The walls of Ustaria's royal palace were steeped in centuries of history, their stones having witnessed countless power struggles, betrayals, and triumphs. The castle had long been the center of the kingdom's strength, both political and military, and the heart of that strength had always been its rulers. King Harley Pennington had kept the kingdom united through a combination of wisdom and force, but now, as the king grew weaker, it was clear that Ustaria's future would depend on a new ruler. One who was strong, decisive, and unrelenting in the face of opposition.
That ruler, in Prince Harris Pennington's mind, could only be him.
Harris, the eldest son of King Harley, strode through the palace corridors with the confidence of a man who had spent his life commanding soldiers and leading victorious campaigns. At thirty-eight, he was a seasoned warrior, his name known and feared across Ustaria's borders. His broad shoulders and tall, imposing frame made him stand out, even among the many knights and soldiers who passed through the palace halls. His piercing dark eyes and closely cropped hair only added to his aura of strength, and wherever he walked, people instinctively moved aside.
Today, however, there was a different weight in Harris's step. The news of King Harley's failing health had spread rapidly through the court, igniting a flurry of speculation and whispered conversations about who would ascend to the throne. Harris had always believed the crown would be his by right; as the eldest son, it was his birthright, after all. He had spent his entire life preparing for it—proving himself in battle, forging alliances with military leaders, and earning the loyalty of the kingdom's most powerful nobles. Yet, despite all of this, the king had remained maddeningly silent about the succession, and Harris's frustration had only grown with each passing day.
He had to make a move. The court was becoming restless, and his siblings—especially David and Ruby—were already positioning themselves to take advantage of the king's indecision. But Harris knew that none of them were capable of leading Ustaria. Not in the way he could. David, with his reckless charm and lack of discipline, would bring nothing but ruin. And as much as he loved Ruby, she was too soft for the harsh realities of ruling a kingdom. She might be beloved by the people, but love would not hold the throne. Only strength would.
As he approached his private chambers, Harris felt the familiar stirring of impatience in his chest. He hated waiting—hated the games that the court played, where every move was calculated and every word spoken with layers of hidden meaning. He preferred the clarity of battle, where the lines were drawn clearly, and the victor was decided by skill and might. In the court, there were no such clear victories, only endless scheming and false smiles.
But today, Harris had no intention of playing their games. Today, he would make his intentions clear.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door to his chambers, Harris stepped inside, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his mind. He found his advisor and long-time friend, General Raoul Arken, waiting for him by the fireplace, his expression as serious as ever. Raoul had been by Harris's side for years, serving as both confidant and strategist during his military campaigns. He was one of the few people Harris trusted completely, and his loyalty was unwavering.
"General," Harris greeted him with a curt nod as he closed the door behind him. "I hope you bring good news."
Raoul straightened, his hands clasped behind his back. He was a man of few words, his stoic demeanor a contrast to Harris's fiery nature. "There have been... developments, Your Highness," he said, his voice low and controlled.
Harris arched an eyebrow, crossing the room in a few long strides to stand before the fire. He felt its heat against his skin, but it did little to ease the simmering frustration he carried with him. "Developments? What kind?"
Raoul's gaze flickered for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully. "The council has been meeting in private. The nobles are growing more vocal about their concerns regarding the king's health... and the succession."
"Of course they are," Harris muttered, his voice tight with irritation. "They're vultures, circling before the body's even cold. And what do they say?"
Raoul hesitated before responding, his expression unreadable. "Many of the older nobles—those loyal to the military—support your claim to the throne, Your Highness. They believe that you are the rightful heir."
Harris's jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing. "And the others?"
"The council is divided," Raoul admitted, his tone carefully neutral. "There are those who believe Princess Ruby would be a better candidate. They admire her diplomacy, her connection with the people. She has the support of several key houses."
Harris snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Ruby? She would last a week on the throne before the nobles tore her apart. She doesn't have the stomach for this. Ustaria needs strength, not sympathy."
Raoul didn't argue. He rarely did. But there was something in his expression that made Harris pause.
"What is it, Raoul?" Harris demanded, stepping closer to his advisor. "There's more, isn't there?"
Raoul nodded slowly, his gaze steady. "There are whispers about David, Your Highness. Some believe that the king favors him."
Harris's expression darkened instantly, his fists clenching at his sides. "David? That spoiled child? He's not fit to wear the crown. He's barely fit to wear his own clothes most days."
Raoul remained calm, though his eyes betrayed a hint of concern. "Nevertheless, there are rumors that the king has privately considered Prince David as his successor. It is no secret that the king has a deep affection for his youngest son."
Harris's anger flared, his pulse quickening. The very idea that his father would even consider David as a potential heir was an insult. David had never earned anything in his life. While Harris had been out on the front lines, fighting for the kingdom, David had been lounging in the palace, indulging in every luxury and pleasure that court life had to offer. He had never led an army, never made a single sacrifice for Ustaria. And now, Harley would give him the throne?
"No," Harris growled, pacing in front of the fire. "No, I won't allow it. Father may be blinded by his love for David, but I won't stand by and let that fool destroy everything we've built."
Raoul watched his prince carefully, his expression unreadable. "What would you have me do, Your Highness?"
Harris stopped pacing, turning sharply to face Raoul. "I need to speak to my father. Directly. No more waiting. No more games. I'll go to him, and I'll remind him of everything I've done for this kingdom. He cannot ignore me forever."
Raoul inclined his head slightly. "A direct confrontation, then?"
Harris nodded, his fists still clenched at his sides. "Yes. It's time. I've waited long enough."
He strode across the room, his footsteps heavy with purpose. The time for subtlety had passed. He had spent years proving himself, and he would not be denied what was rightfully his. If his father wouldn't name him as his heir willingly, then Harris would force his hand.
Raoul followed closely behind, his face impassive, though his mind was already calculating the risks. A direct confrontation with the king could be dangerous. Harley was a proud man, and even in his weakened state, he would not take kindly to being challenged. But Raoul also knew that Prince Harris was not a man to back down once he had made up his mind. The general had seen Harris on the battlefield—seen the fire in his eyes when faced with an enemy. That same fire now burned within him, fueled by the possibility of losing the throne to David.
They made their way through the palace, the echoes of their footsteps following them down the long corridors. Servants and guards bowed respectfully as they passed, but Harris paid them no mind. His thoughts were focused entirely on the coming confrontation with his father. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.
When they reached the king's private chambers, two guards stood at attention outside the door. They glanced at Harris with a mixture of respect and wariness, as if sensing the intensity in his gaze.
"I need to see the king," Harris said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
The guards exchanged a brief glance before one of them stepped forward. "The king is resting, Your Highness. He has given orders not to be disturbed."
"I am his son," Harris replied, his voice like steel. "And I will not be kept from him."
The guard hesitated for a moment but finally nodded and stepped aside, allowing Harris to approach the door. Raoul remained behind, watching silently as Harris pushed the door open and entered the room.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of burning logs and the faint scent of herbs meant to ease the king's breathing. Harley Pennington sat by the fire, wrapped in his usual furs, his body as frail as ever. He looked up as Harris entered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the sight of his eldest son.
"Harris," Harley said, his voice weak but
still carrying the authority of a king. "What is the meaning of this? Why are you here?"
Harris stepped forward, his jaw clenched as he stood before his father. "I'm here because it's time we spoke the truth, Father."
Harley's brow furrowed in confusion. "The truth?"
Harris's fists tightened at his sides as he forced himself to remain calm. "You cannot continue to delay the decision any longer. The council is divided. The nobles are growing restless. The kingdom needs an heir."
Harley's expression remained guarded as he leaned back in his chair, studying his son. "And you believe that heir should be you."
"It is me," Harris said, his voice firm and unyielding. "I've led your armies. I've fought for this kingdom, bled for it. I've earned the loyalty of our soldiers and the respect of our nobles. I am your eldest son. By right, the crown should pass to me."
Harley's gaze softened slightly, but there was a sadness in his eyes that Harris hadn't expected. "You believe that strength alone will make you a good king."
Harris straightened, his chest puffed out with pride. "Strength is what this kingdom needs. Especially now, with enemies at our borders and factions within our own court. I am the only one who can keep Ustaria united."
Harley was silent for a long moment, his eyes drifting toward the fire as he considered his son's words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm.
"Strength is important, yes," Harley said slowly. "But a king must also have wisdom, Harris. He must know when to show mercy, when to listen, and when to step back. I have watched you grow into a strong warrior, my son. But there is more to ruling than just winning battles."
Harris felt a surge of frustration rise within him, his fists clenching even tighter. "And you think David has that wisdom? That *child* who has never fought a day in his life?"
Harley's eyes flashed with warning. "David is my son, just as you are. And you will show him respect."
Harris bit back a retort, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his temper in check. "I have always shown respect to my brother, Father. But this is not about David. This is about Ustaria. I am the rightful heir, and you know it."
Harley was silent again, his gaze heavy with the weight of his decision. The room seemed to close in around them, the crackling of the fire the only sound as father and son stood at an impasse.
Finally, Harley let out a long sigh, his frail body sinking deeper into the chair.
"We will speak of this again," Harley said quietly. "But not today."
Harris wanted to argue, to force his father to make the decision here and now, but he knew that pressing further would only lead to more conflict. He had made his case, and for now, that would have to be enough.
"Very well," Harris said, his voice tight with frustration. "But know this, Father—Ustaria will not wait forever."
With that, he turned on his heel and left the chamber, the door closing softly behind him.
As he made his way back through the palace, his mind was already working, calculating his next move. The king had not given him the answer he wanted, but Harris knew that he was running out of time. He could not afford to wait much longer. If his father refused to name him as his heir, then Harris would have to take the throne by force.
And when that day came, Ustaria would see just how strong their new king could be.