The snow had begun to melt, revealing slick patches of ice and mud scattered across the palace courtyard, a reflection of the kingdom's fractured peace.
Days had passed since Seraphina had given the order to investigate the raiders, and the reports had trickled in like a slow, agonizing stream—fragments of truth hidden beneath layers of confusion and half-told lies.
Now, as the council gathered once more in the high chamber, the tension in the air was palpable, thick as the storm clouds still swirling ominously beyond the windows.
Seraphina sat at the head of the table, her fingers lightly tapping against the polished wood, each sound like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable. The weight of her crown was more burdensome than ever, though she wore it with cold poise.
Her gaze swept over the room, the council members seated in silence, their eyes fixed upon her with varying degrees of deference and caution. Finally, her focus settled on Lord Hadrian, who stood with a scroll clenched tightly in his hands.
"Speak," Seraphina commanded, her voice a low echo in the chamber.
Hadiser bowed before unrolling the parchment, his brow furrowed as he delivered the news. "The scouts returned this morning. The raiders were mercenaries—trained, disciplined, and well-supplied. Their movements were too precise to be mere bandits, and their weapons bore the unmistakable markings of the neighboring kingdom of Veyra."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the chamber. Seraphina's gaze narrowed as she raised a hand, silencing the room with a single gesture. The air grew colder, charged with the weight of her authority.
"Veyra?" she repeated, her voice like ice. "Their king signed a peace treaty with us three years ago."
"Treaties are paper," Lord Ulric interjected bitterly, his voice carrying the sharp edge of distrust. "When hunger and desperation set in, kingdoms forget such things. Veyra has suffered droughts and poor harvests. Their coffers are empty. If they see our kingdom as weak, they will test our defenses—probing for vulnerabilities before they strike."
Seraphina's eyes darkened, her hand clenched around the armrest of her chair. "Do we have proof of their involvement?"
Hadrian hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly before he met Seraphina's sharp stare. "Not direct proof, Your Highness. But the weapons we recovered match those used by Veyran soldiers. And some of the raiders… they confessed under questioning. They claimed they were hired by Veyra's nobles. But there is no direct evidence tying this back to their king."
"No evidence," Seraphina repeated, her voice low and laced with frustration. "Yet they dared cross our borders, attack our people, and stain our land with blood."
Lord Theron cleared his throat, his voice cautious but insistent. "If we act too hastily, Your Highness, we risk escalating this into a war we cannot afford, a war that could tear us apart before we even know who the true enemy is."
"And if we do nothing?" Seraphina countered, her gaze sharp as a blade. "We invite further attacks—more death, more destruction. I will not leave my people defenseless."
The chamber fell into a heavy silence, the flickering shadows from the braziers casting grim faces upon the council members. The tension was thick enough to choke the air.
"What do you propose, Your Highness?" Marielle asked, her voice soft but carrying a weight of concern.
Seraphina stood, her figure as imposing as the storm clouds that gathered beyond the windows. "Send word to Veyra. Demand an explanation—and reparations for the damage their hired mercenaries have wrought upon our lands."
"And if they refuse?" Hadiser asked, his tone cautious, as if daring to test the limits of diplomacy.
"Then we prepare our armies," Seraphina said, her gaze sweeping the room, meeting each of the council members' eyes. "But not before exhausting every option for peace."
The council murmured in agreement, though a few voices carried hesitation. Seraphina ignored them. She had no intention of letting her kingdom bleed, but neither would she allow the enemy to perceive weakness. Her resolve was steel, tempered in the fires of duty.
As the meeting concluded and the council began to disperse, Marielle lingered behind, her expression troubled, shadows dancing across her face.
"Do you believe Veyra is truly behind this?" she asked, her voice laced with doubt.
Seraphina exhaled, her fingers brushing against the hilt of the dagger she had kept by her side ever since the raids had begun. It had become a comforting habit, one that grounded her in the chaos. "I do not know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But if it wasn't them, someone wanted us to believe it was."
Marielle's eyes widened. "A trap?"
"Perhaps," Seraphina replied, her gaze drifting toward the window, her mind swirling with the possibilities. "Either way, I won't be caught unprepared again."
The wind howled outside, rattling the panes of glass as if the very world was trying to speak through the storm. Somewhere beyond the palace walls, the last remnants of snow continued to melt, revealing the scars left by those who had dared test Arundelle's strength.
And in the shadows, Seraphina knew that the real threat had yet to reveal itself.