The king placed a hand on the general’s shoulder. “Double the patrols along our borders. Reinforce the garrisons in every town and city. And bring me a full report of Tarthale’s defenses by dawn.”
“As you command,” the general said, bowing deeply.
As Rhaegor turned to leave, the king called after him. “One more thing. Send word to the Mercenary Guild. We will need every able-bodied warrior in the coming days.”
The general hesitated for a moment before nodding. “It will be done, Your Majesty.”
When the general departed, King Aythore sank back into his chair. The celebration in the grand hall continued, the nobles oblivious to the dark turn of events.
The king rubbed his temples, the weight of leadership pressing heavily upon him.
Eldham’s fall was a stark reminder that no corner of the kingdom was safe. Asphade had known peace for years, but that peace was now shattering like glass.
He reached for a goblet of wine left on the table and downed it in a single gulp. “Let them come,” he muttered to himself. “We will be ready.”
King Aythore stepped back into the grand hall, his shoulders squared, his face betraying none of the turmoil swirling within.
His regal bearing quickly reasserted itself, and he greeted the nobles who approached him with practiced ease, offering warm smiles and jovial comments.
When Queen Elira approached him with her gentle yet knowing gaze, he maintained his composure. Her emerald-green eyes searched his, and though he attempted to deflect her with a quick explanation, her soft voice called him out.
“Is it truly ‘nothing serious,’ my king?” she asked, her tone calm but probing.
King Aythore hesitated for just a heartbeat, but it was long enough. She knew him too well, knew that faint pause in his speech meant he was hiding something significant.
“Come with me,” he said quietly, offering her his arm. She accepted it without hesitation, and he led her through the bustling hall toward a private balcony overlooking the palace gardens.
The night air was cool and crisp as they stepped onto the balcony. The stars shimmered like scattered diamonds in the darkened sky, a stark contrast to the tension between them.
King Aythore placed a hand on the railing and waved the other through the air, weaving an invisible barrier that enveloped them in silence.
“No one can overhear us now,” he said, his voice low.
Queen Elira folded her arms, her elegant gown catching the faint moonlight. “Aythore, what is it?”
He sighed heavily, the weight of his earlier conversation with General Rhaegor pressing down on him once more. Turning to face her, he reached for her hands, holding them tightly.
“Eldham has fallen,” he began, watching her expression shift from curiosity to shock. “A demon horde attacked the town at dawn. They left nothing but ashes and corpses.”
Her hands trembled in his grasp. “How… how is this possible? We’ve had peace for so long.”
“It seems the demons are organizing,” he continued. “This was not a random attack. It was calculated, deliberate. They’re testing our defenses and preparation.”
Queen Elira’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Her mind raced with the implications of his words.
“I’ve already begun preparations,” Aythore said quickly, sensing her rising panic. “I’ve sent orders to bolster our borders, inform the other kingdoms, and prepare the academies. We will not face this threat unprepared.”
The queen’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded, drawing strength from her husband’s resolve. “You’ve always protected us, Aythore. I trust you’ll see us through this as well.”
He reached up to brush a tear from her cheek. “We will stand together, Elira. As we always have.”
Their lips met in a heated, reassuring kiss, a silent vow between husband and wife to face whatever came their way.
“You’re right, I trust you.” Queen Elira melted into her husband’s embrace.
When they returned to the hall, the weight of their private conversation was hidden behind smiles and laughter.
The king and queen danced once more, their movements graceful and unhurried, while the nobles around them remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing beyond the palace walls.
~~~~~
Far from the royal palace, Damien stirred in the small room of the Mercenary Guild. The healing potions Arielle had given him had done their work, mending his internal injuries and restoring some of his vitality.
His eyelids fluttered open, and he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above him. For a moment, he lay still, disoriented, his mind trying to piece together where he was and how he’d gotten there.
Experience tales with empire
The soft glow of morning light seeped through the room’s single window, casting faint shadows on the walls.
“Where am I?” Damien muttered to himself, sitting up slowly. His body protested the movement, a dull ache reminding him of the battle he’d fought.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching to work out the stiffness in his muscles.
Just as he began to move toward the door, it swung open, and Arielle stepped inside, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a small loaf of bread.
Their eyes met, and they both spoke simultaneously.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her brows furrowing.
“Where am I?” he asked, his tone laced with confusion.
Arielle set the tray down on the table and crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “You’re in the Mercenary Guild, obviously. Don’t tell me you forgot.”
Damien ran a hand through his silver hair, his expression sheepish. “Right… I remember now.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You should be resting. After what you did yesterday, it’s a miracle you’re still standing.”
Damien walked over to the tray and picked up the bowl of soup, sniffing it appreciatively before taking a sip. “Thanks for this,” he said, gesturing toward the food.
“Don’t mention it,” Arielle replied. “But seriously, you need to take it easy. You were in bad shape when I found you.”
Damien shrugged, setting the bowl down. “I’ve had worse.”
Arielle raised a skeptical brow but didn’t press further. Instead, she pulled a chair over and sat across from him. “So, what’s next for you?”
“Next?” Damien echoed, his gaze distant as he considered the question. “I don’t know yet, but there’s something I need to do.”
Arielle nodded thoughtfully. “Well, whatever you decide, try not to get yourself killed. You’re starting to make a name for yourself around here, you know.”
Damien smirked. “A name, huh? What are they calling me?”
“The Silver Flame,” she said with a grin. “Because of your hair and those fire skills of yours.”