Alaric woke before dawn.

  The camp still slept, wrapped in gray mist. Above him, the last star clung stubbornly to the fading night.

  The sea moved in slow rhythm below the cliffs. Waves swayed under the rising sun, silver light spilling across restless water.

  What lay beyond the other side?

  No map could say.

  He packed quickly. A spare shirt. A whetstone. A worn dagger. Ten years of life reduced to a small bundle.

  Stormcoast had never given him much. It had given him strength instead.

  By sunrise he was mounted. The capital’s riders waited, silent and formal, their banners furled against the wind.

  But before turning north to the capital, Alaric turned his horse inland.

  To Greenfall.

  ?

  Greenfall Castle rose from rolling hills like pale stone warmed by sunlight. Unlike Stormcoast’s harsh cliffs, this land breathed gently.

  The gates opened before he reached them.

  Lady Elowen and Lord Caelmont waited at the steps.

  They bowed.

  “Your Majesty,” Lord Caelmont said. The word felt unfamiliar in daylight.

  “Please,” Alaric said quietly. “There is no need.”

  “There is every need,” Lady Elowen replied gently. “The realm has a king.”

  He did not argue further.

  ?

  Inside, the table had been set differently.

  A chair at the head. He did not take it.

  He chose a place midway down, as he had done for years.

  To some extent, he felt like this was his home. A much safer place with much nicer people.

  Lady Elowen had been the one to open warm arms to him after Queen Lysandra’s unfortunate death. She had written to the king and taken ten-year-old him, who had been in a very awkward position, to Greenfall.

  She gave him a roof, a bed, and an opportunity to be trained to become the best knight.

  He knew both Lady Elowen and Lysandra had grown up together in the capital — two girls presented at court in the same spring, two beauties, though only one had captured a king.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  But why did it matter? They were true friends. At least, Lady Elowen had said she was happy for her.

  Until… that day, then everything became a curse.

  ?

  “How fares Matthis?” Lord Caelmont asked.

  Alaric answered, “Well. He’s kind and humble, and he has always enlightened me.”

  Lord Caelmont tried to hide his disbelief. “He is always… too kind.”

  Alaric inclined his head. “I know. House Caelmont values strength and endurance. But Matthis is different — and great in his own way.”

  He believed that.

  “He writes rarely,” Lady Elowen said.

  “He trains constantly,” Alaric answered. “He’ll make a fine commander one day.”

  Lord Caelmont said, “A king requires men who have grown beside him.”

  There was a pause — brief, careful.

  Alaric met his gaze. “Yes.”

  He did not hear the weight beneath it.

  There was a second of silence.

  Then, from the corridor, a crisp, cheerful voice rang out:

  “Oh! I can’t believe I get to see my favorite brother here… or should I say, Your Majesty!”

  Alaric looked up.

  Of course—it had to be her.

  Lyanna. The youngest of Lord and Lady Caelmont’s children. Matthis’s little sister. She had turned sixteen this year.

  The last time Alaric had seen her, she had been only six, a curious little thing trailing after her brothers.

  Now she was someone else entirely.

  She shone like a diamond in the soft evening light. Her long chestnut hair fell in silky waves down her back, catching the sun in reddish-gold glints. Her eyes were a deep ocean blue, bright and observant, holding a mix of mischief and intelligence.

  Her cheeks carried the soft glow of youth, yet there was a quiet confidence in her posture.

  She smiled at him, playful and teasing, a hand resting lightly on the doorframe.

  Alaric felt his chest tighten slightly. She was… beautiful.

  And she had grown into someone entirely unexpected.

  Lyanna stepped forward, shrugging off her coat and handing it to a servant. Beneath, she wore a pale blue dress that gleamed like frost in the late afternoon light. The fabric clung lightly to her shoulders and flowed elegantly to the floor, hinting at the graceful curves she had grown into over the years. Her chestnut hair framed a face of delicate refinement, and her deep ocean-blue eyes sparkled.

  “It happened so suddenly,” she said, tilting her head with a playful smile. “I nearly missed the chance to see our new king.”

  Alaric raised an eyebrow, catching the subtle confidence in her stance.

  “Too bad my eldest brother,” she added lightly, “he’s already on his way to the capital. Missed the opportunity to greet you properly.”

  Alaric tilted his head, considering her. “It’s an interesting choice to ride north to the capital now. Winter here should be milder than the north.”

  Lyanna laughed, a clear, ringing sound. “True, but there’s something warmer in the capital… though perhaps you don’t know? Miss Velmont’s birthday ball is being held there. Queen Velmont herself organized it for her.”

  Alaric stiffened slightly at the mention, but he recovered quickly.

  “I know you don’t like the second queen…” Lyanna’s smile froze for a second, aware of the sensitivity. “I don’t mean to trouble you. I just… you know, some things happen in the capital that everyone talks about.”

  Alaric nodded. “It’s all right. She has done nothing to harm us. Perhaps she did not even wish to be my father’s wife”

  Lyanna tilted her head, her smile teasing again but careful. “My brother probably thought he had a shot, though.”

  Alaric exhaled softly. “I suppose he did.”

  Dinner was served on polished silver plates that caught the firelight, gleaming like liquid sunlight.

  The fire cast warm light over the table, making the blue of Lyanna’s dress shimmer.

  Alaric noticed the care in every detail — plates of roasted meat and vegetables, fresh bread, and rich stews, simple but hearty. The Caelmonts preferred modest fare, yet each dish had been prepared with care.

  He picked at his food deliberately, savoring flavors that felt unfamiliar after the salt and smoke of Stormcoast.

  Lyanna laughed softly at a story her mother told about Matthis struggling with his first lessons in discipline. Alaric smiled quietly, listening, enjoying the warmth of the room.

  They spoke politely of the roads north, of the state of Stormcoast, of matters both trivial and serious. Alaric joined in where he could, but mostly he observed.

  He noticed small things: the careful placement of utensils, the way Lyanna’s father cut his meat with precise patience, the soft hum of servants moving in the background.

  For a moment, it was a calm world. A world far from the cliffs, far from the waves, far from the storms that had shaped him.

  After dessert — honeyed pears and warm spiced cakes — Alaric stood.

  “I should rest before the journey north,” he said.

  Lady Elowen nodded. “Your rooms are prepared. Sleep well, Your Majesty.”

  He gave her a small, sincere bow of acknowledgment, though the title still felt strange on his tongue.

  The servants led him to a room with a sturdy bed, thick blankets, and a view over the rolling hills.

  Alaric lay down, staring briefly out the window at the last light fading over Greenfall.

  For the first time in many years, he felt the weight of exhaustion and relief at once.

  “They are nice people after all.”

  Tomorrow, the capital. Tomorrow, the court.

  But for now… sleep.