Belin's heart was restless since he left Aralis. The thought of losing his dear sister consumed him; sleep had abandoned him entirely. Even with Banrik, her loyal guard, by her side, a single protector would not be enough against the forces seeking her capture or death. The uncertainty gnawed at him, a constant weight pressing against his chest. He had to do something—he could not sit idly by while Liria remained in danger.
"We need to seek out someone we can trust," Belin said firmly to his guard, Varek.
"But who, my prince? We can trust no one in times like these," Varek replied, his voice wary.
"I know someone just miles away," Belin said as he untied the horse's rope from the tree.
Varek sighed. It seemed he already knew whom Belin was speaking of. "If I may speak freely, my prince?" His voice was tense.
"Of course," Belin replied.
"I fear the House of Lyst may not be as willing as you hope. Lord Gruhl is old, his men are few, and his influence has faded over the years. We need strong allies, not crumbling ones."
Belin mounted his horse, determination hardening his features. "I appreciate your concern, Varek, but right now, we need any help we can get. The longer we wait, the greater the danger to Liria."
Varek sighed but nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."
The journey took nearly half a day. When they finally arrived at Lyst Castle, it was clear that time had not been kind to the fortress. The walls were weathered, streaked with green mildew. The stone towers stood tall but weary, their tops crowned in slush-like snow, stained brown from the damp soil beneath. The air was thick with the scent of wet stone and decay.
Two guards stood at the gate, their spears crossed before them. One, taller than the other, narrowed his eyes. "State your business."
"I need to see Lord Gruhl," Belin said.
"Who are you?" the second guard asked, his tone sharper than the first.
"Tell him I am the son of his old friend."
The guards exchanged wary glances before one disappeared inside. Minutes passed before he returned, nodding. "Lord Gruhl will see you now. Your companion stays outside."
Belin hesitated but relented, nodding to Varek before stepping inside.
The interior was no better than the exterior. The castle smelled of damp wood and illness. The heavy scent clung to the air, making Belin instinctively rub his nose, as if that could rid him of the stench. The corridors were dimly lit, and the flickering torches cast long, quivering shadows against the stone walls.
At the far end of the hall, a grand chair—once regal but now worn with time—stood upon a raised platform. Seated upon it was Lord Gruhl, wrapped in thick fur cloaks. He was an old man, older than Belin remembered from his childhood stories. His face was gaunt, his skin pale and lined like ancient parchment. His hands, resting atop a heavy wooden cane, were thin and veined, the knuckles swollen with age. His breathing was labored, and each inhale seemed to take effort, as though his lungs no longer worked as they once had.
"What brings you here, young man?" Lord Gruhl asked, his voice rough as gravel. No sooner had he finished speaking than a deep, rattling cough seized him. His body trembled from the effort, and for a moment, it seemed he might collapse under his own weight.
Belin stepped closer, concern tightening his chest, he lowered his hood.
Gruhl squinted, studying Belin through failing eyesight. "Mathias's boy," he muttered. He waved a trembling, wrinkled hand. "Come closer."
Belin obeyed, stopping just two feet away.
"I need your help," he said, voice thick with urgency.
"What has happened?" Gruhl asked, pausing to take a wheezing breath. His lips, dry and cracked, barely moved as he spoke.
"Our castle was attacked in the dead of night," Belin explained, his hands clenching into fists. "My sister and I escaped. We were separated in the way, and now I am hunted as well. I cannot rest until I know who was behind the attack."
Lord Gruhl leaned back, his expression grave. "My ears are not as keen as they once were, I didn't have the energy to listen or hear of what happens outside this castle" he admitted, tapping his cane against the floor. A guard immediately entered the hall. "Summon Leofrey," Lord Gruhl ordered before dissolving into another violent coughing fit.
The guard rushed off.
"So you seek shelter and an alliance," Lord Gruhl said, rubbing his temples. His fingers twitched slightly, a sign of the trembling sickness that often plagued the old.
"Yes, my lord. That is my hope," Belin said.
A young man entered then, no older than Belin himself. His sharp features and piercing gaze suggested intelligence and quiet strength.
"This is Leofrey, my stepson," Gruhl introduced. "Leo, this is Belin, son of King Mathias."
Belin offered a nod. "A pleasure."
Leofrey nodded but said nothing in return.
Lord Gruhl exhaled slowly, as if summoning his remaining strength. "I will grant you shelter and send men to search for your sister, but on one condition."
Belin's shoulders tensed. "What is your condition, my lord?"
Lord Gruhl's faded blue eyes locked onto Belin's. "You will take my daughter as your wife. You are the firstborn of a king. She will be your queen."
Silence fell between them. Belin's mind raced. He had never seen Lord Gruhl's daughter. What was she like? What was her heart like? The idea of being forced into a marriage, especially now, made his stomach twist.
Lord Gruhl studied him keenly. "Your father and I were once allies. He would not mind you taking my daughter as wife. But the choice is yours."
Belin swallowed. "May I see her, my lord?"
"She is in Inkwell Hold, learning the art of medicine," Gruhl rasped. "She has been there for three years and returns only rarely. This is her final year."
Belin's jaw tightened. He had no real choice. "Then I will accept your offer, my lord."
Gruhl nodded, satisfied. "Good." He gestured to Leofrey. "See that he is treated as family."
Leofrey motioned for Belin to follow. As he walked, Belin's thoughts swirled in uncertainty and quiet dread. He had made his choice, but it did not sit well with him. What kind of future had he just sealed for himself?