Neve watched the sunrise over Blackburn, long shadows being cast onto the streets. She was prepared to depart the village, once again donning her formal cloak, but their journey had been delayed by a procession of knights returning to the Capital after a successful campaign.
She leaned over the balcony railing, eager to catch a glimpse of the oncoming knights.
It was the notorious Prince Hale's Order–the Order of the Black Rose.
The bastard Prince, born to King Lucius by his mistress, was technically the first son of the Royal Family. Though Prince Hale was a legitimate heir, Crown Prince Claris had been named as the heir apparent upon his birth. Prince Hale had been cast aside, a blemish to the otherwise perfect family.
Like Prince Hale, his Order was composed of castaways and commoners. Even his highest ranking knights were mostly from fallen noble families. They were rugged, unrefined, and brutal.
The Royal Family kept Prince Hale on a tight leash, sending his Order to do their dirty work. The Order of the Black Rose often took on gruesome campaigns and invasions, securing victories time and time again.
Constantly away from the Capital, Prince Hale had no opportunity to build his own faction. He did not pose a threat to Crown Prince Claris, nor did Neve think he wanted to. However, upon Prince Claris' coronation, Hale's future would be uncertain.
Neve perked up at the telltale sounds of hooves and clinking armour.
The Order of the Black Rose slowly came into sight. Crowds began to line the main road, eager to greet the victorious knights.
However, what approached them was not an image of triumph.
The knights all appeared to be wounded, in one way or another. Their faces were grim, haunted by the terrors they had seen–or committed. There were numerous carts pulling the bodies of gravely injured soldiers. Neve could spot missing limbs and eyes, making her heart drop.
Behind everyone was a cart covered by cloth. Underneath were the dead–the ones they managed to bring home.
The crowd bowed their heads in respect, placing their hands on their hearts. One collective, mournful cry carried through the air: "Glory to the Empire."
The procession was headed by Prince Hale, who stared forward resolutely.
'If Prince Claris was the Sun,' Neve thought, 'then surely Prince Hale was the Moon.'
Everything about Prince Hale was opposite to Prince Claris. His hair was dark, almost black, instead of gold. His frame was broadened by muscle–obtained by years of combat–unlike Prince Claris' lean figure. But one difference Neve fixated on was their eyes. She was once drawn to Prince Claris' grey eyes, which were intelligent, cunning, and cold. But now, all she could see were Prince Hale's impossibly warm amber eyes, which contradicted everything she knew about him.
As if he could feel Neve's gaze, Prince Hale turned his head sharply. He caught Neve's eyes, and they stared at each other for a short eternity before Hale looked away.
Neve exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. Did he recognize me?
–––
Prince Hale quickly faced forward, shaking his head in confusion. 'Was that Lady Neve? Why was she in Blackburn instead of the Capital?'
"Something catch your eye, Commander?" a voice called out from behind Prince Hale.
His Lieutenant, Sir Wolstan Hewes, broke away from the procession. He fell behind Prince Hale by a few paces, turning to follow the Commander's gaze.
Wolstan managed to catch a glimpse of a silver-haired lady, who turned away and exited her balcony.
"Ah, that must be Lady Neve Rosentine," Wolstan said.
Prince Hale glanced back at him. "Why is she here?"
"You didn't hear?" Wolstan asked, shaking his head. "Clueless as always, Commander."
"Shut up," Hale muttered. He turned away from Wolstan, hating that he had to ask. "Explain."
"It was in yesterday's paper," Wolstan said, amused. "Prince Claris called off their engagement."
"Oh."
He recalled his childhood at the Royal Palace, which briefly intersected Neve's stay in the Capital. He remembered her being a reserved girl, perfectly groomed for her future role as Queen Consort.
"They said she abused other noblewomen and embezzled funds," Wolstan continued. "It also seems like Prince Claris has another lady already lined up."
"That's the Royal Family's excuse, you mean," Hale snorted. "They couldn't come up with something more believable?"
"Is some of it not true?" Wolstan asked. "The Rosentine's are old blood. They're elites..."
'They can get away with it,' Prince Hale thought, finishing what Wolstan could not say. He considered it, and what he knew of Lady Neve.
"No, I don't think it's true," Hale decided. "She was always well-aware of her role in the Palace."
Though she never would have known Queen Elise and Claris could stoop so low.
"This wasn't in the paper," Wolstan began hesitantly, "but I heard Queen Elise also issued an imperial order."
Prince Hale looked back sharply. "Ordering what?"
"A representative of House Rosentine to serve in the war," Wolstan replied.
Hale was silent for a moment, considering. The oldest Rosentine son, Vale, was the only suitable heir to the duchy. They wouldn't risk him dying in battle. Their only other son, if Hale recalled correctly, was a child.
"They don't intend on making Lady Neve serve, do they?" Hale asked.
"That's what it seems like."
Both men contemplated this. They came to the same conclusion.
"They won't have her actually serve," Wolstan said. "Maybe she'll do administration at the main base. Or work in a military hospital. Something like that."
"Probably," Hale agreed. "They just want her out of the picture."
"Just like you, huh?" Wolstan commented.
Prince Hale grimaced. "Indeed. Who knows where they'll send us next?"
"Hell, maybe," Wolstan joked. "We've got to worry about ourselves. Forget Lady Neve!"
Hale agreed wordlessly, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something big was coming–and that Lady Neve might just be involved.