King Alaric sat stiffly upon the golden seat, but his crown weighed like chains on his head. Once, this hall had been the proud heart of his kingdom its banners flowing with the crest of the lion, its marble pillars gleaming with authority.
The throne hall of Lion heart was no longer his.
Now, it felt like a cage. The true power in the room did not belong to him but to the four young men seated casually on the elevated platforms beside him.
Princes.
Not his sons. Not his blood. But princes of foreign empires, the kind whose titles carried more weight than his entire dynasty.
The first was Prince Darius of the Falcon Empire, son of the Emperor.
He was the fourth prince, yet he carried himself with a warrior's ease. Clad in crimson plate polished to a mirror shine, his hand never strayed far from the hilt of his curved sabre.
