A kingdoms hope

Two weeks before the wedding day,

The Kingdom of Vareth is a beautiful place where morning sunlight walk through naturally and cool wind blows gently it feels like they are telling the valour of Vareth

Before the sun climbed above the eastern mountains, the rhythmic clash of steel had already filled the courtyards of Ironhold Keep. Knights sparred beneath fluttering crimson banners while young squires ran across the training grounds carrying shields far too heavy for their shoulders, and somewhere near the stables a horse whinnied in protest at being saddled this early for the third morning in a row.

Discipline was the heartbeat of Vareth. Honor was its soul. Everyone born within its walls learned that before they learned much else.

At the center of the fortress, a lone swordsman stood in the middle of the royal arena, his black training cloak swaying with every movement, a wooden practice sword resting lightly in his hand as though it weighed nothing at all. Suddenly a voice boomed

"Again."

Four royal knights charged him at once, without hesitation. The first aimed high — Lucien stepped aside before the blow had finished forming. The second thrust toward his ribs; he twisted, let the blade pass harmlessly by, and tapped the knight's shoulder with the flat of his sword.

"You're out."

The third came at him from behind. He ducked without looking, sweeping the practice blade low, and claimed another shoulder, another quiet defeat.

Only the captain of the royal guard remained. A smile tugged at the older man's lips as he circled, wary now in a way the younger knights hadn't thought to be. He said

"Your Highness... you've gotten faster."

Lucien lowered his sword, breathing easy despite the exertion smilling teasingly he said " moreover You've gotten predictable."

Laughter rippled through the watching soldiers. The captain placed a hand over his heart and bowed with theatrical despair.

"I've trained you too well."

While returning the bow with genuine respect, Lucien said

"And I'll always be grateful for it."

The soldiers exchanged amused glances. That was their prince — he demanded excellence of himself before he demanded it of anyone else, and he never once forgot to be kind about it.

Suddenly a servant hurried across the arena, still catching his breath from the run.

"Your Highness."

Lucien accepted the folded cloth offered to him and wiped the sweat from his brow and said

"What is it?"

Still catching his breath The he servant said

"The royal carriage is being prepared. You depart within the hour."

"So soon?" Lucien glanced toward the sun, still low over the mountains.

"The road to Elaria takes the better part of two weeks, Your Highness, even riding hard. The king wishes you to arrive with time to rest before the ceremony — not stumble into it road-worn."

Lucien nodded slowly, some of the morning's ease settling into something more solemn. Two weeks on the road. Then a wedding to a woman he had never met, in a kingdom he had never seen, to end a rivalry that had outlived his grandfather.

The servant hesitated, shifting his weight and said

"There's... one more thing."

Lucien looked up.

The servent continued

"The people have gathered outside the eastern gates. They wish to see you before you leave."

For a brief moment, surprise crossed Lucien's face — genuine, unguarded. Then he smiled and said

"Let's not keep them waiting."

Outside Ironhold Keep, hundreds of citizens filled the streets. Children sat on their parents' shoulders waving small crimson flags. Shopkeepers leaned out of their windows. Old veterans stood proudly in polished uniforms they hadn't worn in years, medals catching the early light.

As Lucien appeared, the crowd erupted into cheers:

"Long live Prince Lucien!"

"May peace bless Vareth!"

"We'll be waiting for your return!"

Lucien raised a hand, and the crowd slowly quieted

Then he slowly said while smiling

"I don't deserve such a welcome."

An elderly woman near the front laughed, leaning on her cane and said

"Your highness you've earned it by yourself"

The crowd chuckled warmly. She stepped forward and held out a small bundle wrapped in linen. Lucien accepted it carefully — inside were simple honey biscuits, still warm.

"My grandson made them," she said. "He insisted a prince shouldn't travel on an empty stomach."

Lucien's expression softened in a way that had nothing performed about it.

"Then I shall treasure them."

A little boy peeked out from behind her skirt, and nervously asked

" Do princes really eat biscuits?"

Lucien knelt until they were eye level, cloak pooling around him in the dust. "Especially ones made by brave and kind young bakers like you"

The child's face lit up like he'd been handed a knighthood.

As Lucien stood, his younger brother Adrian pushed through the guards with a teasing grin already in place and said

"So this is why you're late."

Lucien raised an eyebrow. "I was saying goodbye."

"You were collecting snacks."

"They're a gift."

"They're biscuits."

"They can be both."

Adrian shook his head with exaggerated disappointment and said dramatically

"The future king of Vareth... defeated by pastries."

Lucien slipped the bundle into his satchel with care and replied with same humour

"A wise commander never ignores his supplies."

Adrian got fake offended and said

"That's your excuse?"

Lucien smiled teasingly and said

"It's an excellent excuse."

The brothers shared an easy laugh, the kind built from years of practice — but Adrian's smile faded first, and the crowd noise seemed to fall away from just the two of them.

"You don't have to do this."

Lucien looked toward the road stretching south, past the gates, past the hills, toward a kingdom he'd only ever seen drawn on maps and softly said

"I do."

"What if peace doesn't come?"

"Then we'll keep trying."

"And if this marriage asks too much of you?"

Lucien was quiet for a moment, long enough that Adrian almost regretted asking.

"One lifetime of sacrifice is a small price," Lucien said finally,

"if it means thousands of others never have to learn what rivalry costs."

Adrian studied his brother's face like he was looking for a crack in it. "You've never even met Princess Ariana."

"I've read every report about her."

Adrian groaned. "Of course you have."

"They all say the same thing." Lucien's smile turned faint, almost private. "That she listens before she speaks. That she visits orphanages without announcing herself first. That she remembers the names of palace servants most nobles never bother to learn."

"If even half of that is true..Then perhaps-,” Lucien said, looking toward the horizon where Elaria lay beyond the mountains, "destiny has been kinder to us than we had any right to expect."

High above the cheering crowd, a raven landed silently on the highest watchtower, unnoticed by anyone below. Around one slender leg was tied a narrow strip of black silk.

A hooded messenger climbed the tower alone, footsteps soundless on old stone. He removed the message, read it once, and burned it over a lantern flame already waiting for exactly that purpose.

Only five words had been written.

*The first move begins today.*

The ashes scattered into the morning wind, indistinguishable from smoke.

Far below, the prince smiled at his people, raised a hand in farewell, and climbed into the carriage that would carry him toward a wedding, a stranger, and — though he could not have known it yet — a fate that had already been decided.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***