~ Chapter 1: The Ice Prince's Return ~

  “Have you heard? The ice prince is coming for the Morning Day!”

  The announcement rippled through the small crowd gathered at the vegetable stall. Gasps and wide-eyed looks passed between them. They turned to one another, questions and excitement bubbling in hushed whispers.

  “What? I heard he hasn’t stepped in the capital since…” A woman trailed off, shifting nervously before continuing, “…you know what.”

  “Tragic, what happened to the former queen,” sighed another, shaking her head.

  "I guess she couldn't accept her husband taking up another woman," said the vegetable vendor. He passed around the carrots for the women to pick. " And so publicly too!”

  "I would toss my husband out of if he dared!" declared a burly woman, towering over the group. She was so tall, that the top of her head brushed against the stall's roofs. She looked like she could catapult a grown person if she so desired. The men in the group shivered at the mental image.

  Meanwhile, the vendor nodded politely while discreetly slipping more produce into her basket.

  Despite the lull in conversation, low murmurs of agreement buzzed through the group. Taking multiple wives was the way of the barbarians, not Eburean royalty!

  “What a pity,” someone murmured, leaning against the stall. “The former queen bore two sons, the true heirs to the throne! Now, one is imprisoned and in exile, and the other lives as a lord in the borderlands!"

  “And the ice prince asked to go,” whispered the vendor loudly, leaning in as though he was sharing a secret. “Begged, even! Can’t blame Queen Rewanna for that!”

  The crowd scratched their heads in collective bewilderment. What a waste! Had the ice prince been dropped on the head as a babe? The borderlands were no place for anyone to willingly go, least of all royalty.

  “What fool would want that life?” someone muttered, recoiling at the thought.

  In Feldgrau, the people lived as if any day could be their last. It was a land haunted by death and fear. The grassland tribes attacked frequently. Stories of pillaged villages often haunted the capital. The crowd shivered.

  It was much nicer to turn their minds back to the second prince of Eburean, the infamous ice prince. His striking features and aloof demeanor had earned him the moniker. However, he seldom left Feldgrau and many were divided on whether the young man truly lived up to the fame.

  “I’m afraid he's pretty, but not much in terms of intellect,” offered the vegetable vendor. "Still better than the scoundrels chasing my daughters. At least he’s not ugly and stupid!”

  "Are you calling my son ugly?" squawked a woman but her protest was ignored.

  “I heard the ice prince was a genius in his youth,” interjected another, raising a finger. “He outspoke all the scholars and passed the court exam at thirteen! How could someone so talented be a fool?"

  The crowd shrugged.

  “That’s true,” someone agreed. “But it’s been years. Who knows if those rumors are still true?”

  “He renounced his claim to the throne after a dispute with the king. And left the next day with only a handful of men,” said a weathered salt merchant, stroking his ancient beard. In his youth, the old man had traveled most of the land. “Feldgrau may be far, but it's beyond the crown's control. And the lands are vast with rich soil. If you count the small towns beside it, Feldgrau is nearly double the size of the capital.”

  "That may be true," a person admitted uneasily. No one in the group had traveled to Feldgrau. They could only take the old man's word for truth. "But are you sure the ice prince is that shrewd?"

  In response, the merchant continued with a shrug. “Don't forget, without the Great Wall of Feldgrau, we’d all be at the mercy of the barbarians!”

  The crowd hummed thoughtfully as a new energy buzzed through them. A secretly clever prince was much more intriguing than a foolish one.

  “Feldgrau was his mother’s homeland,” considered the burly woman, folding her arms. "Perhaps her death drew him back. I hear the former queen still has kin there.”

  "Still, why would he renounce the throne? Leave all the glory to his younger brother?" A skeptic crossed their arms “I think the prince is a fool, just like everyone says." They stuck out an accusing finger at the gathered crowd. "You people are always adding drama where there is none!"

  “Maybe so,” giggled a group of young women, casting each other knowing looks. “But if the ice prince is as handsome as they say, he could be the greatest fool in the world for all I care!”

  “A face of marble, hair like fresh snow!” The young woman blushed. “It's said you could drown in his blue eyes!" They swooned at the fantasy.

  “Oh, please!” snapped one of the girl's intended. "He's probably an ugly brute."

  “What foolish nonsense are you spewing!” one of girls exclaimed, glaring at the unfortunate fiancé. “The ice prince is a better man than any of you!”

  “He only took the seat of Feldgrau to defend us from the barbarian tribes!” snapped another, elbowing her way through the crowd. “It was an honorable act to guard his people when no one else would!”

  “What a hero!” swooned the first girl, clasping her hands to her chest.

  Among the crowd, a doe-eyed girl with a delicate air, titled her head in confusion. “Wait," she blinked innocently. "But I thought the tribes were our allies? Why would he need to guard us?”

  Gasps erupted.

  “Foolish girl,” the vegetable vendor swatted his carrots in her direction. “We’re only allied with the Wenges! And even they’re more savage than civilized neighbors.”

  “A generation has barely passed since we’ve been enemies!” warned the burly woman, wagging a finger in the girl’s face. “Don’t go trusting barbarians so blindly, child! They’ll murder you in your sleep if they get the chance!”

  Agreements chimed in as the crowd nodded vigorously.

  “Yeah, yeah!” The girls rolled their eyes. “Now, how much for those carrots and leeks? My mistress is expecting her favorite meal for the celebrations!”

  "Ooh, is that a ribbon decoration? I'll take two!" Grabby hands darted eagerly towards the different patterned cloths.

  As the crowd dispersed and the people went on their way, chatter and haggling filled the air once more. But the mysterious return of the ice prince remained a topic whispered throughout the capital. A shared anticipation lingered in the minds of the people.

  Although none voiced it loudly, they all eagerly awaited the great drama that would follow the prodigal son’s return.

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  The streets of the bustling square teemed with life. Bright banners stretched across rooftops, bringing color to the pale stones. Maids and cooks rushed to the different stalls. Their arms were filled with supplies and foodstuff for the families they served.

  Children ran around the street, darting between the adults. The bright ribbons in their hair danced in the wind, flowing behind them as they played. The copper coins looped around their wrists, jingled with every movement.

  It was said that a strip of cloth from a mother’s dress and a coin from a father’s pocket made for a happy and healthy child. After the Great War had ended on Morning Day, the tradition was renewed with vigor. The custom was so ancient that even the nobles followed it, wearing coins and ribbons during the Morning Day festivities.

  Morning Day was the kingdom’s first great celebration of the year. It marked renewal and hope after the long winter. Couples would wear one another’s ribbons and coins for celebrations. Marriage ceremonies would entwine the ribbons and coins together only to be burnt if death took one before the other.

  Many families treated the festivities as a sign to start preparing for marriage.

  In the distance, the grand castle of the Eburean kingdom loomed over its inhabitants protectively. The stones of the capital were ancient and sturdy, etched with the history of the kingdom. High above, the giant flags of the royal family rippled proudly in the wind, casting long shadows over the square.

  Every Morning Day, the crown would throw a lavish banquet. It was a prominent event that was as much about politics as celebration. Attendance was mandatory for the most prominent figures across the kingdom, from governors to generals. Even now, groups of lords and ladies steadily streamed towards the castle.

  One such group arrived by carriage, flanked by four guards. The guards bore a commanding presence and wore the thick garments belonging to the borderlands. The group drew whispers as onlookers marveled at the fine workmanship of the carriage and entourage. From its ornate wooden carvings to the silk curtains that obscured the interior from view, it was clear the carriage belonged to one of great status.

  Inside, the lord gazed out at the bustling street. His sharp blue eyes briefly glanced over the gawking faces of passersby.

  He glanced down at the royal invitation in his lap, tightening his grip around the parchment as if willing the words to disappear. Unfortunately, no such thing happened. The lord sighed and leaned back against the cushioned seats.

  To an outsider, he might have seemed deep in thought, perhaps pondering some matter of great importance. In truth, the young man was contemplating whether it was too late to shred the invitation into tiny shreds if only for the vindictive pleasure it would bring him.

  The young man peered out the window once more.

  "Morning Day," he murmured, taking in the familiar decorations. It had been years since he had witnessed the capital's festivities in person. Life in the capital felt like a distant memory. He wasn't sure if it was nostalgia or annoyance that caused his head to ache.

  In Feldgrau, the day was one of quiet celebration. The streets would empty as families gathered with their loved ones. All servants were forced to have the day off to return home. It was illegal to refuse them their day off. Even a lord like himself would find limited help on Morning Day.

  The capital, by contrast, was overwhelming. The cacophony of street performers, traveling merchants, and reenactments of the Great War were beginning to grate on his sensitive ears.

  Call him a pessimist, but despite the sentiment, Nikolai never heard of any great feud, much less war, ending on account of Morning Day. The lord’s lips quirked in a faint, wry smile. The temporary peace lasted as long as the drinks and festivities… afterward, the arguments and dissatisfaction that had been momentarily forgotten would return once more.

  “What weighs on your mind, my lord?” came a voice from the opposite seat.

  The lord’s gaze shifted to his companion, his trusted attendant. The man was tall and lean with a pointy nose. Despite his scholarly appearance, he carried a sword at his hip. His laid-back mannerisms hid the constant vigilance he always carried. His eyes scanned the crowd for the reason behind his liege’s pensive expression.

  “Easy Cristin,” the lord said, a faint note of amusement in his voice. “You look too clever for the attendant of a foolish prince.”

  “If you’re a foolish prince, my lord,” Cristin huffed a laugh as his lips quirked. “I shudder to think what they’d call the fools that live in that castle we’re headed to.”

  A comfortable silence settled between them. As they neared their destination, the lord nodded towards the castle in the distance.

  “What have you heard about this grand ball my stepmother has invited us to?” The lord’s tone was light, almost playful, but the attendant knew better. Beneath the surface lay his liege’s familiar skepticism, sharp and intuitive. “Any interesting news?”

  Cristin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If he had been a young lady at court, he might have swooned under the rare sight of the lord’s amused gaze. But alas, his years of service had taught him to recognize the trouble that accompanied that look. Not to mention, in all their years together, Cristin had never seen his lord truly take interest in anyone, or anything, that did not serve his purpose.

  “It is, for all intents and purposes, a regular celebration," offered Cristin, voice measured. Then, he hesitated, “At least, on the surface.”

  The lord shot him an expectant look.

  Cristin sighed. His liege never appreciated the drama of a well-timed pause.

  “There is a delegation from Wenge in attendance,” revealed the attendant, brows furrowing in concern. “They’re said to be led by one of their generals.”

  "Interesting," murmured the lord, digesting the unexpected news. “Which one? The Wolf?"

  The Wolf. The name alone evoked unease.

  If Fadye, the Wenge chief, was the most fearsome leader of the grasslands, then his cousin, the Wolf, was his loyal right-hand. His loyalty to his family and bloodthirstiness on the battlefield had earned him his title. The two were a formidable duo that once brought the Wenge clan to glory. Tales of the Wolf’s raids had spread far and wide, even to Feldgrau. His attacks were swift and brutal, striking mercilessly under the cover of darkness and leaving ruin in his wake… the hour of the wolf.

  Fadye never bothered to reign back his subordinate. Many wondered if he even could.

  "If only it were the Wolf," Cristin rubbed his temples, frustration evident.

  The lord's lips curved into a faint smirk. “Not the Wolf? Now, you’ve intrigued me.”

  "The one leading the Wenge delegation..." The attendant's lips pursed with distaste before he continued, “is none other than Faye’s heir.”

  Blue eyes narrowed sharply as the lord straightened in his seat. "The Raven General?"

  For a moment, silence filled the space, thick and tense. Cristin had been just as unsettled when he received the information. Now, he could only nod in confirmation.

  Compared to the Wolf, very little was known about the Raven General. But the stories that did exist were just as chilling, if not worse.

  In Wenge's darkest hour, when Fadye's eldest sons were assassinated, and the minor clans and tribes had joined together to take down the mighty tribe, Fadye's generals turned to Eburean for aid. But their pleas were ignored... breaking the treaty.

  The situation only worsened with a coup as the generals were killed off, the Wolf was gravely injured, and Fadye's forces scattered. The end of the great clan seemed inevitable.

  Then, from the chaos, a mysterious general emerged donning a feathered, golden mask. The general cut down their enemies by the hundreds and within mere days, the tide of battle quickly shifted in Wenge's favor.

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  When dawn arrived, the battlefield belonged to Wenge while the corpses of their enemies strewed the field. The survivors claimed that on the day of victory, black feathers descended on the field as the general's loyal ravens feasted, and the legend of the Raven General began.

  As the years passed, the Raven General’s reputation only grew. A saying grew among those in the grasslands: where the Raven General went, victory followed. A few years ago, Fadye held a grand ceremony and named the Raven General as his successor, placing them above his remaining sons and even the Wolf.

  The decision caused an uproar within Fadye’s council but the general's favor with the soldiers and the Chief had solidified their claim. Few dared to challenge it openly. Those who did were swiftly silenced, their fates unknown.

  Afterward, the Raven General had been sent to secure Wenge's borders. Those battles were small skirmishes and disputes, east and far from the concerns of Eburean. As such, even the Feldgrau spies had learned little about the general’s identity. Many wondered if the Raven General was any more than a myth. But the occasional whisper of successful battles and defeated clans dispelled those notions.

  Some speculated that the Raven General was a bastard son or distant cousin of Fadye’s family. Nevertheless, what was certain was that the general commanded both loyalty and fear, securing Wenge’s borders with ruthless efficiency.

  “And now they’ve come here,” said Nikolai softly. The lord’s gaze grew calculating. “For Fadye to send his heir to the Morning Day celebrations…”

  “The queen is planning something with the delegation, but even our spies couldn’t gather more than that." Cristin shot his liege a wary glance. “All we know is that a union of some sort was negotiated.”

  “A marriage alliance,” the lord surmised, his tone thoughtful. Who would be the unfortunate maiden?

  “Perhaps,” Cristin admitted, ashamed at his own lack of knowledge. “I 'm afraid the Wenge delegation was quite formidable. One of our spies took an arrow to the chest for stepping too close to their camp.” The attendant clenched his fists before spitting, “They’re brutal barbarians.”

  “They are men just like us,” the lord said softly. The words echoed with familiarity, like an old memory. His gaze turned cold, distant. “They bleed and fall just as easily.”

  There was as much danger in overestimating an enemy as there was in underestimating them.

  “But, whether they are friend or foe,” the lord watched the troubled expression on his attendant's face. “We will have to wait and see.”

  Cristin let out a grunt, clearly dissatisfied with being left in the dark.

  Feeling the weight of the stare, the lord rolled his eyes. "Speak your mind, Cristin.”

  "Gladly," snorted the other man. “This is a trap, my lord.” He sighed at the almost bored expression that now graced his liege’s face. It was as if the man was heading to an irrelevant family gathering rather than the death pit the capital truly was.

  “Sometimes I don’t understand you, my lord,” Cristin surged forward, unable to hold his words back. “You know this is a trap. You’re too smart not to. And you have declined all previous invitations. So, why return this year? Why return now when-“ The attendant stopped abruptly, catching himself.

  The lord remained silent, his expression a mask of indifference. He rested his chin on one hand, watching the scenery pass outside. His face was like a statue, unreadable and distant. Or a predator… waiting for the right moment to strike.

  Cristin stared at the cold silhouette of his liege. Although he had served the other man since they were both boys and would follow him to the ends of the world, there was much about Lord Nikolai of Feldgrau that remained shrouded in mystery.

  To the rest of the kingdom, Nikolai was either a patriotic enigma or a handsome fool. But to Cristin, to the borderland soldiers, and to the people of Feldgrau, he was far more than that.

  Nikolai’s arrival had been as abrupt as it was unexpected. Why had the king’s second son, the next rightful heir to the throne, been sent to the remote and dangerous borderlands?

  The people of Feldgrau had long lived harsh, unforgiving lives. Their lands bore the scars of countless raids by the grassland tribes. They paid crippling taxes to the crown yet received little in return. When the nobility abused their power, there was no justice to be found. From men to resources, Feldgrau had borne the greatest losses in the Great War. Distrust ran deep, especially toward outsiders, and none were more suspect than those of royal blood.

  But Nikolai had been different.

  Though just a boy, he had taken his lordship seriously. His reforms were swift and practical, fortifying Feldgrau’s defenses and creating work for the struggling peasants. Farmers were sold seeds from the castle granaries at low prices. Young scholars from lower noble families were given stipends to secure themselves an education in the capital, returning later to serve as civil servants. With the young lord, bribes and threats fell on deaf ears as corrupt officials, no matter their esteemed lineage, were promptly removed and replaced.

  The hate and distrust in Feldgrau morphed into awe.

  Under his leadership, the economy stabilized, and trade routes reopened. Merchants, once wary of the borderlands, began to include Feldgrau in their travels again, and commerce began to flow into their lands. Even traders from smaller grassland tribes occasionally passed through, though always under strict watch and never allowed within the walls after sunset.

  Nikolai’s efforts extended beyond the border of Feldgrau into all of the borderlands. Governors who struggled to manage their territories saw in him a leader worth rallying behind. The soldiers, too, found a champion in Nikolai. The warriors who had been left broken and homeless after the war found a new purpose in the lord’s service. The Lord of Feldgrau rewarded competence and loyalty regardless of rank or status.

  Cristin knew of this firsthand. Once the son of a lowly soldier, he now served as the lord’s most trusted attendant and right hand.

  But his success was no accident. Within a few years, Lord Nikolai had secured the loyalty and stability of his land… and it was more than a fool’s luck that allowed him to do so.

  Beneath Nikolai’s ice exterior lay an uncanny intelligence. Although he was no swordsman, he had a way of dismantling his enemies long before they ever reached for their swords. His plans were meticulous, his foresight razor-sharp. It was as if those ice-like eyes could pierce into a person, dissecting them instantly.

  It was only the indifference of the capital that allowed Nikolai’s rise to go unchecked. Their dismissal of the borderlands as distant and irrelevant allowed him to carry out his work in relative peace. Were they to take a closer look, they might have feared the power Nikolai had amassed. If the Lord of Feldgrau chose to stake a claim for the throne, the entirety of the borderlands would drop their duties and rally to his banner without hesitation. He was, after all, their Lord of Feldgrau.

  Despite their mutual trust, Cristin still felt there were many things about the lord he knew nothing of. What drove Nikolai to such relentless ambition? What lay behind the icy veneer of the man he served? But Cristin held himself back. Like the others in Feldgrau, he placed the utmost trust in his lord… Cristin sighed, he also doubted the ice prince would answer his questions.

  The attendant’s musings were interrupted by the shouts and laughter from outside the carriage. He held back a laugh as they knocked on the sides of the carriage.

  “Over here, young master!”

  “Come out and introduce yourself to us, my lord!”

  A gaggle of brightly dressed women trailed after the carriage, their vividly patterned skirts swished as they ran. Their cries were equal parts playful and colorful, drawing raised brows and muffled chuckles from passersby.

  “You know,” Cristin raised a teasing eyebrow, leaning slightly towards his lord. “The people are wondering if you’ll bring a Lady Feldgrau back with you.” He crossed his arms, feigning nonchalance. “As much as I enjoy your delightful presence, I believe it’s about time you found some company other than Darcy and I in that dark, gloomy castle of yours.”

  The lord shot him an annoyed glance.

  As if to punctuate Cristin’s words, there came a hard knock on the window. A dainty, pale hand slipped past the curtain, dropping a pristine white flower. The bloom drifted down into Nikolai’s lap. Giggling erupted from outside as the hand withdrew.

  Cristin risked a glance at his lord’s face. He nearly choked on his laughter at the rare tinge of mortification on the young man’s usually blank expression.

  Only a day back in the capital, and the ice prince was already causing a stir.

  Cristin spluttered as the flower was flung at his face.

  “Not a word, Cristin,” warned the lord flatly.

  Cristin grinned, though he said nothing, leaning back in his seat as the carriage continued forward.

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  The journey was abruptly interrupted by a shouted command.

  “Halt there!” A royal guard stepped forward. He held his spear out at the approaching carriage.

  The carriage master pulled hard at the reins. The man winced as the horses reared loudly, stomping their hooves in protest. He patted their necks and murmured soothingly. “Easy there, old girl.” He threw a glare at the guard.

  But the guard did not falter, stance unyielding. The sharp spearhead glinted in the bright sunlight.

  With a nervous gulp, the carriage master glanced around. The guards had formed an unbroken line across the road. Around them, other carriages were also forced to a stop. Heads stuck out of the carriage windows. Indignant protests rang out as they argued with the guards about the holdup, but to their credit, the line of guards held firm.

  The carriage master sank back into his seat, at a loss for what to do. Thankfully, the lord’s voice cut through the confusion.

  “Why have we stopped, Dunstan?”

  The carriage master scratched his head. “Unclear, my lord,” his eyes flickered towards the spears. “It seems they are waiting for a procession of some sort. The road ahead is blocked, and from what I can tell, so is the next.”

  The curtain was drawn aside, revealing Nikolai’s calculating gaze. He nodded once at Dunstan before scanning the scene outside.

  In the distance, the low rhythmic beat of a drum broke through the uneasy chatter. For a moment, the complaints stopped as heads turned in the direction of the growing noise. The rhythmic beating reverberated through the square, stilling the air. The winds quieted, and even the birds fell silent as if nature itself awaited what was to come.

  “My lord,” Cristin’s face paled. Few things could make such a noise. “Those are grassland war drums.”

  The commoners and nobles walking on the street paused, exchanging nervous glances as the vibrations beneath their feet intensified. Pebbles on the ground jumped as the wares in the different stalls shuddered like a mini earthquake. Shouts of alarm filled the square as the ground rumbled beneath their feet.

  Amidst the chaos came the sound of hoofbeats, steady and powerful.

  CAW!

  Nikolai’s eyes flicked upward, catching sight of a dark raven soaring through the sky. Its inky wings were a dark stain against the bright blue sky. The bird flapped its wings twice and then circled back. It let out another cry. The call echoed eerily as it glided down and out of sight.

  And then, they came.

  A grand entourage emerged from the far end of the street. Screams of terror filled the streets as the procession entered into view, proudly flying a foreign banner.

  At the forefront were calvary men dressed in barbarian armor. They carried round shields that gleamed with a dark, ominous sigil. The riders sat atop warhorses with rippling muscles. Each had been bred for war, standing at least seventeen hands tall. The proud beasts brayed loudly, proud gait striking the cobblestone. The riders controlled their mounts with skilled ease.

  Behind them marched an army of foot soldiers. The line of men bore long poles topped with flags matching the symbol on their shields.

  Nikolai’s gaze narrowed on the dark, blood-red banners and their swirling sigil. “The Wenge Delegation,” he realized.

  The frantic fear of the crowd turned into stunned gasps. Some pushed forward to get a better look while others recoiled, retreating into the safety of the shadows.

  Eburean and Wenge were allies only in name. Their treaty was a fragile truce maintained by forced diplomacy. It had been broken once, and everyone knew that it could be broken again.

  The entire square fell into a deathly silence. None dared to move from their spots, afraid that an accidental sneeze could launch the entourage into a surprise attack.

  Cristin gestured silently to the four guards who had accompanied them. The men of Feldgrau lowered their hands to their blades. Their eyes trained on the incoming procession, ready to defend their lord at the slightest hint of violent intent.

  In the middle of the soldiers rode two carriages. The first, though smaller, excluded a regal air. Its dark curtains fluttered in the wind, revealing glimpses of the silver-headed elderly figures sitting inside.

  But what caught everyone’s attention was the massive second carriage that followed behind it.

  Lanterns with golden etchings hung from its sides. Massive and resplendent, it was three times the size of the first. The dark wood gleamed, as did the golden horns that extended out of the carriage’s roof.

  Nikolai turned to glance at Cristin. He jerked his head towards the symbols carved on the sides of the carriage. “Those are Fadye’s family sigils, are they not?”

  Cristin nodded, expression darkening into a grim scowl. “There’s only one person that could be.”

  Atop the grand carriage sat a wooden sculpture of a raven in flight, its wings outstretched… practically identical to the real bird flying overhead.

  Nikolai watched in silence, gaze fixed on the dark blur above. “The Raven General.”

  Cristin snorted, crossing his arms. “He’s pretty flashy for a war general,” the attendant’s tone took on a sardonic edge. “Men like that are always hiding something.”

  Leaning forward, Cristin tried to squint past the thick red curtains, but he could only make out glimpses of the lone, straight-backed general. The attendant’s brows furrowed as he caught a brief flash of gold reflecting in the sunlight, a metallic gleam from within the carriage.

  “It’s definitely him,” Cristin murmured, his voice low.

  As if sensing the scrutinizing gaze, the figure within the carriage turned its head. Behind the golden mask, bright amber eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the crowd. Through the distance, it shot straight into Nikolai’s carriage.

  The ice prince’s eyes sharpened. Ice-blue eyes, cool and unflinching, met the burning amber gaze, matching the unspoken challenge.

  For the briefest of moments, time seemed to still as the Prince and General locked eyes. In the massive crowd, a silent battle of wills occurred between two people as cold blue and fiery amber clashed.

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  Cristin fretted as he hovered around Nikolai. His neck teemed with a nervous sheen of sweat.

  “Are you sure about this, my lord?” Cristin hoped the man would just give in, for once. “Please reconsider, I’m begging you.” Deep down, Cristin knew the futility of his pleas. Nikolai never yielded once his mind was set.

  The prince adjusted his cloak with an infuriating calm. He glanced over with the faintest hint of a smirk. ”I’ve never seen you this nervous,” he quipped with a straight face. “Except in front of Darcy.”

  “W-what! That’s not-“ Cristin spluttered, face turning a shade of red that rivaled the Wenge banners.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Nikolai ignored the flailing protests, easily stepping around the attendant.

  Their carriage sat idle outside of the great walls of the Eburean castle. The mighty structure towered over them. The ancient building was a testament to the Eburean founders' hope for a lasting and prosperous kingdom. Servants flitted about like busy ants, unloading what little luggage the Feldgrau party brought.

  Dunstan tended to their horses. As he dumped the hay in front of the hungry animals, his distrustful gaze surveyed the royal servants, cataloging their every move.

  A little ways ahead of them, the Wenge delegation mirrored their actions. Their servants were clad in flowing white silks, and they scurried back and forth with coordinated efficiency, hauling goods from the carriage into the castle. Among the goods were several heavy chests filled with exotic treasures. It almost looked like a dowry procession.

  Nikolai pulled the hood of the simple threadbare cloak over his head. The blue material was soft and sturdy but entirely unbefitting of a prince.

  Cristin stared in alarm at the dark stain on the back of the garment. He shook his head, dropping his head in defeat. “My lord…” he started pitifully. At least change the cloak, he wanted to beg.

  “If anyone asks,” the lord patted his attendant on the shoulder, “tell them that I’m taking a royal nap and am not to be disturbed.”

  The attendant stared, dumbfounded. Since when do you take naps, he wanted to retort.

  Cristin stepped forward, voice serious. “The queen will be nitpicking your every move. Now is not the time to raise her suspicion! We don’t have many allies here.”

  “Please,” the attendant's jaw tightened as he tried again. “Let me go in your stead.”

  “The Wenge delegation is larger than we expected,” Nikolai shook his head. “Rewanna is planning something but we don't know what." His sharp gaze fixed on his trusted aide. "We can’t afford to be caught off-guard. Feldgrau must be prepared.”

  Cristin crossed his arms, scowl deepening. “Then let me go!”

  “You’ve never been in the capital,” Nikolai replied evenly. “You’ll only draw attention. Besides… ” He nodded towards the group of Wenge serving girls headed off into the city. “The serving girls will have a looser tongue compared to trained soldiers. And the marketplace is familiar to me.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Cristin, compared to our other plans, it’s almost safe.”

  “Almost safe, he says,” muttered the attendant under his breath. Cristin’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He hadn’t meant for his lord to take his advice on pursuing women so literally!

  “Cheer up!” Reading the turmoil on the other man’s face, Nikolai merely smirked, “Enjoy the food and music. From what I remember, the chefs are quite talented.”

  Cristin glared, voice raising in rare anger. “Do you think I can worry about food when you’re wandering into danger alone?”

  “Do some espionage in the castle, talk to the guards.” The lord was unbothered and continued easily. “If you find yourself in some enjoyable company…”

  The lord tapped his lips thoughtfully. “Just don't get too excited, I wouldn't want to explain your actions to Darcy…”

  "You-!" Cristin’s face purpled. "We're not like that!” he protested indignantly.

  But Nikolai was already gone, vanishing into the crowd heading out of the castle grounds. Cristin could barely make out the hint of blue trailing after the serving girls before it disappeared completely.

  Left standing alone, Cristin held his face in his hands. “Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?”

  He heaved a sigh. Muttering to himself, the attendant trudged toward the castle.

  “I might as well get some food,” Cristin groaned as he mingled through the crowd of servants and lower nobles. What use was having the best intelligence-gathering system if his liege was just going to run head-first into danger? He grimaced. "What would Darcy say?"

  Probably slap him over the head.

  As he entered the castle, the man headed over towards the banquet hall, grabbing two plates. He already knew he going to need it.

  Cristin stomped towards the servants holding the trays of food. Stress eating it was! He paused to grab a third plate for good measure.

  Cristin: Many thanks for reading! ???

  (Glances at a bored Nikolai)

  Cristin: Please, my lord. ??

  Nikolai: (sighs dramatically) And please, leave a comment or just say hello. ?? (pauses, then shrugs) Or Cristin might quit. ??

  Cristin & Nikolai: See you next time! ????