The scent of damp earth slowly drifted on the breeze, mingling with the soft patter of rain.

  Julia Daringh sat on the wooden bed, her gaze fixed on the raindrops sliding down the bay window, its dark glass reflecting the dim sky. It had once been her favorite corner. The table, the chair, and the small bookshelf still remained, but they had almost lost all meaning since her lover had gone. Once bright and lively, she now spoke less and less, her strength fading, too weary even to rise and leave.

  She spent nearly the entire day in a room that was almost completely dark, with only the trembling glow of a candle to keep her company. Though the room was warm and comfortable, she felt a bitter chill, and tears slipped down her cheeks without her realizing it.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “May I come in, Mom?” Ana’s clear, gentle voice called out.

  The same young woman came to see her as she did every day, usually bringing a smile for her mother. But today, Ana looked weary in a way she never had before. The young woman walked over and sat beside her mother, then took her hand and held it tight.

  “Have you eaten anything today, Mom?” Ana asked.

  Julia gave a slight nod.

  “If one day I get married and leave” the young woman faltered, her tears falling onto her mother’s hand. “Who will stay and keep you company?”

  Julia smiled sadly, then drew her daughter into an embrace and gently stroked her hair.

  The thunderous sound of talons struck against the snow.

  A line of coaches moved along a whitewashed road through the morning mist, passing beneath towering mountains bathed in sunlight, among dark trees heavy with snow.

  Beside the road, a frozen lake lay cracked, allowing sunlight to glint upon the water beneath its surface. At that moment, a fluffy squirrel darting along the branches came to an abrupt halt. It clutched an acorn tightly as the branch beneath it trembled.

  The thalons breathed out clouds of frost as they hauled the coaches past a man wrapped in thick animal hides. He was dragging the carcass of a deer across the snow. Nearby, small wooden houses stood in rows along the road, each window washed in the warm orange glow of lantern light, with gray smoke drifting from their chimneys. Not far away, a small church built of white stone stood quietly.

  At last, they arrived before a towering gate of black metal, where a group of men stood blocking the way. They wore chain armor, their shoulders draped in thick animal hides, and carried massive axes in their hands.

  “You cannot pass beyond this point,” one of them said curtly.

  Then, a hand reached out from the coach, holding a sealed letter.

  The man read it, returned it, then bowed and gave a signal with his hand.

  They worked together to turn the iron wheels. The grinding of chains echoed against the stone walls as the black metal gate was slowly raised all the way up.

  This was Eisenfurt, the capital of Cyneburg. Nearly every house was filled with the scent of smoke from iron forges, and the constant clang of metal striking metal. Though the air was cold, the warmth drifting from each home they passed felt like sitting close to a hearth fire.

  They soon reached a district of buildings with darkened windows, constructed from aged wood and stone. There were no goods on display, no voices calling out to customers. Some carriages stopped only briefly, while burly men worked together to haul iron-gray metal ingots inside. Above the door, there was nothing but a faded name painted on the wood, Orellys, its letters so worn they nearly blended into the grain.

  The convoy crossed Iron Crossing, a bridge forged of soot-darkened metal that stretched high above the River Daemon flowing below. The bridge had stood there long before the Kingdom of Myriel ever came into being.

  “If one wishes to conquer the castle, one must first cross Iron Crossing,” people were known to say.

  Not far after ascending the hillside, a dark stone castle surrounded by walls and towers rising into the clouds came into view.

  The moment they passed through the castle gate, they were met by nobles and soldiers in formal attire standing in welcome upon a stone courtyard dusted with snow, encircled by tall pines and rows of birch trees standing like another wall beyond.

  At last, the sound of the coach wheels slowly came to a halt.

  Duke Edward stepped down from the carriage. He was a middle-aged man with brown hair and hazel eyes, dressed in velvet adorned with silver patterns, his attire completed by a fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders.

  “Welcome, Your Grace,” the elderly man said with a bow, his body still strong, a longsword resting at his side.

  “It is good to see you again, Lord Rook,” Duke Edward said warmly as he clasped the man’s hand in greeting.

  Aria Faramund appeared, her blond hair and blue eyes catching the light. She was the wife of Duke Edward and the daughter of Duke Gunther. Aria stepped down from the coach together with Elric and Mikaela.

  “Are you well?” Aria asked evenly.

  “I am well. It is good to see you again, my lady,” Rook said with a courteous bow. “Duke Gunther has had me prepare the guest chambers for you.”

  In the great hall of Eisenfurt Castle, natural light poured through tall, patterned windows and fell upon a long, refined wooden table. A man stood waiting there. He had pale blond hair and blue eyes, and wore a suit of bronze velvet. Though Duke Gunther Faramund was advanced in years, he remained strong and always appeared younger than his age.

  “It is an honor to see you again,” Edward said with a bow of his head.

  “So they say. You ought to bring the children to see me more often,” Gunther replied with a smile, stepping forward to embrace both Elric and Mikaela. “It has been far too long, my grandchildren.”

  “It has been a long time, but you have not changed at all, Grandfather,” Mikaela said.

  Gunther gave his granddaughter a playful wink before turning to embrace Aria. “You are well, I trust.”

  “I am well, Father. I am glad to see that you are still as strong as ever.”

  Then another young man entered the hall. He was tall and lean yet well built, his face clean shaven, with long blond hair falling to the nape of his neck and warm blue eyes. He was Igne Faramund, the younger brother of Lady Aria.

  “Welcome, Your Grace,” Igne said with a slight bow of his head.

  “It has been a long time, my brother,” Edward greeted him.

  Elric and Mikaela both smiled at him, their eyes bright with delight.

  “You have grown so much I can hardly recognize you,” Igne replied with a smile, then turned to Aria. “Was the journey tiring, Sister?”

  “Not at all. I am glad to see you again.” She stepped forward and embraced him before whispering, “You should be married by now, little brother.”

  Igne merely smiled softly.

  Beneath the glow of chandeliers, one lavish course after another was served alongside fine wine. Tall glass windows surrounded them, revealing the city of Eisenfurt at night. Sparks from weapon forges flickered and faded, their reflections dancing upon the dark river like fireworks.

  “It seems the royal family places great importance on Greensward,” Edward remarked as he sliced into the roasted meat.

  “I do not think we have cause for concern,” Gunther replied, taking a calm sip of red wine. “This kingdom still relies on food and war thalons from you, as well as weapons from me.”

  “But I believe we should be prepared, should war truly break out,” Edward said, setting his knife down before meeting Gunther’s gaze with steady resolve.

  “I am always prepared, Lord Edward. Setting Syrin aside, nearly all the western lands are effectively ours. And if war does come, there is no chance the king could stop us,” Gunther replied, his voice firm.

  Everyone fell silent for a moment, listening as the two dukes conferred. At last, Igne spoke.

  “How is Aethelwyn, Aria?”

  “The southern air is far warmer than here. You might find it to your liking,” Aria replied.

  “Perhaps. Still, I think I am better suited to this place.”

  “Uncle Igne, have you ever visited Aidengaard?” Elric asked.

  “I went once, when I was about your age. It was the day Prince Daemon was appointed Duke of Syrin,” Igne recalled.

  “Did you meet Prince Daemon?” Mikaela asked.

  “I saw him from a distance.”

  “You never spoke with him?” she pressed.

  Igne slowly shook his head in answer, taking a sip of the hot onion soup before setting his spoon down on the table.

  “My niece and nephew, would you like to go hunting together tomorrow?” Igne asked with a faint smile.

  “With bows, or falcons?” Elric asked.

  “Falcons would suit Mikaela better,” Igne replied.

  “I will pass. I would rather ride thalon and see the city,” Elric said.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Amid the murmured conversation of the meal and the soft clink of wineglasses, Edward’s eyes narrowed. He did not seem at ease. It felt as though the king was always one step ahead of him.

  After the welcoming feast had ended, Gunther led Edward to a tower that commanded a clear view of the coastal fortress. It was known throughout the ages as the Seatower, built to repel invasions from the people of Blomburg in the era before the Conquest. Its walls stretched as far as the eye could see, broad enough for cavalry to move along them in formation.

  Though Blomburg and Cyneburg were no longer at war in the present day, the fortress still carried an air of intimidation for all who approached. It stood as a symbol of unyielding strength and defiance.

  And atop each tower of the fortress, candlelight could still be seen every night, unchanged with the passing years.

  “Is there still a garrison stationed there?” Edward asked.

  “It is a long standing custom. There must always be troops within that fortress,” Gunther replied.

  “Even though Blomburg has not threatened you for centuries?”

  “No one has dared to march an army there for hundreds of years, and from that position, any approaching visitor can be seen long before they arrive.”

  Edward fell silent for a moment, his gaze lifting toward the crown of the tower before he spoke.

  “I am considering a visit to Blomburg. If we can secure an alliance there, we may command enough strength and influence…”

  “Enough to bring down the king,” Gunther said calmly.

  The sound of talons striking the ground echoed in steady rhythm amid the woodland near a sunlit stream. Igne and Mikaela rode their thalons across melting snowfields, where patches of green brown grass emerged beneath their feet. Both wore thick cloaks of shaggy animal hide.

  Mikaela gazed into the distance and spotted a large herd of elk on the far side of the stream. They stood quietly, browsing on leaves and the tender shoots of birch trees.

  They dismounted from their thalons. Igne guided the falcon perched at his side toward Mikaela’s gloved arm, placing the bait in her hand. The brown falcon stepped onto her arm without hesitation and continued pecking eagerly at the food she held.

  “Will it fly away?” Mikaela asked, her voice tinged with concern.

  “You’ll never know,” Igne replied with a smile.

  “Will it be able to catch anything?” she asked next.

  “Its eyesight is better than mine. I think you should ask it instead,” Igne said, loosening the leather tether on the falcon’s leg and removing its hood. “Raise your arm a little higher.”

  The moment Mikaela lifted her arm, the brown wings struck her glove once before spreading wide, revealing soft white feathers. Its weight lifted from her arm as the dark shadow shot into the sky.

  “Where did you get this falcon?” Mikaela asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Ashen Alley. I have a friend who knows his craft,” Igne replied.

  “Was it costly?”

  “Not really. If I had gotten it elsewhere, it would have cost more.”

  Mikaela paused for a moment before speaking again. “Uncle, do you think we can avoid war?”

  Igne drew a deep breath and met his niece’s eyes before speaking.

  “Not entirely. At best, we can only delay it.”

  “I don’t want it… to come to that,” Mikaela said, shaking her head softly.

  Suddenly, the sound of flapping wings thundered near the stream, rattling the tall grass and sending flecks of snow flying.

  “There!” Igne shouted, leading Mikaela as they ran closer, catching the faint scent of blood in the air.

  Igne’s falcon pinned the fat quail to the ground with its talons. Feathers were scattered around, and bright red blood stained the falcon’s wings. Nearby, they found a few small speckled eggs lying on the snow.

  Igne tore off some pieces of the quail’s flesh and, whistling softly, called to the falcon. The bird hesitated for a moment, pecked at the carcass once or twice more, then landed on his arm and ate the scraps from his hand.

  “Well done, Tale,” Igne said with a smile. “I’ll take the eggs too, for tonight’s dinner.”

  Mikaela said nothing. She only stared at the plucked carcass in Igne’s hands, its nearly severed neck hanging lifelessly, fresh blood dripping onto the grass with each beat of her heart.

  On the other side of the kingdom, at Blackthorn Castle, it was an extraordinarily strange day. Pure white petals drifted down through the castle, which was as black as ash. On that very day, Prince Sigmund Stormveil and Lady Ana De Flamberge were wed.

  Sunlight filtered through the silver clouds, spilling onto the glass canopy above the throne hall. Kvicha held his sister’s hand as they entered the ceremony.

  Ana wore a pure white wedding gown, the light glancing off her smooth, pale shoulders. Her long, soft chestnut hair was styled with delicate care, and her hazel eyes made the young woman appear like a princess from a fairy tale.

  Prince Sigmund wore a simple black suit, standing bathed in the light streaming through the glass hall, enough to leave those around him spellbound. By his side was Princess Dahna, the little girl holding tightly to her brother’s hand.

  King Wilhelm III, Queen Anastasia, and Prince Sighard stood as witnesses before the white throne of the Conqueror, with Priest Aethelberht officiating the ceremony.

  When the bride and groom extended their hands to hold each other, the young priest began to speak.

  “Prince Sigmund Stormveil, do you pledge before the gods and all those present to love, honor, cherish, and care for Lady Ana De Flamberge for all the days of your life?”

  The prince opened his eyes, gazing at his bride with gentle gray-blue eyes, before speaking in a soft yet steady voice. “I do.”

  “Lady Ana De Flamberge, do you pledge before the gods and all those present to love, respect, and care for Prince Sigmund Stormveil, in times of joy and in sorrow, in wealth and in poverty, in sickness and in health, to stand by him and support him for all the days of your life?”

  Ana remained shy, lowering her gaze to the floor, unable to meet the prince’s eyes. Her cheeks flushed pink, and her lips trembled slightly, as if she could not hear a single word the young priest spoke.

  “Ahem, Lady Ana, you will—” the priest cleared his throat, making the bride start slightly.

  “Yes, I will… I mean, I do,” Ana stammered.

  After her vow, Prince Sigmund gently slid a shining silver ring onto his bride’s finger, and Ana returned the gesture. Her hands still trembled lightly, and the prince could not help but smile.

  “By the power of all the gods, I now pronounce Prince Sigmund Stormveil and Lady Ana De Flamberge husband and wife. May all the gods bless and protect their life together. You may kiss the bride.”

  The priest’s final words sent shivers through Ana’s entire body. She felt as if she might faint, and as she closed her eyes, Prince Sigmund leaned in slowly, placing a gentle kiss upon her lips.

  Cheers of congratulations echoed throughout the great hall, continuing all the way as the prince led his bride by the hand across the castle courtyard, where people threw flowers, clapped, and shouted their joy for the newlyweds.

  Somewhere in the distance, the sound of footsteps echoed through the darkness. A young man, hooded in deep shadow, was traveling atop a winged silhouette of indigo. A tattered crimson scarf fluttered in the wind. He preferred to move under the cover of night, believing it far safer than during the day, when the sunlight might reveal his face and make him recognizable from somewhere.

  After passing through lands surrounded by dark forests, the trees began to thin, and the road slowly crumbled until only orange soil remained, dust rising with every step. The air grew drier and hotter with each passing moment. Amiri felt his throat parched, his vision blurred, and his stomach gnawed at him with hunger. Dusk, too, seemed weakened, moving slower than usual. Leaving Blackwood felt like bidding farewell to abundance, and the path ahead offered no sign of streams or prey.

  On this starless night, only the faint glow of a lantern attached to his clawvern lit the way. Perhaps hunger was playing tricks on him, but Amiri saw a light flickering somewhere in the darkness. He quickly turned the reins toward it.

  “That way, Dusk. Not far now,” Amiri said.

  They veered off onto a side path. The reddish-orange soil began to give way to green grass, and larger trees lined the way until they spotted a group of people gathered around a fire atop a hill.

  The closer Amiri got, the more he could hear voices mingled with the crackling of the fire.

  Ahead of him… a dozen or more people sat in the shadows around the flames, surrounded by large carriages. The thalons lifted their heads to look at him, and the smell of soup simmering in a pot made Amiri swallow hard.

  “Don’t move!” a voice shouted.

  Amiri saw a young man standing with a crossbow aimed at him.

  “You’re a fool, coming to rob us alone,” the man yelled.

  “I’m lost. I just want some food and water,” Amiri said.

  A sharp, piercing roar from clawvern made the people around the fire rise to their feet.

  “I know you’re a decoy. The rest of your men are lying in wait behind you,” the young man said.

  Amiri said nothing. He simply tossed the pouch of silver coins forward. “That should be enough for some food.”

  “I won’t be fooled. Step back or die,” the young man warned, raising his crossbow.

  “Wait, Markus,” another voice called out. “Where do you come from, boy?”

  “Lunacia,” Amiri replied evenly, lowering the hood from his head.

  “That is my birthplace. What did you like most about it?” The flickering firelight slowly revealed the man’s face. He was middle-aged, with long black hair tied back and a thick beard.

  “Lamb sausages at The Garden.”

  “Let him in, Markus. This boy is my customer.”

  “Yes, Lord Godwin.” Markus lowered his crossbow.

  “This money should be enough for food and water for you and your friend.” Godwin picked up the pouch of coins from the ground, then raised his hand, inviting Amiri inside.

  Amiri dismounted from clawvern and stepped into the circle of firelight. One of the people there shifted to make room for him to sit. Another man stood, walked over to the carriage, and tossed a large slab of smoked ox meat to Dusk. The dragon-like creature devoured it greedily, and he also filled a bucket with fresh water for it.

  A young woman with jet-black hair ladled soup into a bowl for Amiri, along with some wine.

  “I’ll take only the soup,” Amiri said, smiling in thanks.

  “But this is wine from Brittany Island. You really should try it,” the woman insisted.

  It was the first time in his life the young man had tasted wine. It was fragrant and sweet, just as his father had described. The lamb-bone soup, though not as good as his mother’s, contained enough potatoes and carrots to keep him from starving.

  “Where are you all headed?” Amiri asked after handing his bowl back for a refill.

  “We’re going to Aidengaard. There’s a wedding feast for the prince there. No amount of wine would ever be enough,” Godwin replied.

  “And the bride is just a baron’s daughter from some rural town. It’s like a fairy tale,” the young woman said, handing Amiri’s bowl back while giggling. “If that girl ever becomes a queen, I could too, couldn’t I, Father?”

  “If you had enough gold, you could even ask for the prince’s hand. But I don’t own a gold mine, Ella,” Godwin said with a smile. “And you, young man? Where do you intend to go?”

  “I’m going to Thousand Lakes. I left something important there,” Amiri replied, his expression calm.

  “That’s quite far. I hope you manage to retrieve what you’ve lost,” Ella said as she refilled his wine.

  The young man nodded in thanks. He ate the lamb-bone soup until he was full, but drank only a polite sip of the wine.

  “Almost forgot. I’m Godwin, and this is my daughter, Ella,” Godwin introduced himself, extending his hand toward the young man.

  “Faelan,” Amiri said, shaking Godwin’s hand.

  “Stay the night here, Faelan. You can continue your journey in the morning.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality, but I must press on,” Amiri said, rising and giving a small bow.

  The young man walked over to his clawvern and stroked its head before mounting. “Let’s go, Dusk.”

  “Faelan,” Ella called out. “You still have a long journey ahead. It would be wise to take some smoked meat and water with you.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “I want you to deliver a letter to someone,” she said, handing him the letter.

  As Amiri hesitated to take it, she added with a smile at the corner of her lips, “The wine I poured for you is very rare. I hope you enjoy its taste.”

  “I prefer warm milk,” Amiri replied, taking the letter reluctantly.

  Not long after Amiri departed,

  “How can you trust someone you just met, Ella?” Godwin asked.

  “I don’t know, but he has gray-blue eyes and a clawvern,” Ella said, smiling softly.

  That same night, as the rain began to fall, Amiri rode his clawvern at full speed. He came upon a large carriage with thick iron bars at the back. Its great weight made it move slowly. Amiri guided his clawvern to the right, overtook the carriage, and vanished into the rain.

  But within that thick iron cage, a hand emerged from the shadows, slipping a pointed metal rod into the latch. The metal scraped with a sharp screech against the thunder. He froze the moment the thunder died down, waiting until the next rumble rolled through the sky before striking again. The iron cage rattled with each step of the thalon dragging it along. When the carriage passed a large oak,

  BANG! The metal door slammed against the iron bars. A man in armor, holding the reins, looked back.

  SWISH! A sharp object pierced his throat, and he was flung from the carriage.

  From another window, a dagger shot forward, aimed at the man drawing his sword from his waist.

  “Where did you lock up our Henry?” a hoarse voice called out, mingling with the roar of thunder.