The rain had only just begun to thread silver lines down the rooftops of Ro's capital when the news found him.
Alexis was in the back room of a modest tea house in the old quarter—hood low, cloak damp from the night's errands—when a merchant acquaintance stumbled in, breathless, face pale from either the cold or the message he carried.
Two riders. Two sealed missives. One bound for Ro, one for the Eastern capital. Both declaring invasion. Eldara had sounded the alarm.
The words struck like a sudden frost in his chest.
If the alarm was genuine, the borderlands could ignite before anyone had the chance to speak reason. If it was false… the damage could be far worse.
The long-simmering paranoia between Ro and the East was a tinderfield, and Eldara—poor, battered Eldara—might just have thrown a torch into the dry grass.
He knew why they might have done it. Eldara was desperate, worn thin by drought, famine, and raids neither neighbor had moved to stop.
This cry for help could be their last gambit for survival. But it was reckless—a plea wrapped in the kind of provocation that could shatter fragile peace entirely.
He rose without finishing his tea, tension coiling through his muscles. His uncle, the king, would see only the opportunity for conquest. The plight of Eldara would be little more than a stepping stone to glory in the court's eyes. No—this had to go to the Prime Minister first, handled discreetly before the flames spread.
He slipped into the narrow streets, weaving past rain-slick stalls and the smoke from braziers, keeping to the shadows.
But he had taken barely three turns toward the minister's quarter when a sudden flare of crimson and gold blocked his path.
An elite royal messenger, astride a sleek black stallion, reined in hard before him. The man's ceremonial armor gleamed even under the dull rain, and the plume of his helm dripped in rivulets.
"Your Grace," the rider said, bowing low. "His Majesty commands your immediate presence. At dawn, you are to lead the Royal Knights to defend the Kingdom of Eldara… and secure its lands under Ro's banner."
The words lodged like a blade, driven sideways into his ribs.
Alexis swore quietly, the sound almost swallowed by the patter of rain. He could not refuse. To do so would not only be treason—it would put Eldara in the hands of someone far less restrained.
But obedience meant becoming the king's weapon in a conquest he had no wish to see carried out.
He could already feel the path closing around him like a vice. The Prime Minister would have to wait.
His uncle was the fire now—and Alexis had to get his hands around the flames before they consumed the border entirely.
By the time he reached the palace, the great hall was already feverish with motion. Courtiers jostled along the balconies, whispers like dry leaves in the wind.
Pages dashed between pillars carrying polished helms and sealed orders.
Trumpets blared.
And then, from the dais, the voice of the herald rang out—loud, triumphant, impossible to take back:
"By order of His Majesty, Prince Alexis shall ride at dawn to defend Eldara from Eastern aggression… and bring her under the protection of Ro!"
The marble carried the echo, making the words sound even heavier, more final. Nobles clapped. Some cheered.
Alexis stood rigid, jaw clenched until it throbbed. He could feel the weight of the hall's eyes on him, but inside, his thoughts were already far from their applause—on the people of Eldara, and on the terrible truth that the first blow in this war had already been struck, not on the battlefield, but here, in this hall.
When the ceremony broke, Alexis did not linger among the congratulating courtiers.
He cut through the great hall like a blade through silk, the echo of his boots against the marble drawing curious glances.
He moved with the controlled urgency of a man who knew he was treading the edge of danger—and chose to tread it anyway.
He stopped at the foot of the dais, the air between them heavy with the lingering scent of incense and the cold gleam of the throne. For years, Alexis had measured every word in his uncle's presence, never raising his voice, never letting his temper break the surface.
But the sight of the king now—sitting with easy satisfaction as though the conquest of Eldara were already written into Ro's history—stripped away that restraint.
"Uncle—Majesty—" His voice was even, but each syllable carried a steel edge. "This is reckless. We do not know the truth of Eldara's claims. If we march now, we risk—"
The king's gaze snapped to him, cold and cutting, like a sword drawn without warning. "Do not make me doubt your loyalty, Alexis."
That single word—loyalty—twisted in his chest. He took one step closer, careful but unyielding. "I am loyal," he said, his tone low but unwavering, "but loyalty to the crown does not mean binding my eyes while you—"
"Enough." The word cracked like a whip, reverberating through the vaulted chamber.
The courtiers on the fringes of the hall stiffened.
The king's voice dropped to something more dangerous than a shout. "You will lead the march. You will bring me Eldara. And you will remember your place."
Alexis's fingers curled against his palms until the knuckles ached. Bowing was the only shield he had left to hide the storm in his eyes. The movement was deep and formal, but rigid—more armor than gesture.
The hall still rang with the ghost of the public declaration. The spark had already roared into a bonfire before he could even reach it.
Now there would be no stopping the march—not without toppling the throne itself.
And so he would ride into Eldara, not only to keep his uncle from feeding the flames, but to keep them from burning half the continent to ash.
The heavy doors of the throne room shut behind him with a thud that seemed to press against his skull.
For a moment, Alexis simply stood in the dim marble corridor, the torchlight flickering along the walls like restless shadows.
His breathing was measured—too measured, the way it gets when a man is holding something in with both hands. The calm mask he had worn inside cracked at the edges, and he exhaled sharply, the sound low and dangerous.
He pressed a palm briefly to the wall, the cold stone grounding him. His jaw ached from how hard he'd kept it clenched.
He had been close—too close—to speaking words in the throne room that could not be unsaid. The king's warning still rang in his ears, not because of the threat it carried, but because of how little it took to be accused of disloyalty in this court.
A page rounded the corner, nearly colliding with him, and froze. Alexis's gaze softened only enough to keep the boy from bolting. "Find the Prime Minister. Tell him to meet me in the west study. Now."
The boy scurried away. Alexis took the long route, through quieter halls that smelled faintly of parchment and candle smoke. When he entered the study, the Prime Minister was already there, closing the door behind him with deliberate care.
"Alexis," the minister said, his brow furrowing. "What has happened?"
"The king has ordered me to lead the march on Eldara at dawn," Alexis said without preamble. "Not to aid them alone—he intends to take their lands under Ro's banner."
The minister's eyes narrowed. "And you?"
"I will go," Alexis said. "But I need you here. Hold the council together. Push against any further moves toward war with the East while I'm gone. My uncle will take this victory and look for the next. You must give him no opening to act rashly."
The Prime Minister's gaze held his for a long moment. "You ask for a great deal."
"I know," Alexis said quietly. "But if you fail… when I return, there may be more than Eldara burning."
The Prime Minister inclined his head, a solemn promise in the gesture. Alexis lingered only a moment more before stepping back into the corridor, the weight of the coming dawn pressing hard against his shoulders.