The royal hall stood in silence. Flames crackled in the long hearth, casting flickering shadows upon the crest of Dusughbarah — a ship on a blue field, with a small green herb painted on its sail.Tishilka, the herb that could neutralize all poisons. The air was heavy, soaked with salt, ash, and exhaustion.

  King Velen III sat on his stone throne, hands clasped beneath his chin. At his left stood Queen Asarda, cloaked in dark robes. Before the throne stood three men in silence — Meradan, the high councillor; Admiral Sharad; and the diplomat Jhalen.

  “Three ships returned from the entire fleet,” Meradan said softly. “Only three, Your Majesty.”

  Admiral Sharad added, “IncludingThe Queen’s Grace. Her hull was riddled with so many holes the sea sang through her sides. But she made it.”

  The king nodded. Slowly. With the weight known only to those who have survived more than a man should bear.

  “And the others?”

  “Kenderlan and Derdelen are on their knees,” said Jhalen. “But not dead. The King of Derdelen has fallen. Kenderlan will lick its wounds, but for how long?”

  Meradan nodded. “They won’t strike now. But they will. We lack ships. We lack men. We lack timber. All we have left is the sea... and Tishilka.”

  “And pride,” Velen murmured.

  Sharad took a deep breath. “Pride won’t defend the coastline, Your Grace. I’ve already watched our boys fall into the waves twice. I’d rather not live to see the third.”

  “Come now,” the king said with a faint smile. “You’re not so much older than I, old friend.”

  “Dusughbarah has always stood proud because it stood alone,” Meradan continued. “But now, we stand alone — and broken. I’d say we stand on the ruins of our fleet, but there’s barely anything left to stand on. The three warships we have left? A joke. We are a lion with shattered fangs and torn-out claws. A harmless beast in a lion’s skin. My proposal is clear: we must forge an alliance. Offer Princess Zerborasa to Zerboras, or Tassas, or Terres. Whoever shows interest and offers the best terms — we’ll see.”

  The king tilted his head slightly.

  “You speak of my daughter as if she were an anchor for a sinking ship. But she is not a lifeline. Not a coin with which to buy sharpened blades. She is still my daughter.”

  “I speak of saving the kingdom!” Meradan snapped. “I expected your support. You bear the crown of Dusughbarah. Your decision could spell our ruin. This is not the time to see how far we can fall.”

  Queen Asarda straightened. Her voice remained calm, but her eyes hardened.

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  “Enough, Meradan. Speak with respect, or speak not at all. This is no marketplace.”

  Before they could go on, the queen raised her hand.

  “Let us take a step back. Not all here know the full measure of our neighbors and their heirs.”

  “Zerboras. Tassas. Terres,” said Jhalen. “Three realms we’ve kept ties with — mostly trade…”

  “The prince of Zerboras is a warrior,” he continued. “Nearly thirty. Tall, broad-shouldered, and strong. In recent years, several noble houses rebelled in Zerboras. The prince took it upon himself to crush the uprising. The reports were... bloody. He personally punished every rebel lord. Tortured them. Executed them with his own hands.”

  At those words, the queen furrowed her brow, visibly shaken by the thought of her daughter falling into the hands of such a man.

  Jhalen’s voice softened, but did not falter.

  “Do we place our daughter — bright as a summer morning — beside that black night?”

  He hesitated.

  “Still... their strength is unmatched. Zerboras boasts the largest army of the three. If that brutality were turned to our defense, I’d feel safer. But — is the safety of our walls worth her happiness?”

  No one answered.

  “The second suitor is from Tassas,” Jhalen continued. “Their court is a nest of vipers. Deceit, pretense, treachery — unmatched anywhere else. The prince is... pliable. He bends with the wind. He sides with whoever holds the upper hand. He changes allegiance like the moon changes shape. Do we cast our kind-hearted princess into such a den of lies?”

  The king shook his head. But said nothing.

  “With the prince of Zerboras, at least we know what we face. With Tassas, we know nothing. I cannot say what truly lies in that man’s heart.”

  He cleared his throat and went on.

  “Their military is smaller than Zerboras’s. But not by much. That’s why neither dares attack the other. A stalemate between giants. One wrong move and both bleed.”

  “And Terres?” Jhalen asked aloud, as if questioning himself.

  “In many ways, he may seem the most promising. The prince is only a few months older than our princess — an honest young man with a sharp mind. No battlefield experience, true, but we may not need that. Terres’ army is the weakest... but not so weak that Zerboras would strike lightly.”

  “Why then the hesitation?” He paused. “His father. The King of Terres has fallen into madness. Once a wise ruler, now he sees through shadows. The realm prays for the prince to ascend before ruin finds them. But what if madness is in his blood? What if the boy follows the same path one day?”

  “Useful insights,” the queen said quietly. “Thank you for your diligence.”

  “I’m not wholly opposed to a political marriage,” the king said. “It’s not evil in itself. But as a father... it pains me. She will lose the right to choose freely. And these three — none of them feel right. Each worse than the last.”

  Jhalen nodded solemnly.

  “Each choice casts a shadow. Perhaps we should not walk this road at all. There may be other ways to find allies — without sacrificing the princess’s heart.”

  “It seems,” said Sharad, “that our decision lies not in choosing between them, but in choosing whether to choose at all.”

  “Why give her a choice?” Meradan interjected. “We are desperate. We must act. If we offer her to Zerboras, we’ll have the strength we need. She’ll grow used to him. She may weep the first nights, but time heals—”

  “Enough!” Queen Asarda cut in, her voice sharp as a blade. She could no longer bear the heartless counsel. Meradan had always been a good advisor — but cold logic stung bitterly where love and blood were involved.

  King Velen III spoke again. His voice slow, deliberate.

  “We need not decide today. Time is short — but not gone. None of these suitors are perfect. So we shall let the princess choose if she is willing to risk such a path.”

  He paused.

  “If she says no — we will not blame her. And no one will speak of it again. It will be as if the question was never asked. But if she accepts… we will stand beside her with all the gratitude in our hearts.”

  Silence returned to the hall. Only the fire dared speak now, whispering and crackling in the hearth.

  “This council is adjourned. We meet again tomorrow morning. The queen and I shall go now... and place this question before our daughter.”