Duke Marcellus's Keep. Northern Border. Night.
Edward stood on the ramparts, looking out at the pass.
The Vargr camp was dark—no fires, no movement, no sound. The red lights had vanished after the hunters' attack on the mages' tower, but the silence was worse than the watching. It meant they were planning. Waiting.
The wind was cold, biting through his cloak. Snow would come soon. The pass would become impassable. The Vargr would have to move or retreat.
They hadn't moved.
Gwen stood beside him, her hand on her sword, her eyes on the darkness.
"You should sleep," she said.
"I can't."
"The Duke's scouts are watching. There's nothing more you can do tonight."
Edward shook his head. "Something's wrong. They should have attacked by now. Or retreated. They're just... waiting."
"Maybe they're waiting for the hunters."
Edward looked at her. "The hunters attacked the tower. They failed."
"They didn't fail. They got what they came for." Gwen's voice was quiet. "They know where the artifact is. They know where the strangers are. They know Vorlag is coming."
Edward turned back to the pass. "Then we need to be ready."
---
The messenger arrived at dawn.
Edward was still on the ramparts, wrapped in his cloak, watching the sun rise over the mountains. The light was thin, pale, cold.
The messenger was young, pale, his clothes dusty. He had ridden through the night, pushing his horse to the edge of collapse. He bowed, breathless.
"Your Highness. A letter from the capital."
Edward took it. The seal was black—the royal seal, pressed in wax. His heart tightened.
He broke the seal. Read.
The words blurred. The King was dead. His father was dead. He was needed in the capital immediately. The nobles were already maneuvering. The succession must be secured.
Edward lowered the letter. His hands were shaking.
Gwen moved to stand beside him. "What is it?"
"My father."
Gwen's face went pale. "The King?"
Edward nodded. "He's dead."
---
The news spread quickly through the keep.
Duke Marcellus came to the ramparts, his face grim. He had served the King for thirty years. He had seen the old man through wars and famines and plagues. He had never seen him weak.
"Your father was a great man," Marcellus said.
Edward nodded. "He was."
"The kingdom will mourn."
Edward looked at the pass. The Vargr were still there. Waiting.
"I need to return to the capital."
Marcellus frowned. "Now?"
"The succession must be secured. The nobles are already circling."
Marcellus was silent for a moment. "The Vargr—"
"Will wait." Edward's voice was firm. "They've been waiting for weeks. They'll wait a few more days."
Marcellus nodded slowly. "I'll hold the border."
Edward clasped his arm. "I know you will."
---
The escort prepared to leave.
Edward's horse was saddled, his pack tied, his sword at his hip. The soldiers formed up—a dozen riders, enough to protect him on the road, not enough to slow him down.
Gwen mounted beside him. "The nobles will try to take advantage. Your father's death leaves a vacuum."
Edward nodded. "I know."
"The Vargr—"
"Will wait." Edward looked at the pass. "They're not the real threat."
Gwen followed his gaze. "The hunters?"
"The hunters. Vorlag. Whatever is coming." Edward turned his horse toward the gate. "The Vargr are just soldiers. The hunters are something else."
---
They rode out as the sun climbed higher.
The road south was long, familiar, empty. Edward had traveled it days ago, riding north to face the Vargr. Now he rode south to face the nobles.
Gwen rode beside him. "What will you do about the guild?"
Edward was quiet for a moment. "The guild is Grog's. I won't interfere."
"The nobles will want to control it."
"The nobles can want what they want."
Gwen almost smiled. Almost. "You sound like your father."
Edward looked at the road ahead. "I hope so."
---
They stopped at midday to rest the horses.
The village where they had buried the dead was behind them. The smoke had cleared. The bodies were in the ground. The people were gone.
Edward sat on a fallen log, staring at the road.
Gwen sat beside him. "You're thinking."
"Always."
"What?"
Edward was quiet for a moment. "About my father. About the kingdom. About what comes next."
Gwen reached out. Touched his hand. "You're not alone."
Edward looked at her. "I know."
---
They rode through the night.
The moon was bright, the road clear, the shadows long. Edward pushed the escort hard, stopping only when the horses couldn't go on.
At dawn, they saw the capital.
The walls were gray, the towers tall, the gates open. Banners flew at half-mast. The city was in mourning.
Edward rode through the gates.
The guards saluted. The people bowed. The nobles watched.
He was the King now.
He didn't feel like one.