The forest was alive with whispers.
Priam—no, *Kael*—moved through the dense undergrowth, his boots crunching against the frost-kissed leaves. The locket around his neck felt heavier with every step, a constant reminder of the woman whose face haunted his thoughts. Elara. Her name echoed in his mind like a prayer, though he wasn't sure if it was his own voice or Kael's that called out to her.
The memories of the novel flooded his mind, fragmented and chaotic. He remembered Kael's rise to power, his betrayal of the kingdom, and the moment he had cast Elara aside in his pursuit of the throne. But those memories were no longer just words on a page. They were his now, vivid and visceral, as though he had lived them himself.
A rustling in the bushes snapped him out of his thoughts. Priam's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, his body moving with a fluidity that felt foreign yet natural. From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in black, their face obscured by a hood.
"My lord," the figure said, dropping to one knee. "The scouts have returned. The Queen's forces are gathering at the border. They mean to strike before the next moon."
Priam's breath caught in his throat. The Queen. Elara. She was alive, and she was coming for him.
"How many?" he asked, his voice low and commanding. It didn't sound like his own.
"Three thousand strong, my lord. Perhaps more."
Priam clenched his jaw, his mind racing. In the novel, Kael had met Elara on the battlefield, their reunion marked by bloodshed and heartbreak. He had tried to force her to surrender, to bend her to his will, but she had refused. Her defiance had been her undoing—and his.
But this wasn't the novel anymore. This was real, and Priam had the chance to change the story.
"Call the council," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "We meet at dawn."
The figure nodded and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Priam alone once more. He exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the cold night air. The weight of Kael's crown—both literal and metaphorical—pressed down on him, a constant reminder of the power he now wielded and the darkness that came with it.
He reached for the locket, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. The portrait of Elara seemed to gaze back at him, her eyes filled with a quiet strength that both comforted and unnerved him. He had to see her. Not as Kael, the tyrant king, but as himself. As Priam.
But first, he had to survive the war.
---
The council chamber was a cavernous hall, its walls lined with banners bearing the sigil of the Obsidian Crown. Priam sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as his advisors argued around him.
"We should strike first," growled General Draven, a grizzled veteran with a scar running down the side of his face. "Take the fight to them before they have a chance to rally."
"And risk losing the advantage of our defenses?" countered Lady Seraphine, her voice sharp as a blade. "We hold the high ground. Let them come to us."
Priam listened in silence, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne. The voices around him blurred together, their words fading into the background as his thoughts turned to Elara. He could still see her face, the way her eyes had softened when she smiled, the way her laughter had lit up the room. But he also remembered the pain in her gaze when Kael had betrayed her, the way her heart had shattered under the weight of his ambition.
"Enough," he said, his voice cutting through the noise like a whip. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him.
"We will not attack," he continued, his tone firm. "Nor will we wait for them to come to us. I will ride out to meet the Queen myself."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room.
"My lord," Draven said carefully, "that is… unwise. The Queen is not to be underestimated. If you fall—"
"I will not fall," Priam interrupted, his gaze sweeping across the room. "This is not a war we can win with swords alone. The Queen's people follow her because they believe in her. If we can show them that there is another way, perhaps we can end this without further bloodshed."
The advisors exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to argue. Priam rose from his seat, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode toward the door.
"Prepare my horse," he said to no one in particular. "I leave at first light."
---
The journey to the border was a blur of icy winds and endless forests. Priam rode alone, his thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and determination. He didn't know what he would say to Elara, how he could possibly make her understand that he wasn't the man she thought he was. But he had to try.
As he crested the final hill, the Queen's camp came into view. Tents dotted the landscape, their banners fluttering in the wind. And there, standing at the edge of the camp, was Elara.
She was even more beautiful than he remembered, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. Her eyes, sharp and piercing, locked onto his as he approached. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still.
"Kael," she said, her voice cold and steady. "You're either very brave or very foolish to come here alone."
Priam dismounted, his heart pounding in his chest. "I'm not here to fight," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm here to talk."
Elara's gaze narrowed, suspicion flickering in her eyes. "Talk? You expect me to believe that after everything you've done?"
"I know what I've done," he said, his voice softening. "And I know I can't undo it. But I'm not the man I was, Elara. Please… let me prove it to you."
For a long moment, she said nothing. The wind howled around them, carrying with it the scent of snow and pine. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"You have one chance," she said. "Don't waste it."
Priam's breath caught in his throat. This was his moment, his chance to rewrite the story. But as he looked into her eyes, he couldn't shake the feeling that the hardest part was yet to come.
---
**To Be Continued...**