The thunder of hooves rolled across the training grounds as the royal carriage came to a stop. Soldiers straightened instantly, forming perfect lines. Morix wiped sweat off his brow and let out a slow breath.
He knew that crest on the carriage.
The eldest prince had arrived.
Prince Rales of Elydria.
A man who truly deserved the bow Morix was about to give.
Rales stepped down with the cool confidence of someone born to lead. He had the kind of charm that made the court whisper, but everyone knew his mind was even sharper than his face. He was the reason Elydria's borders stayed safe and its alliances stayed strong.
Morix stepped forward and bowed.
"Welcome to the training grounds, Your Highness."
But before he could lower his head fully, Rales caught his arm.
"Oh mighty warrior," he said with a warm smile, "keep your head high. You protect this empire just as much as I do. You are Elydria's shield."
Those words made a few young soldiers puff their chests with pride.
As the rest returned to their routines, Morix and Rales walked toward a quieter corner, away from the clashing metal.
"I heard the news of your engagement," Morix said. "Congratulations, Your Highness."
"Thank you, old companion," Rales replied—his version of a friendly "buddy," a term he used for no one but Morix. "This marriage will end the tension between our kingdoms. It's the final piece we need."
Morix frowned. "Sire… does this marriage mean anything to you personally? Beyond politics?"
Rales looked toward the palace towers, his expression tightening.
"I could choose love," he said quietly, "but the kingdom cannot. War is coming, Morix. Enemy nations are moving in the shadows. My heart… has to wait."
"Then let me face your enemies," Morix said firmly. "If war comes, I won't let a single threat touch Elydria."
Rales smiled—heavy, tired, honest.
"I trust your strength more than my own. But war still means one thing: people die. Fathers, sons, children. I don't want a kingdom that survives only by killing. I want a world where Aurethion can breathe in peace."
Morix's jaw tightened. Those words cut deeper than any blade. He had seen too many families fall apart… too many bodies left on cold fields.
But before he could speak
A sharp whistle sliced through the air.
Morix didn't think.
He moved.
An arrow sped toward the prince but Morix's hand snapped out and caught it inches from Rales's face.
Soldiers gasped.
Morix hurled his spear at the distant rooftop the arrow came from. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he threw. A shockwave rushed outward, knocking over training dummies and sending soldiers stumbling.
Morix vanished in a single leap.
He landed on the tower, where his spear had already pinned the assassin by the chest. A black cloak. A foreign insignia.
An enemy nation.
Someone who wanted the engagement destroyed.
Morix's eyes glowed with molten fury. Lightning flicked across his skin.
"I will not forgive this."
He trained until sunset, alone because no one else could handle his strength. A single swing of his blade sent a gust powerful enough to shake rows of soldiers off their feet.
The late sun lit his skin like gold. Sweat traced down the lines of his muscles, making every carved detail stand out. His bare torso rose and fell with sharp breaths, each movement revealing power that was impossible to ignore.
Behind the fence, three young palace maids watched with red cheeks and wide eyes.
"By the gods…" one whispered. "His body doesn't even look real."
"The way his arms flex when he swings…" another murmured, pressing her knees together. "Imagine being held by that strength…"
They weren't quiet. Whispers spread through the courtyard admiration, awe, a little fear.
Morix sat down at last, replaying everything in his head:
Rales's words.
The arrow.
The assassin.
The dream he never understood.
But elsewhere in the palace… another story was unfolding.
Not training.
Not steel.
But soft gasps… and laughter.
Prince Damion, Rales's younger brother, lay stretched across his silk-covered bed. A lazy smile rested on his lips. Even without explaining the scene, it was obvious what kind of life he enjoyed.
Beauty.
Pleasure.
Attention.
Everything Rales refused for himself.
The room was warm with quiet moans and soft giggles as four beautiful women draped themselves around him. One leaned into his chest, another kissed his collarbone, the others curled against him like pets seeking warmth.
"You're the true star of this kingdom," one whispered. "Not your brother."
Damion's violet eyes gleamed with pride. He tightened his arm around her waist, claiming every bit of praise with a smirk.
Until another woman whispered:
"Someone like you should be Elydria's strongest… not Morix."
The smile on Damion's face faded.
"Morix…" he muttered. "Always Morix."
A cold spark lit in his eyes.
A dangerous idea.
A growing envy.
And then… a plan.
The room fell silent as Damion looked up with a slow, sharp smile.
"Perhaps," he said softly, "it's time this kingdom learns who truly deserves power."
And in that moment, the first crack in Elydria's future formed.
A scheme was born.
A scheme meant to bring Morix down.