The quiet calm of the night was abruptly shattered by the urgent rapping of knuckles against Alaric's chamber door.
Alaric stirred, the faint glow from the candles casting a warm light over Salviana's sleeping face beside him. Alaric found he had become more of a sleeper than he was before, lying next to his wife was something he found to be really peaceful and it be helps him drift into a world B where thêtre was no issues and all he had to do was hope.
Another knock, this one heavier, more demanding.
Alaric sat up, instinctively reaching for his sword. He knew who it was by the sound of their shoes but he could be cautious.
He walked out of their bedroom, "Enter," he commanded, his voice a low rumble.
Two guards stepped in, their faces grave. "Your Grace, it's Fooleria. They've declared war. We're to meet in the Great Hall to prepare."
Alaric took a steadying breath, the weight of duty settling heavily on his shoulders. "I see," he mumbled, turned back into the room to prepare and then he glanced at Salviana, she was still sleeping soundly, her brow relaxed in peace he didn't dare disturb.
He stepped back out and turned to his trusted friend and knight, Richard, who had been summoned along with him.
"Richard," Alaric began, "watch over her. I can't leave her unguarded with Fooleria's motives being so unclear."
Richard's jaw tightened as he gave a resolute shake of his head. "You know I can't, Alaric. I stand with you in battle as I always have. We're both needed to decide on the best course of attack. The men look to us both." He softened slightly, adding, "She'll be safe within these walls. There are guards everywhere. But you? You need me beside you in this meeting."
Reluctantly, Alaric nodded, clasping Richard's shoulder. They shared a brief moment of understanding before setting off through the shadowed corridors to the Great Hall.
In the grand, torch-lit hall, knights, commanders, and noblemen stood in clusters, the grim atmosphere filling every corner. Blacksmiths had already been summoned to sharpen the soldiers' weapons, and the clang of iron rang out in the courtyard beyond.
Armor and chainmail lay glinting in the firelight, freshly oiled and waiting to be donned. A faint scent of metal, leather, and sweat permeated the air.
Crown Prince Benjamin of Wyfn-Garde—stood at the head of the table, leaning over a spread of maps, a look of intensity on his face.
"Alaric," Benjamin acknowledged as he approached, "you're here. Good." He gestured for him and Richard to join the circle, where they began to map out Fooleria's strategic weaknesses.
"Do we attack them first?" The head of knights, commander Wall asked, his voice low but strong. "Or do we intercept their forces halfway before they can reach us?"
Benjamin weighed the question, his fingers tracing the lines of the map. "If we wait for them to come, they'll be fortified. They know the terrain between our borders well. But if we strike first, we lose the defensive advantage of Wyfn-Garde's walls."
Second Prince Spencer nodded, "Yes, We risk open combat, away from our stronghold."
Alaric looked up, his eyes sharp as he analyzed their options. "If we intercept them on the hills by the border, we can trap them in narrow passes. Richard and I know the land well—there's a plateau with rocky terrain that will slow their cavalry. With the right archers positioned, we could halt their advance without a full assault."
The men murmured in agreement, voices interspersed with the sharpness of sword blades drawn for inspection.
"Then it's settled." Benjamin's gaze hardened as he straightened. "We ride out before dawn in the two days. Have the scouts alert us of any movement from Fooleria's troops, and let the priests know. We'll all need prayers for protection tonight."
The meeting finished and the men dispersed.
In the courtyard, the sounds of the knights grew louder. Men strapped on their armor, checked their shields, and gave their swords one last honing under the blacksmiths' expert hands.
A few knelt with clasped hands, whispering prayers of courage and safe return, while others closed their eyes in brief moments of solitude, gathering strength for the coming battle.
Alaric stepped into the bustle, his mind both focused and conflicted. He knew he would soon be in the thick of war, yet his thoughts drifted back to Salviana, sleeping peacefully in their chamber, unaware of the battle that loomed.
A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present—it was Richard, his expression resolute but laced with the same concern.
"We'll end this quickly," Richard said quietly. "And we'll return to them."
Alaric nodded, his eyes reflecting a fierce determination. "For our kingdom. For our families."
The sound of horns echoed through the castle grounds, calling all warriors to gather. As dawn approached, they mounted their horses, their figures silhouetted against the first light.
The men held their heads high, their eyes set forward, each step carrying them closer to the unknown. The sun rose, casting an eerie glow over the assembled forces of Wyfn-Garde as they prepared to ride into battle, bound by duty, honor, and the promise of defending those they loved.
Alaric had always been an important figure in Wynn-Garde despite being treated like the devils son and called a demon. There has never been a battle, a war that the kingdom will participate in that Alaric was leading or second leading since he came off age.
They would say whatever they wished behind his back or at any slight misunderstanding but they knew he was vital to the existence of their very kingdom.
The royals and men would never go to battle without getting his opinion on the plan they have because like the demon they called him truth be told Alaric was always the one to kill off at least half the population of their enemies which always secured them the upper hand.
Without Alaric, Wyfn-Garde just might fall and the king hated that fact.