King's council chamber smelled of parchment and smoke. Around the long oak table sat lords, bishops, and generals, each with their own designs for the future. The King leaned heavily against his chair, his breath labored, his crown seeming heavier than ever.
"We must secure the throne's strength," Lord Wulfric urged. "The people fear uncertainty. A royal marriage will bind allies and silence doubts."
"Aye," agreed Bishop Godric. "The kingdom needs stability. The elder prince must wed swiftly."
The King's eyes flickered to his sons—Athelric, seated tall with smug confidence, and Caedmon, quiet but watchful. He thought of their childhood vows of loyalty, and his heart ached.
"Lady Elswyth of Marenholt is of noble stock," the Queen said gently. "Her hand would bring great strength."
The decision weighed upon the old King, yet he knew the council would not relent. To preserve the kingdom, he would have to bind his family in chains of duty.
By the meeting's end, it was decided: Lady Elswyth would be betrothed to Prince Athelric.
Caedmon's face betrayed nothing, but inside, he felt the sharp sting of betrayal—not from his brother, not yet, but from fate itself.