The hall of Valenhold's inner keep shimmered in radiant light.
A long white chamber stretched like a polished spine beneath a vaulted ceiling of crystal arcs. Sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, scattering across ivory marble floors in bands of gold. At the far end of the hall sat Lady Serina Valenhold—poised, elegant, and unmoved.
She had long midnight-black hair bound in silver pins, a flawless complexion, and deep violet eyes that held the quiet authority of someone used to command. She wore a high-collared gown of snowy white with obsidian trim, and her posture on the ivory bench exuded calm power.
She reclined at the head of a long obsidian table, its surface so dark and reflective it mirrored each candlelight as if the room danced with twin flames. On either side of her, the nobles of Valenhold's branch families sat in a semi-circle, wrapped in tailored robes of ash-blue and silver thread.
Lord Deryn Valden, a hawk-faced man with graying temples and sharp blue eyes, leaned forward. "Lady Serina," he said, voice calm but tight, "we must launch the expedition tonight. If we delay even until dawn, the village of Elmere will be wiped out."
Before Serina could respond, another man, younger but draped in layered scroll-colored robes, shook his head. Lord Casen Vellon. He had a youthful face with short black curls and cautious brown eyes. "We can't risk it, milady. Reinforcements from the guild haven't arrived. Venturing into that area at night is suicide."
Serina's jaw tensed. She shut her eyes for a breath. "Most of our guard knights have already been deployed to Elmere. They'll hold the line until morning."
"But what of our defenses here?" asked Lady Marell Thorne, an older noblewoman with sharp cheekbones, silvery grey hair tied into a regal bun, and a voice like brittle glass. "We still don't know who our enemy is. If they strike while we're weakened, it could threaten the entire kingdom."
Serina opened her eyes again, a glint of resolve flashing through their stormy grey. "The Royal Guard is stationed here. And I received word—the second prince of Lactresia is on his way."
A laugh cracked from the far end of the table. Lord Fenric Yorn, plump and sneering, with a wispy ginger beard and amber eyes, leaned back in his chair. "What use is a shut-in prince? I hear he doesn't even train. More fond of scrolls than swords. What's he going to do—lecture the monsters to death?"
"Still," muttered another noble, a woman with striking green eyes and copper hair—Lady Vexa Ornel—"he is said to be a brilliant strategist. And the Fourth Sword travels with him."
That brought murmurs.
Lord Fenric shrugged. "Well… if the Fourth Sword is with him, perhaps he's not dead weight."
Lady Serina's gaze cut toward Fenric. "Even if the prince prefers books over blades, he is royalty. If a Royal Guard had overheard your words, you'd be tried for treason. Watch your tongue, Lord Fenric."
He paled slightly, bowing his head. "Y-Yes, my lady. My apologies."
The next scene opened with the creak of carriage doors.
The chariot stood still before Valenhold's mansion, its obsidian-painted wheels freshly cleaned. Fortis stepped down, cloak flowing lightly behind him. His gaze lifted to meet that of the young woman waiting.
"I am Eliera Valenhold," she said, her voice elegant, her posture dignified. She had waist-length silver-blonde hair tied in twin braids, and sky-blue eyes that shimmered with practiced calm. She bowed with grace, one hand lifting her silver-lined dress, the other pressed gently over her heart. "It is a pleasure to meet the second prince of Lactresia, Prince Fortis Lactresia."
Fortis offered a small smile. "And it is my pleasure to speak to such a beautiful lady as yourself."
Behind him, Ervian Halbrecht stepped forward.
"Senior," he greeted with rare warmth, extending a hand to the tall, broad-shouldered knight waiting near the gate. The man had a square jaw, dark brown eyes, and short steel-grey hair. A large scar ran from his cheek to neck.
The knight blinked, then grinned and shook his hand firmly. "Ervian. It's been years. Still carrying that sword like a spine, I see."
Fortis looked on. "You know each other?"
Ervian nodded. "He was my super senior at the Sworder Academy. Trained us personally after graduation."
The knight looked surprised when Fortis extended his own hand. "It's an honor, Prince."
"A friend of my brother," Fortis said calmly, "is a friend of mine."
Gasps rippled through the nearby staff. A prince—calling a commoner his brother?
The knight glanced at Ervian, who simply smiled. The imposing man, usually calm, visibly shrank under Fortis's gaze and shook his hand gently.
Eliera turned. "This is my younger brother, Callen Valenhold."
Callen stepped forward. He had short, spiky dark blond hair, sharp teal eyes, and a proud chin. "Oh. Hi. Looks like we're the same age."
Then, like venom, his words shifted. "Why is a shut-in like you here? Should've stayed in the palace, reading like a nerd." He turned sharply and walked away.
Ervian's hand reached toward his hilt, rage in his eyes—but Fortis raised a hand.
"It's fine. He's just at that age."
Eliera bowed apologetically. "I'm so sorry, Prince Fortis. He had a fight with Mother earlier. I'll request she punish him."
"It's fine," Fortis said softly. "Don't worry."
They stepped into the mansion.
The interior breathed calm. Marble floors, silver-trimmed pillars, wide murals depicting Valenhold's founding. The air smelled of polished wood, old books, and white plum blossoms.
Eliera led them through the hall.
"Mother is still in a meeting with the branch families," she said.
Fortis nodded. "I can wait."
Callen's voice echoed from behind. "Don't know why she's inviting someone like you. You don't look special."
Eliera winced.
"My mother asked me to escort you," she said.
"That's fine. I can return early," Fortis replied.
Callen's mouth curled. "I'm only being polite because you're Elina's brother. That bitch ignored me when I asked her out."
Silence.
Fortis turned to Eliera. "What stage is your brother at?"
She looked flustered. "Norm Step. Reached it two years ago."
Fortis nodded. "So he won't die."
Callen turned. "Huh? What are you on ab—"
Fortis's hand lifted.
A sharp smack echoed.
Callen was launched backward, the floor cracking beneath him as he hit the ground and bounced up like a dropped doll.
In one seamless motion, Fortis stepped forward and drove his foot into Callen's midsection.
The force sent him flying.
He soared down the corridor like a broken arrow, smashing through the grand doors of the meeting chamber. The heavy oak burst apart. Smoke and dust filled the air.
Callen crashed into the council table.
The nobles stared in stunned silence.
His face was caved slightly inward, but he was still breathing.
Lady Serina stood, eyes wide. "What in the name of—"
Smoke cleared.
Fortis stepped through the ruined entry, cloak untouched, posture composed.
He looked at them all.
And said, "Don't worry. He won't die."