The cold dawn had barely begun to break over Ustaria's sprawling palace when Prince Harris Pennington stood at his private balcony, looking out over the land that would one day be his. Or so he believed. The sky was a pale gray, the sun barely a suggestion on the horizon. Everything was still, as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.
But inside Harris's mind, there was no peace.
He had waited long enough. His father's illness had thrown the kingdom into uncertainty, and the nobles had begun to circle like vultures. They whispered in corners, talked of alternatives—of Ruby, of David—and while some had begun to align with Harris, it wasn't enough. He needed his father to name him the official heir. He needed the crown to be within reach, and his patience was wearing thin.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. General Raoul, his most trusted military commander and the man who had fought beside him in countless battles, stepped onto the balcony with him, his expression as grim as the morning sky.
"Your Highness," Raoul greeted him, his voice low and filled with the weight of their shared history. "There are developments along the eastern borders."
Harris turned to face him, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "What kind of developments?"
Raoul's jaw clenched as he delivered the news. "The eastern lords have reported increased activity near the Kingdom of Arlenia's border. Scouts have seen Arlenian forces moving closer, perhaps preparing for a confrontation. They've been testing our defenses, probing for weaknesses."
Harris's face darkened. The Kingdom of Arlenia had long been a thorn in Ustaria's side, constantly seeking opportunities to weaken them, and now, with the question of succession lingering over the kingdom like a storm cloud, their enemies were growing bold.
"They sense weakness," Harris muttered, his fists clenching at his sides. "They know the court is divided. If my father continues to delay naming a successor, we'll be dealing with more than just whispers in the palace. We'll have a war on our hands."
Raoul nodded, his face impassive, though his mind churned with a mix of concern and loyalty. His duty was to Ustaria, but lately, he had begun to question whether Harris's approach would lead the kingdom into stability—or chaos. Harris was a man of strength, a warrior with a keen sense of strategy, but the court was not a battlefield, and Raoul feared that Harris's impatience would cause him to make rash decisions. Decisions that could unravel everything they had built.
Still, Raoul kept these thoughts to himself. His loyalty to Harris had always been unwavering—at least outwardly.
"The eastern forces are strong," Raoul continued, his voice steady. "But they won't act unless they're certain Ustaria is vulnerable. As long as we maintain a show of strength, they'll hesitate."
Harris's expression hardened. "And how long do you think we can maintain that show of strength if my father refuses to name me as his successor? The nobles are already divided. Some of them are rallying behind Ruby, others behind David. If we don't act soon, they'll turn this kingdom into a battleground, and our enemies will strike the moment we're distracted."
Raoul said nothing, but the tension between them was palpable. He had always believed in decisive action, but in this moment, he could see that Harris was walking a dangerous line. Harris's ambition was clear, but so was his growing frustration with the court's delays. And as much as Raoul respected Harris's strength, he knew that the situation required more than just force.
"You've already secured Duke Findlay's backing," Raoul said carefully, his voice measured. "And Duchess Madeline Dixon has offered financial support. Your position is strong, but strength alone won't win the throne."
Harris turned on him sharply, his eyes narrowing. "What are you saying, Raoul?"
Raoul hesitated for the briefest moment before speaking. "I'm saying that if you act too soon, without the full support of the court, you risk dividing the kingdom. And if the court turns against you, our enemies won't hesitate to take advantage of that weakness."
Harris's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond immediately. He knew Raoul was right, at least in part. The court was like a nest of snakes, and one wrong move could trigger chaos. But Harris was growing tired of waiting, tired of watching his father dither while the kingdom teetered on the edge of uncertainty.
"I can't wait any longer, Raoul," Harris said, his voice hard. "I've waited long enough. If my father refuses to act, then I'll make him act."
Raoul's stomach twisted at Harris's words. He had seen this determination in Harris before—on the battlefield, just before he ordered an all-out charge. It was the same look of ruthless certainty that had won them countless victories, but the court was not a battlefield. And this time, Raoul wasn't sure if Harris's strategy would lead to victory or disaster.
Raoul kept his face impassive, his loyalty to Harris outwardly unquestionable. But deep down, something else had begun to stir. His feelings for Ruby had complicated his once-clear sense of duty. He had seen the way she operated in court, the way she wielded diplomacy and kindness as deftly as Harris wielded a sword. There was a different kind of strength in Ruby, one that had started to pull at Raoul's conscience, making him question the path Harris was on.
But now wasn't the time for hesitation. Harris was counting on him.
"What will you do?" Raoul asked, his voice neutral, though his mind churned with unspoken concerns.
Harris's expression darkened, his gaze hardening with resolve. "I'm going to see my father. If he won't make a decision, I'll force him to. The time for waiting is over."
---
The King's Chambers
The hallways of the palace seemed colder as Harris made his way toward his father's private chambers. General Raoul walked silently beside him, his presence as steady as ever, though his mind remained conflicted. The weight of what was about to happen pressed down on them both.
When they reached the king's chamber, the guards at the door exchanged uneasy glances before stepping aside to let Harris pass. Inside, the room was dim, the heavy curtains drawn to keep out the morning light. King Harley Pennington lay in his bed, his once-powerful frame now frail and thin, his breathing shallow.
Harris stepped forward, his movements deliberate and controlled. "Father," he greeted, his voice low but firm.
King Harley's tired eyes opened slowly, shifting to focus on his son. "Harris," he rasped, his voice weak but still carrying a hint of the authority that had ruled Ustaria for decades. "Why have you come?"
Harris wasted no time. He had heard enough of his father's evasions, enough of his warnings about the weight of the crown. Today, he would not leave this room without a clear answer.
"The court is on the verge of collapse, Father," Harris said, his voice firm and unyielding. "The nobles are divided. Some are rallying behind Ruby, others behind David. They see your illness as a sign of weakness, and if you don't name me as your successor soon, they'll turn this kingdom into a battlefield."
King Harley closed his eyes briefly, his expression one of weariness. "You speak of strength, Harris. Always strength."
"Because strength is what's needed," Harris replied, his voice rising slightly. "I've done everything to secure Ustaria's future. I've secured alliances with the most powerful nobles, I have the loyalty of the military, and I've proven myself in battle time and time again. But you refuse to act. The nobles need certainty, Father. The kingdom needs certainty."
The king's eyes fluttered open again, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as though searching for something beyond the room. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. "You are strong, Harris. But ruling a kingdom requires more than strength. It requires wisdom."
Harris's patience snapped. He had heard this argument too many times before, and it had always been an excuse to delay the decision. "Wisdom won't stop our enemies from attacking us," Harris growled. "The Kingdom of Arlenia is testing our borders. If we don't show strength, they will invade. And the nobles are growing restless—if you don't name me as your successor, they will tear this kingdom apart."
King Harley let out a weak sigh, his chest rising and falling with effort. "The crown is heavy, Harris. Heavier than
you think. And it's not just about who sits on the throne. It's about who serves the kingdom."
"I will serve the kingdom," Harris said through clenched teeth. "But I can't do that if you won't make it clear that I am the heir."
The king turned his head slowly to look at his son, his gaze soft but tired. "You will inherit the crown one day, Harris. But that day has not yet come."
Harris's fists clenched at his sides, his frustration building. He had come here for a decision, but it was clear that his father would not give him one. Not today. The kingdom was crumbling under the weight of uncertainty, and his father continued to hold on to the past, refusing to make the hard choices that needed to be made.
"I won't wait forever," Harris said, his voice low but dangerous. "You need to name me as your successor. Officially. Publicly. Or I will take matters into my own hands."
The king closed his eyes again, as though the conversation had exhausted him. "We will speak of this again, Harris. But not today."
Harris turned sharply and stormed out of the room, his blood boiling with frustration. As he left, Raoul remained in the shadows, watching the prince with a mixture of loyalty and unease.
---
A Kingdom on the Brink
Outside the king's chambers, Harris's mind raced. His father had failed to act again, and now the burden of securing the throne fell entirely on him. He would need to move quickly. The nobles were divided, the military was watching closely, and the borders were threatened by outside forces.
And somewhere, in the court, Ruby was quietly gathering her own influence, her position growing stronger with every passing day.
Harris wouldn't allow it.
The time for waiting was over. It was time to make his move.