3. The Raven King

...THE CAPTOR...

War did not begin on the battlefield.

It began with a decision.

Mine had been made long before the first sword left its sheath.

Snow crunched beneath the hooves of my horse as the army descended from the northern pass. Thousands of soldiers moved as one, black banners snapping against the wind. From the cliffs above, they must have looked like a river of ravens swallowing the earth.

No songs echoed through my ranks.

No drunken laughter.

Only discipline.

Only silence.

Exactly as I demanded.

"Your Majesty."

Lucien Voss guided his horse beside mine, a rolled parchment in his hand. Unlike everyone else, he never hesitated to speak first.

"The scouts have returned."

I extended my hand.

He passed me the report.

"The northern fortress surrendered before sunrise," he continued. "No casualties on our side."

I skimmed the parchment before folding it neatly.

"They made the wiser choice." Lucien smiled faintly.

"They say you're disappointed when a fortress surrenders."

"I dislike unnecessary delays," I replied.

A battle was expensive.

A surrender was efficient.

Fear conquered kingdoms long before armies arrived.

Ahead, smoke curled into the pale sky.

Another village.

Its gates already stood open.

The people had gathered in the square, trembling as our soldiers entered.

Children hid behind their mothers.

Old men lowered their heads.

No one dared to reach for a weapon.

Good.

I dismounted and walked through the crowd.

Their fear followed me like a shadow.

An elderly woman suddenly stepped forward.

She held out a basket of fresh bread with shaking hands.

"Please..." she whispered. "Spare the village."

My soldiers reached for their swords.

I raised a hand.

They stopped.

I looked at the frightened faces surrounding us.

"They surrendered before blood was spilled," I said calmly. "No homes are to be burned."

Confusion spread through the crowd.

"No one touches the civilians." My commanders bowed.

"As you command."

The old woman's eyes filled with tears.

I turned away before gratitude could become a conversation.

Mercy was not kind.

It was a strategy.

Dead farmers could not harvest grain.

Burned villages paid no taxes.

A wise king ruled what remained after the war.

By sunset, camp had been established outside the forest.

Maps covered the command tent.

Candles flickered across the table.

Lucien entered carrying another scroll sealed with blue wax.

"Our spies finally reached the palace." I broke the seal.

Inside was a report on the royal family of Lysoria.

King Aldric.

Queen Selene.

Military strength.

Trade routes.

Then...

The youngest princess.

Princess Eirene Valeris.

I read the final line twice.

"The princess has never spoken since the age of thirteen. Most believe she was born mute, though palace servants whisper otherwise."

Interesting.

"A silent princess?" Lucien asked, noticing my expression.

"So it seems."

"They call her the SILENT ROSE."

 I closed the report.

"Rumors are rarely useful."

"Perhaps."

Lucien shrugged.

"But every kingdom has one secret capable of bringing it to its knees."

The tent fell quiet.

Outside, the wind rattled the banners.

Lysoria was beautiful.

Rich.

Prosperous.

It would strengthen Nocthar more than any kingdom before it.

I placed a carved raven upon the map.

Its beak rested directly over the capital.

"We march at dawn."

Lucien nodded.

"And if King Aldric refuses to surrender?"

I looked toward the dark horizon where the lights of Lysoria shimmered like distant stars.

"Then he will learn," I said, my voice as cold as the mountain air, "that every kingdom falls eventually."

Far beyond the camp, hidden behind palace walls she had never left, a silent princess was likely staring into the same night sky.

Neither of us knew that fate had already begun writing our names on the same page.

The war had only just begun.

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