Morning found Rena stirring before dawn, roused by a faint clamoring inside her mind—an unsettled mix of anticipation and concern. She lay under soft covers in the dim half-light of her bedchamber, lulled by the gentle drape of silence beyond the windows. Sleep had come late after the tense council discussion, and though her body craved more rest, her thoughts pulled her upright. The kingdom felt poised at a tipping point, and she could not surrender to weariness while so many needed her alert.
She rose, dressing in simpler attire than usual—a linen gown layered with a comfortable shawl. The formalities of courtly finery felt oppressive this early, and she wanted freedom of movement in case she needed to rush anywhere at a moment's notice. When she stepped into the corridor, the castle's hush was tangible. At this hour, only a few servants roamed with sleepy eyes, lighting fresh candles or tending to breakfast preparations. The halls glowed a soft gold where torches still flickered. A gentle breeze slipped in through narrow windows, carrying the crispness of morning air. With each breath, Rena reminded herself that, for the moment at least, all seemed calm.
She made her way first to King Darius's private chamber, a reflex born of worry. If he were still resting peacefully, she wouldn't disturb him. But if he needed her help—either fatherly companionship or a fresh infusion of healing—she was ready. The guard stationed at the door bowed as she approached, then cracked the door open. Rena peered in, relieved to see her father slumbering in relative ease. The physician, quietly noting readings on a small parchment, caught Rena's eye and nodded in reassurance. That small nod freed her from immediate guilt at not tending his bedside throughout the night.
Slipping away, she drifted toward the castle's east wing, where a small balcony overlooked the gardens. Sometimes, fresh air helped clear her head better than any plan or counsel. She found the balcony unoccupied, dew beading along its stone balustrade. Shadows still lay long across the courtyard below, though the sky began shifting toward pale blue at the horizon. She leaned on the balustrade, letting the chill of the stone ground her. Silence enwrapped her until a subdued voice behind made her turn.
Gareth stood a few paces off, boots quiet on the tiled floor. He wore his usual messenger's tunic, though he, too, appeared a bit rumpled from the late night. A small, wry smile touched his lips as he dipped his head. "I thought I might find you here, Princess. You often come to the gardens or balconies when you need to think."
Her chest tightened slightly—she hadn't realized how predictable she was becoming, or how attentively Gareth noticed. "Yes, well," she said with a soft shrug, "there aren't many quiet corners left in the palace, are there? Not with envoys and endless negotiations."
He stepped forward, joining her at the balustrade. Together they surveyed the courtyard's neat hedges and the central fountain, now shimmering in the delicate dawn light. "True enough," he said. "I came to see if you wanted any updates. Word from the stablehands is that a messenger from Captain Loran arrived just before sunrise. Lady Halene is reading his dispatch now."
Rena's breath caught. She recalled last night's uneasy compromise with Severin—the partial redeployment of guards, minimal new taxes, and the wait for confirmation about how serious the bandit threat was. "Did the messenger bring any urgent warnings?" she asked, keeping her voice even. "Or is it too soon to glean the situation?"
Gareth's features took on a neutral cast, as though he withheld judgment until facts settled. "It sounds mixed. The dispatch suggests there were indeed some new faces harassing travelers, though the scale may be smaller than rumored. Captain Loran thinks they're remnants of an old group, recruiting a handful of rogues. Not a massive threat, but not trivial either."
Rena exhaled slowly, tension easing somewhat. "So Severin's predictions of a widespread crisis might be overblown."
"Possibly," Gareth said. "But let's see how he tries to spin it. I suspect he'll claim we must remain on high alert. Remember, he wants an excuse to push those tax hikes in a few weeks if he can."
She ran her hand along the chilly stone, eyes narrowing at the thought. "We'll watch closely. If the real threat is modest, we can contain it with the limited plan we devised, no matter what Severin wants." Casting one more look at the courtyard, she turned away, signaling to Gareth. "Come on, let's go find Halene and see the written report. Better to be armed with facts before facing Severin."
They made their way through the stirring corridors, greeting a few bowing servants. The castle slowly woke around them, the glow of sunrise breaking through tall windows. In the council chamber from last night, they discovered Lady Halene already seated at the central table, scanning a short scroll. A half-eaten plate of fruit sat at her elbow, telling Rena she'd likely been there since dawn.
Halene offered a polite nod as they approached. "Princess, Gareth, good morning. I trust you're here for Captain Loran's dispatch?" She tapped the parchment with a thoughtful expression. "It's as Gareth mentioned—a band of roughly fifteen or twenty rogues, scattered, but capable of harassing lone wagons or poorly defended villages."
Rena lowered herself into a chair opposite Halene. "That's not a trivial number, but it doesn't sound like a full-blown invasion. Did the captain mention the shift in guard units we authorized?"
"Yes," Halene answered, "and he's grateful. They expect to have two squads on patrol within days, plus the small detachments from Imlera and Drenvale should arrive by next week. If all goes well, the combined presence should deter further raids."
Gareth leaned over the map pinned to the table, eyes scanning the northwestern roads. "That's manageable. If these brigands get spooked, they might scatter further."
Rena steepled her fingers, pondering. "Then we must ensure accurate reports keep coming. If Captain Loran claims he has it under control, Severin won't get his chance to push massive taxes. But if something goes wrong..."
Halene sighed. "We'll hope it doesn't. For now, I intend to share these findings with the queen and have them officially recognized in a quick morning briefing. No doubt Severin will attend. We should brace for his reaction."
Standing, Rena gathered her resolve. "I'll join you. Let me freshen up quickly, then we'll see Mother. Thank you, Halene. At least we have some clarity." She exchanged a moment's relieved smile with Gareth, though a gnawing doubt lingered in the pit of her stomach. All it might take was one dramatic bandit skirmish for Severin to claim a crisis, and in politics, fear held more sway than facts.
A short while later, they found Queen Maribel in a smaller antechamber adjoining King Darius's suite. She appeared composed yet pensive, her regal attire a shade of pale green embroidered with silver filigree. Upon hearing Halene's summary, she arched a brow, relief mingling with caution. "This suggests our approach is sufficient for now, but we mustn't grow complacent. I'll schedule a short briefing in the throne room for late morning—Severin, our key nobles, and the envoys can attend."
Rena felt a surge of determination. "It might be wise to invite Captain Loran's messenger, too, so he can verify the details in person. That way, Severin can't claim we're merely reinterpreting the facts."
Maribel nodded approval. "An excellent idea. Let us keep everything transparent. The fewer shadows, the less room for manipulation."
They convened in the throne room at midmorning. It was a modest gathering compared to the previous night's banquet—just a dozen or so officials. Lord Severin arrived wearing his usual air of polite gravity, offering a slight bow to the queen and nodding to Rena. She kept her expression even, noticing his keen gaze linger on the scroll in Halene's hand, likely deducing it contained fresh intelligence.
Halene opened the meeting by summarizing Captain Loran's dispatch. The messenger, a wiry young guard named Joren, confirmed the details: about fifteen or twenty bandits, some known troublemakers from past raids, possibly under a new leader. Joren did not appear distressed, though he cautioned that a well-timed show of force could prevent bigger problems. Queen Maribel listened intently, occasionally glancing toward Rena or Gareth for input.
Severin, standing with his arms loosely folded, wore a faint frown. "It's a relief to hear the threat isn't yet widespread, but it remains a threat. Captain Loran requests swift reinforcements, correct?"
Joren nodded politely. "Yes, sir, but nothing beyond what's already authorized—two squads. We suspect that combined with the allied detachments from Imlera and Drenvale will suffice."
A flicker of disappointment crossed Severin's features. "I see. And if the bandits regroup or recruit more men?"
Rena took that opening. "If. We'll respond based on evidence. We've already agreed to reevaluate in a few weeks if the situation escalates." She raised her chin, refusing to let him shift the debate into speculation that demanded higher taxes now. "For the moment, we move forward with limited reinforcements and watch carefully."
Severin inclined his head, his tone deceptively smooth. "Very well, Princess. I trust you'll remain vigilant. Should the slightest sign of expansion appear, I expect immediate action." He cast a brief glance around the throne room—nobles, scribes, and the foreign envoys' representatives all listening—and then bowed to Queen Maribel. "Thank you for clarifying these developments, Your Majesty."
Satisfied that they'd handled the issue for now, Queen Maribel dismissed the group, instructing Joren to convey the official response to Captain Loran and encouraging any delegates with further questions to meet with Rena or Halene. Amid polite murmurs, the attendees began dispersing. Rena exchanged a quick, meaningful look with Lady Cassira, who nodded approvingly before following her own aides from the room.
Rena felt a steady hum of relief that the crisis seemed manageable. Still, her intuition warned that Severin's restless ambition lurked beneath every polite exchange. As she turned to exit, she found him watching her. He managed a courteous half-smile. "It seems your measured plan stands, Princess. Let us hope fortune favors your optimism."
She matched his gaze. "We do what the facts demand, Lord Severin. Fear alone is no reason to bleed the kingdom dry."
His mouth twitched. "Of course. May the facts continue to prove you right." With a bow, he slipped away, leaving Rena vaguely unsettled by the cryptic note in his parting words.
Once he was gone, Gareth approached. "You did well. People see you standing firm, trusting Captain Loran's intelligence instead of caving to Severin's worst-case scenarios. That's leadership they can believe in."
Rena relaxed, letting a grin shape her lips. "Thank you. It's a step—though I feel like at any second, the balance could tip." He gave her a supportive nod, and she took a moment to savor that sense of accomplishment. The bandit threat, at least for now, wasn't the unraveling disaster Severin wanted. She had stood up for reason and compassion, guided the plan forward, and kept the kingdom from plunging deeper into fear-driven policies.
Eventually, the throne room fell quiet as courtiers drifted off to their tasks. Rena finally had a chance to check on her father or perhaps tend to her own flagging energy. Even her healing powers had limits, and she needed rest if she hoped to remain vigilant. But a small, persistent spark of hope carried her forward: each time she faced Severin's manipulations, she grew bolder, more assured of her role. She would not abandon the vow she made—to heal the kingdom's wounds, whether they were inflicted by raiders from the wilderness or by ambition festering within the castle walls.