The halls of the royal palace were quieter than usual, a tension humming in the air as though the stone walls themselves were holding their breath. Alaric paced the length of the strategy chamber, his boots clicking against the polished floor. Maps were spread across the massive oak table, detailing the borders of Arathen and Valtoria. Strategists, generals, and advisors were seated, waiting for him to speak.
He wasn't ready. At least, he didn't feel ready. But as the prince and heir, there was no room for doubt now.
Roran stood beside him, arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall. His presence was grounding—a reminder that no matter how overwhelming the moment, Alaric was not alone.
"Alaric," General Lothar's gruff voice cut through the room. "You've called us here, but what exactly are we planning? The envoy has barely left, and we've no response yet from Valtoria. What's your purpose in gathering us now?"
Alaric stopped pacing and turned to face the room. The assembled council members were watching him intently, their expressions a mix of curiosity and impatience. He cleared his throat and straightened.
"We've sent the envoy to seek peace, but we can't rely solely on that outcome," Alaric began, his voice steady despite the tight knot of nerves in his chest. "If Valtoria refuses diplomacy, we need to be ready. This meeting is about preparation—not provocation."
Lady Elira, the kingdom's chief strategist, nodded approvingly. "A wise move, Your Highness. What specific preparations are you suggesting?"
Alaric stepped closer to the table, gesturing to the map. "Our border defenses need to be strengthened. If Valtoria intends to strike, they'll likely target our trade routes in the east. We need to station more troops in the Redridge Pass and reinforce the garrisons in Torwin. Supplies and provisions must also be stockpiled in case of a prolonged conflict."
Lothar grunted but didn't argue. "And what of the capital? If Valtoria sends assassins or spies, our own palace could be at risk."
"We'll increase palace security," Alaric replied, his tone firm. "I've already spoken with Captain Edris to tighten the guard rotation. No one enters or leaves without thorough vetting."
The room murmured with agreement, though a few skeptical glances were exchanged. Alaric felt the weight of their expectations, but he pressed on.
"Every decision we make now will determine whether Arathen stands or falls. We must act with caution and strength, ensuring our people are protected while keeping the door to diplomacy open."
There was a moment of silence before Elira spoke again. "You're thinking like a ruler, Your Highness. Let's hope Valtoria sees the wisdom in peace. But if they don't, we'll be ready."
---
Later, as the council dispersed, Alaric lingered in the chamber, tracing his finger along the map. Roran approached, his usual playful demeanor softened into something more serious.
"You handled that well," Roran said, leaning on the edge of the table. "But I can tell you're still not convinced this is the right path."
Alaric sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Roran. Every step I take feels like walking on thin ice. If I make one wrong move, the entire kingdom could suffer."
Roran smirked. "Well, that's what being a prince is all about, isn't it? Constant pressure, impossible decisions, and no way to know if you're doing the right thing."
Alaric shot him a look, though he couldn't help but smile faintly. "You're not helping."
"I'm serious, though," Roran said, his tone softening. "You're doing everything you can. You're trying to protect your people, and that's what matters. You've got a good head on your shoulders, Alaric. Trust it."
Alaric nodded, though the weight of responsibility didn't lift. "Thanks, Roran. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Probably go insane," Roran quipped, earning a small laugh from Alaric. "Now, come on. Let's get out of this stuffy room before your head explodes."
---
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Alaric found himself walking through the palace gardens. The air was cool, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the faint hum of crickets. It was one of the few places where he could find some semblance of peace.
But tonight, peace eluded him.
"Your Highness," a soft voice called, breaking through his thoughts. He turned to see Liliana approaching, her silver dress catching the moonlight. She moved gracefully, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that mirrored their father's.
"Liliana," Alaric greeted her, his voice warmer than he felt. "What are you doing out here?"
"I could ask you the same," she replied, a hint of amusement in her tone. "But I think I already know. You're overthinking again."
Alaric chuckled lightly, though his smile was fleeting. "Can you blame me? Every decision feels like a test I'm not ready for."
Liliana stepped closer, her expression softening. "You're doing well, Alaric. Father believes in you, and so do I. But you can't carry the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders alone. Let others share the burden."
"I'm trying," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's hard to trust myself, let alone others."
Liliana placed a hand on his arm, her gaze steady. "You don't have to be perfect. You just have to lead with your heart. The rest will follow."
---
As they spoke, a shadow flickered in the corner of Alaric's vision. He tensed, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. Liliana noticed the movement and followed his gaze.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice hushed.
Alaric didn't answer, his eyes scanning the garden. The shadow moved again, darting between the trees. It was too quick for a normal person—too deliberate.
"Stay behind me," Alaric ordered, drawing his sword in one fluid motion.
Liliana didn't argue, stepping back as Alaric advanced cautiously. The garden, once serene, now felt like a labyrinth of danger. The rustling of leaves and the faint crunch of footsteps filled the air, each sound amplifying the tension.
"Show yourself!" Alaric commanded, his voice echoing through the night.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a figure stepped into the moonlight—a man cloaked in black, his face obscured by a mask. He held no weapon, but his presence radiated menace.
"Prince Alaric," the man said, his voice low and gravelly. "I bring a message."
Alaric didn't lower his sword. "From whom?"
The man tilted his head. "From those who watch in the shadows. Those who see the cracks in your kingdom's armor."
Alaric's grip on his sword tightened. "Speak plainly. What do you want?"
The man chuckled, a hollow sound. "This is not a negotiation, Your Highness. It is a warning. Valtoria is not your only enemy. Beware of those who claim to serve you, for betrayal often comes from within."
Before Alaric could respond, the man threw a small object to the ground. Smoke billowed out, engulfing the area. Alaric coughed, trying to see through the haze, but when it cleared, the man was gone.
"Are you all right?" Liliana asked, rushing to his side.
Alaric nodded, though his mind was racing. The man's words echoed in his head: Betrayal often comes from within.
What did it mean? And who could he trust? The storm was closer than he had realized, and its winds carried whispers of shadows.