Chapter 2: Shadows of the Crown
The study in the Royal Citadel was modest by Halvorian standards, with sturdy oak furniture and walls lined with maps. A single fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. The three princes sat in tense silence, the weight of their inheritance pressing down like a heavy cloak.
Narci, the eldest, leaned over the table, tracing a line on a map with his finger. His sharp features and steady gaze reflected the keen intellect he was known for. Lysander, the second-born, lounged in his chair, an almost predatory smirk playing on his lips as he observed his brothers. Orion, the youngest, sat at the far end, his hands clasped tightly, his expression conflicted.
"You've both seen the reports," Narci began, his voice calm but firm. "The northern mines are producing less iron. House Ardent is requesting tax relief to offset their losses."
Lysander scoffed. "Tax relief? Of course, they are. They'll always claim hardship, yet their soldiers never fail to show up clad in the finest steel."
"Because they're the ones who mine it," Narci replied sharply. "Without their resources, the kingdom's armies would falter."
Orion shifted in his seat. "But what of the farmers in the south? The drought has devastated their crops. If we offer relief to the north and ignore the south, we risk losing their support entirely."
Lysander waved a hand dismissively. "The farmers will grumble, as they always do. They're too scattered to pose a real threat. The merchants, however…" He leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. "The Merchants' Guild has been pushing for lower tariffs on imported grain. If we grant them that, they'll placate the south for us—and fill our coffers in the process."
Narci frowned. "Lowering tariffs risks undercutting our own economy. The merchants would profit, but the kingdom as a whole would suffer."
Orion interjected, his voice rising slightly. "Is profit all you think about, Lysander? What about the people? The farmers, the miners, the soldiers—what happens to them when we're too busy playing politics to address their needs?"
Lysander turned to him, his smirk fading into a cold stare. "And what do you propose, little brother? Charity for all? A kingdom runs on strength and strategy, not sentiment."
"Strength without compassion breeds rebellion," Orion shot back.
Narci raised a hand, silencing them both. "This bickering won't solve anything. The kingdom is a delicate balance, one that Father managed to maintain through sheer will.And it's up to us to navigate these challenges. Together."
Lysander snorted. "Together? Please. We all know how this will end. The Council of Lords is already divided. House Valen conspires in the south, hoarding grain and wealth. House Torran pushes for naval expansion at the expense of the army. And House Eldryn…" He trailed off, a hint of unease in his voice. "Well, who knows what they're scheming in their forests."
Narci nodded grimly. "The council is fractured, yes. But so is the kingdom. The northern lords feel ignored, the eastern ports demand more autonomy, and the west resists any attempt at integration. If we're not careful, Halvoria will tear itself apart."
"And yet," Lysander said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "our dear father thought it wise to leave these to us three wolves circling the same prize."
Orion's jaw tightened. "Perhaps he believed we could rise above our differences."
"Or perhaps," Narci said quietly, "he wanted us to prove ourselves worthy of the crown."
The room fell silent for a moment, the fire crackling softly in the background.
Orion broke the silence, his voice softer now. "Have either of you spoken to Lady Serina of House Eldryn? She visited the capital last week. She spoke of unrest in the western woodlands—displaced peasants turning to banditry. If we don't address it, the instability could spread."
Narci sighed. "I sent a missive to House Thalos to deploy additional patrols, but their forces are stretched thin. Between guarding the capital and keeping an eye on the south, they're nearing their breaking point."
Lysander leaned back, his arms crossed. "The solution is obvious. Consolidate power. Bring the provinces to heel and remind them who holds the crown. A strong hand is what this kingdom needs, not endless debates and compromises."
"And risk alienating every noble house in the process?" Narci asked, his tone sharp. "We need their support to govern effectively."
Orion stood, his voice firm but tinged with frustration. "What we need is unity, not more power plays. The people are already losing faith in the monarchy. If we can't show them that we care—truly care—about their struggles, then the crown itself will lose its meaning."
Lysander laughed, a bitter edge to the sound. "How idealistic of you, Orion. Tell me, do you plan to rule with kind words and gentle smiles? Because that will surely hold the kingdom together."
"I plan to rule with integrity," Orion replied, his voice steady.
Narci stepped between them, his gaze stern. "Enough. We can't afford to fight among ourselves. If we're to lead Halvoria, we need a plan. One that addresses the needs of all provinces while maintaining the crown's authority."
"And who will lead this effort?" Lysander asked, his eyes narrowing. "You, with your endless theories and hesitation? Orion, with his bleeding heart? Or me, the only one willing to make the hard choices?"
Narci didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the map, his expression unreadable. "We'll see," he said at last.
The fire crackled again, the only sound in the room as the three brothers stared at one another. The weight of the crown hung heavy between them, an unspoken challenge none of them dared to voice.