As they neared the giant, blackened gate of Dunten, Peter’s gaze lingered on the Beastkin trophies mounted on spikes. Seeing them up close for the first time, he couldn’t help but wonder how they had been in life, what kind of creatures they had been before they were reduced to this display.

  Matilda glanced at Peter, her voice carrying a weariness born of familiarity. ′First time here?′ she asked, almost with detached amusement. She turned her gaze back to the fortress. ′I can’t say I’ve ever grown used to this place. I’d much rather have that one of my brothers had come in my place, but alas, sacrifices must be made.′ She paused, her eyes scanning the looming structure. ′I’ll give it to you, it’s grand in a way. But there’s something unsettling about it. It’s as if this whole place is just waiting to sink into the earth.′

  The gate itself was an imposing structure made of black steel. It featured a portcullis, and around its wall was a moat. What was particularly striking was that the water was almost red, rather than the clear blue water typically found in moats.

  A guard, dressed in a black robe trimmed with red, moved steadily between the knights on horseback until he reached the coach. He raised his fist and knocked, thump, thump, thump. Matilda opened the door cautiously, her gaze meeting the guard’s. Through the narrow slit of his hood, she saw only the polite eyes of a composed man, yet her hand gripped the edge of the door tightly.

  The guard wasted no time. ′Welcome to Dunten, my lady, my lord. The Duke’s men will escort your coach, while your knights will join the other noblemen’s cohorts at a separate location. You, however, will be guided directly to the peak.′

  Peter glanced at Matilda, noting the tension in her posture. ′Very well,′ he replied to the guard. ′Lead the way.′ As they rode over the drawbridge and entered the capital Peter’s gaze wandered over the towering stone walls. These walls make my own castle look like paper, He thought

  Through the city, they noticed that the population seemed more like soldiers than peasants. Men wore black robes, and knights carried blackened shields outlined in red, each bearing the emblem of an owl. As they moved deeper into the city, the militaristic air softened; people were living normal lives, bustling through markets and tending to their homes. Children darted between vendors, their laughter mingling with the lively hum of the crowd. The rich aroma of baked bread, spiced meats, and sweet confections hung in the air. Yet, as Peter observed more closely, he noticed something peculiar: most of the adults in the bustling markets were women. The elderly and the children showed a mix of both genders, but among the working-age population, women seemed to dominate. The absence of men in that age group seemed different.

  As they neared the peak that jutted out like a lone mountain top, a wall came into view, encircling its base. Though not as formidable as the outer wall, it was designed with defense in mind narrow slits for arrows, channels for pouring boiling water, and steep, smooth surfaces that made climbing impossible. Its open-top design ensured no footholds for ladders, leaving the heavy, iron-reinforced gate as the only way in or out. The dark stone of the wall, weathered by time and streaked with moss, seemed to merge with the rocky terrain.

  Before they realized it, the coach stopped. A guard swung the door open and announced, ′We have arrived. Follow us, my lord and lady, and we will escort you to the meeting room.′

  Peter stepped out first, his eyes scanning the surroundings. To his surprise, the inner circle was lush and green, resembling a sprawling garden where stone sheds stood amidst vibrant flowers and trimmed hedges. The air was fragrant, a stark contrast to the military precision outside.

  Ahead, double wooden doors with intricate gold trim marked the entrance to the Peak. They swung open to reveal a dimly lit hall, its flickering torches casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Grand paintings lined the corridor, their gilded frames drawing attention to scenes of triumph an army crossing a bloodied battlefield, a crowned king receiving the surrender of his enemies, and a lone knight holding his ground against an onslaught. The details were lavish and exaggerated, as if to immortalize the glory of the past.

  The guard led them through the hall. Peter couldn’t help but think, ′A few morale boosters, I guess we all need to believe in our own myths to stay strong, I can only hope that it works as well in weak times as he walked by the paintings.′

  At the end of the corridor, a metal door stood tall. It looked more like a wall if it were locked, it would be unbreakable to go through, but it was oddly beautiful, it is covered in engravings that seemed almost out of place from its defensive stance. It looked big enough that a half-giant just fitted in.

  To the left is a massive wooden door. Its gold and bone details seemed deliberately crafted to impress, and the sheer size of it made Peter pause for a moment. Wide enough to let an army march through without breaking formation, he thought, his fingers brushing his small beard.

  On the opposite side, a heavily reinforced wooden door stood in stark contrast. Thick metal bars wrapped its surface like a cage, and its weathered scars hinted at violent attempts to breach it. Unlike the others, this door wasn’t trying to impress it radiated a foreboding presence that made Peter glance at it twice. Why would they need a door like that here, in a place so grand? he wondered, unease prickling at the edge of his thoughts.

  A guard stepped forward and opened the engraved steel door, revealing a room centered around a dark wooden table. It was wide enough to accommodate several people yet narrow enough to allow them to walk through the gaps between to reach the center. Three maps were spread across the table: one marked with figures looking like soldiers and horses, another displaying symbols off carts and coin, and a third, scattered with papers filled with scribbled notes. Peter’s curiosity sparked at the sight of all that information that lay in front of him, but the guard’s sharp announcement of their names snapped him back to attention.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Scanning the room as he approached his seat, Peter took note of the representatives gathered around the table. Most bore the sigils of houses from the Dukedom, like his own, but a few banners represented rulers from the other northern territories. Seven houses he recognized at a glance, their crests sparking faint memories of past alliances and rivalries.

  Matilda slipped into the nearest empty chair, her gaze steady and unreadable. A guard stepped forward, planting a flag beside her seat to mark Stonewood’s presence. Peter took the chair directly opposite, where another guard mirrored the gesture.

  Above them, a figure emerged onto the high balcony, a guard clad in armor trimmed with coarse hair, its wild tufts giving him a fiendish cast. His voice carried across the chamber:

  ‘Two more houses have arrived. Six are still expected.’

  Servants moved gracefully through the room just between the guards and the nobleman, offering trays of wine, cheese, and toast to the assembled nobles. Peter reached for nothing only asked if he could get water. Keeping his attention on the man beside him, who leaned over with a smirk.

  ′I haven’t seen you before,′ the man said, extending a hand. ′Kevin Gaurfield, son of the ruler of Cintronius.′ His tone carried the confidence of someone used to holding court.

  Peter met his gaze coolly as their hands clasped. ’Peter Pineburry, defender of Thuja,’ he said. His tone measured but softened just enough to seem courteous. ‘I hold my brother’s place. He thought this meeting was better suited to a battle commander than a house head.’

  Kevin’s smirk deepened, as if savoring every word. Peter released his hand and let his eyes wander across the chamber. Lords and ladies spoke in hushed clusters, their exchanges woven with guarded smiles and subtle glances. For a fleeting moment, he longed for the simplicity of his own hall and the steady counsel of those he trusted, rather than this assembly of arrogant fools who thought themselves superior.

  During the wait, Kevin leaned closer. ’The defender of Thuja you say. We never got a name for the man who single-handedly held the Dukedom when most lords marched with Wilhelm to my father kingdom. You stayed behind. The only one who didn’t fall into the Beastkin trap. That turning you into a separate branch from the normal family and getting your own banner as reward right. Is it really that easy to get your own banner and to be a separate branch of your house?’

  Peter looked at him.’I was not the only one who knew. I was the only one who didn’t chase Wilhelm’s glory. I do my job. Making sure civilians live, to make sure we stay on the side of the living.’

  Kevin’s smirk thinned. His eyes gleamed with a strange glee, as if he was taking delight in Peter himself.

  four more houses entered before Wilhelm Duke emerged, and the heavy doors were locked behind him the entire room became silent. The man entering was Known across the north as the hero of the war of attrition, Wilhelm’s presence commanded the room.

  ′Finally,′ Peter thought, ′At last, it begins, sitting next to these arrogant children made me almost fall asleep.′

  As Wilhelm passed through the gathered nobles on his way to the balcony, all eyes turned to him. a cloak fashioned from a strange, leathered wing material, half bird, half beast and his crown of gold and bone exuded an eerie authority. Beneath the cloak, he wore a mail coat despite carrying no weapons.

  ′Welcome, my children of the northern alliance,′ Wilhelm began, his raspy voice a captivating blend of warmth and commanding steel.

  ′You have been summoned here to address an urgent matter. My scouts report that animals and monsters are amassing their forces once more. If left unchecked, another war of attrition will soon engulf us taking our resources and peace.

  ′We must act swiftly. Our goal is clear: disrupt their unity before their strength reaches its peak. Strike them down, piece by piece, before they become one.′

  Wilhelm paused, scanning the room to gauge the nobles’ reactions. Some nodded in agreement, while others exchanged uneasy glances. The weight of the threat pressed heavily upon them, a stark reminder of the peril their lands faced.

  Kevin leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips. ′Why not just burn the woods down? No trees, no place for them to hide. Problem solved.′

  Wilhelm’s expression darkened, his kindly demeanor giving way to the hardened resolve of a battle-worn leader. ′Burn an entire forest the size of a county?′ he said, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. ′Do you understand the devastation that would bring? The earth would turn barren. its smoke ruining our lands, destroying lives and with-it creating anger and vengeance. And what of the other counties? Do you think they’d simply accept it and declare us innocent after such destruction?′

  His piercing gaze fixed on Kevin, who shrank slightly under the weight of the rebuke.

  Kevin opened his mouth to retort, but Peter’s hand landed firmly on his shoulder. ′Let the Duke speak,′ Peter said quietly. Kevin exhaled sharply, biting back his words. ′Thank you, Pineburry,′ he muttered, his tone subdued.

  Wilhelm continued; his voice steady but firm. ′We must end this plague of beasts before they defile our lands further. But burning the forest isn’t the answer—it’s too valuable to sacrifice. Instead, we’ll deploy three main armies to act as our vanguard. Our cavalry will secure the flanks, ready to reinforce any threatened position or strike swiftly against smaller enemy forces uncovered by our scouts.′

  A ripple of unease passed through the room as the nobles exchanged glances, each aware of the sacrifices that would be required not just to gain the upper hand in war, but to secure their position diplomatically.

  A murmur of agreement rippled through the room as the nobles considered the plan. It was ambitious, but they all knew it was their best chance to repel the impending threat.

  Wilhelm stood before them, his hand pointing on the map of the battlefield. ′I will take command of the middle army. My sons will lead the left and right cavalry wings. House Gaurfield will lead the left army, and House Thorneheart the right army.′

  He scanned the faces before him. ′Are there any questions?′

  A few nobles exchanged glances, but it was Peter who raised his hand.

  ′I have one, my lord,′ Peter said, his voice low but steady.

  Wilhelm opened his mouth, but before any words could come out, volted his body as if in shock. His breath hitched. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was a low, guttural growl, followed by a violent cough. Blood dripped off his lip, splattering onto his hand as he held it in front of him, as if checking what he had. Seeing the blood, his hands began to shake.

  A smile tugged at his lips a grim, almost relieved expression as though savoring the inevitable. His head bobbed slightly. His pulse pounded in his ears, deafening in its intensity, yet strangely... satisfying. A delicious sound, he thought.

  The room fell into an eerie silence, the nobles watching in frozen horror. Some leaned forward in confusion, others in growing concern.

  Wilhelm stumbled backward, struggling for air, His legs faltered as if they never existed, and with a sickening thud, he collapsed forward. He crashed onto the table, knocking the maps and trade routes into disarray. The room seemed to hold its breath; the air thick with disbelief.

  Peter was the first to move, his usually composed demeanor shattered by the rare surge of emotion in his eyes. The guards rushed in, sealing the exits, but their haste only added to the chaos.

  The nobles remained paralyzed, a few rising in alarm but too stunned to take action. One guard moved forward, eyes wide with panic, but it was too late. The light had already gone out of Wilhelm’s eyes.