The afternoon sun hung low above Vareth's fields, casting golden ribbons over the tall grass. Cicadas hummed lazily as the twins ran ahead, their laughter ringing bright and carefree. Alaric followed, a faint, unfamiliar ease softening his steps.
He hadn't felt this kind of peace in years — the kind that didn't come from command or control, but from something far simpler: watching two little whirlwinds of energy tumble through the fields.
"Hey, mister!" the younger one — Riven — called out, waving a stick like a sword. "You're too slow!"
"I'm not slow," Alaric replied with a small chuckle, pretending to sound affronted. "I'm just letting you win."
The older twin — Rhen — grinned. "Papa says grown-ups always say that when they lose."
Alaric couldn't help but laugh. "Your papa says that?"
"Mhm! Papa always wins in everything!" Rhen puffed his chest proudly. "Even Thomas said so!"
The prince's smile faltered slightly at the name. "Thomas?"
"Yeah, he's a good mister!" Riven said. "He helps Papa when there's too many people in the shop. He's really nice and brings sweets sometimes."
Alaric hummed, his voice casual but edged with something tight. "I see… he must be very close to your papa then."
The twins nodded enthusiastically, missing the flicker of jealousy in Alaric's golden eyes.
The boys plopped down on the grass, panting from their play. Alaric joined them, kneeling so he could meet their eyes. "Tell me," he asked lightly, "what are your names? I never properly asked."
"I'm Rhen," said the older one, brushing dirt off his knees. "And that's my brother Riven."
"Rhen and Riven," Alaric repeated softly, as if testing the names on his tongue. "Strong names."
"Papa said it means we'll grow strong even if the wind blows hard!" Riven added, grinning wide.
Alaric's chest tightened at that. Rin. Of course Rin would name them like that.
He forced a small smile. "And how old are the two of you?"
"We're four!" Riven said quickly.
"Four?" Alaric raised a brow. "You both speak rather fluently for your age."
Rhen grinned, his voice full of pride. "That's because we got Papa's brain! He said we talk too much but he never complains!"
Alaric chuckled, unable to stop the warmth that rose in his chest. For a brief moment, he could almost see Rin among them — that same composed grace, that sharp tongue hidden under gentle manners.
He hesitated, then asked carefully, "And… your mother? Where is she?"
The question seemed innocent enough, but the twins froze. Rhen's smile faltered, and Riven's little hand found his brother's sleeve.
"Papa said Mama died… when we were born," Riven murmured softly.
Something in Alaric's chest twisted — not pity, but an ache he couldn't name. "I see," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Rhen said quickly, trying to sound brave. "Papa said she's watching us from the stars."
For a long moment, silence lingered — the kind that carried more truth than either of them understood.
Then Rhen tilted his head, peering curiously at Alaric. "Come to think of it, mister, you have the same eyes as Ri—"
But before he could finish, Riven clamped a hand over his mouth. "Rhen - rhen! Stop talking!"
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "Same eyes as who?"
"Uh—uh—no one!" Rhen squeaked, eyes darting to the side. "A bird! I mean—you have eyes like a tiger!"
The prince's lips curved, half amused, half suspicious. "A tiger, hm?"
The twins nodded furiously.
Before he could press further, a soft flutter overhead caught his attention — a pigeon messenger, gliding down and landing neatly on his shoulder. The small crest on its leg bore the royal insignia.
Alaric unfastened the note, eyes scanning the script quickly. His expression hardened — just slightly — the faint line between his brows deepening.
An urgent message from the capital.
He folded it neatly, slipping it into his coat, and when he looked up again, the twins were watching him curiously.
"Is something wrong?" Riven asked.
"Nothing you need to worry about," Alaric said, forcing a smile. "Just… work calling me back sooner than I'd hoped."
Before he could say more, a familiar voice echoed from the tree line. "Riven! Rhen!"
The twins perked up. Their aunt emerged from the path, waving a hand, skirts brushing against the tall grass. "It's almost evening. What are you doing all the way out here?"
"Playing with Mister Al!" Riven said brightly. "He's nice now!"
The woman blinked, surprised to see the prince himself among the wildflowers. "Your Highness," she said politely, dipping her head. "You honor our little village."
"You must be their aunt," Alaric said politely.
"Would you join us for dinner?" she offered, ever the gracious villager. "It's not much, but—"
"Thank you, but I can't," he interrupted softly. "There's an urgent matter I must attend to."
The twins' faces fell.
"You'll come back, right?" Riven asked quietly. "You promised to play again."
Alaric hesitated — then knelt, ruffling their hair. "I did, didn't I? Then I'll return."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
As he turned toward his horse, the last of the sun dipped behind the trees, leaving only the faint echo of children's laughter chasing him back toward the road.
By the time Alaric returned to the capital, the palace was a different world entirely.
The air was sharp with tension. Rumors of political unrest crawled through the marble halls like smoke. The Queen Consort's faction had already moved, cornering the foreign envoy in his private inn under the guise of hospitality.
Wine had flowed, smiles exchanged — but their words were laced with poison.
"His Highness's peace proposal is nothing more than a trap," one of the Queen's lords warned smoothly. "You'll find no honor aligning with him."
The envoy's brows furrowed, and though he said he would consider, the seed of doubt was planted.
When Alaric finally arrived — one day before the official signing — he went straight to the council chambers, his presence quiet but commanding. He said nothing of Vareth, nor of Rin, nor of the twins who still lingered in his thoughts.
And the next day, when the banners were raised and the banquet began, the court buzzed with anticipation.
The Queen's allies smirked from their seats, confident in their interference.
But when the envoy stood — scroll in hand — and signed the peace agreement without a moment's hesitation, the entire hall went still.
Alaric's expression did not change, but his golden eyes glinted coldly — the calm before a storm.
He knew exactly who had tried to play him.
And now, it was his turn.