signaled to the guards flanking the great oaken doors at the far end of the hall.
With halberds in hand and practiced synchronization, they pulled them open.
A young man stepped through, clad in the red and white of Trenvirel. The black falcon sigil on his chest marked his allegiance.
Without hesitation, he walked the length of the hall, his boots echoing sharply on the polished stone floor, until he reached the base of the throne’s dais.
"That’s close enough," Alanna said evenly, halting him with a raised hand. Her guards shifted forward, hands tightening on their blades.
"Show proper respect to the queen," the advisor added coldly, his remaining hand resting subtly on the dagger hidden beneath his robes. If blood were to be drawn, he would not be the last to act—he would be the first.
The emissary bowed his head slightly. "Queen Alanna Vila. The tales of your beauty do not lie. I am Mikael, son of Darius, royal advisor and herald to King Davon of Trenvirel. I come bearing his answer to your offer."
"Then speak," Alanna said, waving a hand dismissively. "My patience is not infinite, and my time is better spent than to waste it on posturing."
Mikael did not flinch. "My king declines your offer. He finds it not only presumptuous, but insulting. He will not bend the knee, nor will he relinquish his sovereignty. He bids you to respect his crown—or face the consequences. Should you choose war, know that Trenvirel will not stand alone. The border kings remain united in the face of tyranny."
"Mind your tongue, dog” the advisor hissed, stepping forward. But Alanna raised her hand again—this time to silence her own court. She was smiling now, cold and amused.
"How noble. And how quaint. Let me remind you, herald, that I command the greatest host in all of Caledon. One word from me, and your petty kingdom will be washed away beneath an ocean of steel and flame."
The messenger’s lips curled into a smile of his own. He reached into his robe and withdrew a scroll, sealed with black wax.
"My king anticipated your threats. This is a contract—proof of alliances forged beyond your reckoning. Trenvirel now stands with the kingdoms of Sarash and Vulgrad. And more than that… he has the allegiance of the Dregathi and the Urhûn."
A silence fell like a blade across the hall. Courtiers gasped. Guards muttered under their breath. The very air shifted with tension. A human king… consorting with those creatures?
Alanna rose, her expression twisted in disbelief and fury. The light that had once crowned her now flickered like a storm. Her guards stepped forward to shield her, but she pushed past them.
"What has he done?" she demanded to know, descending the steps with fury in her stride. "Does he not understand what he is unleashing? No pact with those monsters ends in peace. Only ruin can come from this!”
The herald dropped the scroll to the floor, where it echoed like a gauntlet thrown.
"These are my king’s words. Do with them what you will. I shall remain in your city for two days. After that, he expects your answer."
And with that, he turned and strode from the hall, leaving in his wake a throne room cloaked in silence, and a queen with fire behind her eyes.
"Have him followed," Alanna snapped, her voice echoing through the stone chamber like a crack of thunder. She turned sharply to her advisor, eyes blazing. "I want to know who he speaks with, where he sleeps, and whether his shadow moves of its own accord."
The advisor bowed, already gesturing to one of the waiting aides.
"And summon Sir Cassius and Lady Corelia at once. I want them in this hall before the next bell rings. Send word to the army—no hesitation. Prepare for the worst."
Servants and scribes sprang into motion, scattering like leaves in the wind.
"Resupply the outposts," she continued, her voice firm and unwavering. "Double the rations, reinforce the garrisons. Every road between here and the northern hills must be watched. I want scouts riding for Trenvirel before dusk. If he speaks the truth, I need to know before the moon rises."
The advisor turned quickly, his expression grim but controlled, issuing quiet commands to a pair of guards who vanished down the corridor like arrows from a bow.
Alanna stood in the center of the hall, breathing deeply, her fists clenched at her sides. The marble beneath her bare heels felt colder than it had moments ago.
"If Davon thinks he can tame beasts and call it diplomacy," she muttered under her breath, "he’ll soon learn what it means to be devoured by the very things he tried to leash."
Then louder, to those still in the room:
"Make no mistake—this is no longer politics. This is war. Quiet, creeping war dressed in diplomacy’s robes."
She turned her gaze skyward, to the narrow slit of blue visible through the skylight.
"Let them come," she whispered. "Let them taste what fire truly is."
——————
The thud of boots echoed through the eastern colonnade before the guards at the main hall even opened their mouths to announce his name.
No fanfare preceded him. No parade of attendants or fluttering banners. Just the sound—measured, sharp, undeniable. The sound of a man used to walking into rooms that burned around him.
The great doors swung open without flourish.
Sir Cassius of Rivershade entered like a storm bottled in human form—tall, broad-shouldered, clad in worn armor burnished by countless campaigns. The scar across his left cheek caught the light like a white streak of lightning, and the wolf-shaped brooch on his cloak pinned him firmly in legend.
He did not bow.
Not immediately that is.
Instead, he stopped a dozen paces from the Queen, casting a slow, assessing gaze across the throne room. The nobles who remained felt it like a blade ing through their thoughts. Few men commanded that kind of presence with silence alone.
Then, with the weight of a warrior rather than a courtier, he bent the knee—just one.
"My queen," he said. His voice was iron and gravel, shaped by years of orders barked over battlefield winds. "You summoned me?"
Alanna didn’t speak at once. She descended the final step of her dais and walked towards him—her robes whispering across the stone floor, her crown no less regal though her eyes now burned with fury.
"You’re late," she said.
"I came as fast as I was told," Cassius replied, rising to his feet. "Had your hounds sent word, I would’ve ridden through the palace gates on horseback."
A flicker of a smile ghosted across her face—but only briefly.
"A messenger came," she said. "From Trenvirel."
Cassius’s brow twitched. He didn’t interrupt. He never did when it mattered.
"He brought Davon’s answer. Refusal." She turned slightly, pacing. "But more than that—he came bearing threats. Alliances. Not just with Sarash and Vulgrad, but with… darker things."
Cassius’s eyes narrowed. "Darker?"
"The Dregathi. The Urhûn."
There it was—the first crack in his armor. A flash of disbelief, of fury, restrained behind clenched fists.
"Then he's mad," Cassius said coldly. "Those beasts have no loyalty. No code. They don't ally. They consume."
"Exactly," Alanna said. "And now he thinks he holds the leash."
Cassius snorted, low and bitter. "Then it's not a war he's starting. It's a plague."
The queen faced him directly now, her gaze hard. "I need your eyes, Cassius. Your instincts. I need someone who’s fought monsters to tell me how we survive this."
He tilted his head. "You plan to strike first?"
"I plan to survive," she said. "I will not have my kingdom swallowed because Davon mistook desperation for brilliance."
Cassius nodded once. "Then I’ll start with the scouts. If the Dregathi are moving, we’ll smell their fires long before we see their blades. And if they’ve truly crossed the border… I’ll know it."
"And Corelia?" Alanna asked.
Cassius’s jaw clenched just a touch. "She’ll want to dissect it. Piece by piece. Look for patterns, for proof. She’ll want to wait."
"And you?"
"I say we sharpen every sword and light every beacon from here to the bordering Hills."
Alanna folded her arms, expression unreadable. "She’s due here soon."
Cassius glanced sideways, as if already feeling her presence press against his own. "Then I’ll keep my voice civil. Until she doesn’t."
Alanna looked him up and down, then turned back toward her throne.
"Go. Prepare what you must. Speak with my spymaster. I want eyes in Trenvirel before Mikael leaves this city."
Cassius bowed again, then turned without flourish.
But before he reached the door, Alanna spoke again, softly—quiet enough that only he could hear.
"And Cassius… don’t underestimate this war just because it wears a familiar face."
He paused, looked back once, and nodded.
"I never do."
Alanna was about to raise her voice again to scold him, but-.
The throne room doors opened again with a hiss of iron hinges and a gust of colder air that curled along the marble floor.
Cassius, standing just off-center before the queen, turned his head slightly—he knew that sound, knew the cadence of the boots approaching. Not the heavy stomp of soldiers nor the delicate glide of court nobles. This was something in between. Purposeful. Measured. Dangerous.
Lady Corelia of Halshing entered the chamber like a shadow spilling in from a doorway left too long open.
She did not bow—not deeply, not like the courtiers. A tilt of the head sufficed, the barest concession to decorum, and only because the queen demanded it.
“My queen,” she said, her voice low and crisp as frost breaking underfoot. “I came as summoned… though I suspect the real summons comes not from your lips, but from what has been said already”
Cassius smirked beside her, arms folded. “You’re late.”
Corelia didn’t look at him. “You’re always early. That’s not the same as being useful.”
A faint ripple of amusement touched Queen Alanna’s otherwise stern features. She looked between her generals—the bastard of Rivershade and the daughter of Halshing—and for a moment, the storm of looming war quieted into something more familiar: tension, rivalry, and the uneasy alliance that kept her kingdom alive.
Lady Corelia's attire was tailored for movement: deep navy and steel-gray layered leathers, accented with a high-collared cloak clasped at the neck with a silver pin—her own crest, not her father's. She wore no sword today, but no one in the room doubted she could kill with a quill, a glance, or the wrong word placed in the right ear.
She took her place beside Cassius at the foot of the dais, not behind him, not below him—equal in every way that mattered. Where his stance was wide and grounded, hers was narrow, coiled, like a viper basking before the strike.
“I assume the Trenvirel dog delivered more than just threats?” she asked, turning to Alanna.
The queen nodded once. “He brought alliances. Dark ones. The Dregathi and Urhûn march under Davon’s banner.”
Even Corelia, ever composed, arched a brow at that.
“Then we’re not at the edge of war,” she said. “We’re in its teeth.”
She turned, finally meeting Cassius’s gaze.
„I know what you‘re thinking…and I disagree. This is not the time to rush things…“
Alanna stood from her throne, the emerald lines of her marble seat glowing faintly in the light.
“I need the two of you united. As generals. As minds. Not as children throwing daggers at each other in the dark. Cassius, Corelia—this kingdom will not survive without both of your swords and both of your wits. Do you understand?”
There was a pause. A silence just long enough to hold weight.
Then, together, they nodded.
“Yes, my queen,” Corelia said.
“Yes, my queen,” Cassius echoed.
The queen nodded, satisfied with their response for now, and turned to her advisors, shifting her focus to them instead.
—————————————
I was bored, which unfortunately happens far too often nowadays, and took the initiative to write a starter for my two precious love birds that are more akin to two rabid wolves at each others throats.
Should you, my dear reader, feel inclined to jump to the occasion and continue from here with me, feel free to write to me directly or just comment down below.
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