The streets of Eaglelight gleamed like burnished bronze beneath the lanterns. Evening smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the scent of roasted chestnuts, broth, and the sour tang of tallow lamps burning low in the cold air.

  The three squires walked shoulder to shoulder—dusty boots, Highmarsh cloaks, and heads still buzzing with the noise of their victory. Ahead, the castle loomed: tall walls of pale stone lit gold by torches, the great banners of the white eagle rippling against a violet sky.

  Toby slowed as they crossed the outer bridge and looked toward the two beside him. Reece yawned into his hand, bleary-eyed but smiling. Zak’s grin, on the other hand, had not faded since afternoon.

  “Hey,” Toby said quietly, pulling something from the pouch on his belt. Three gold marks, gleaming even in the torchlight. He flicked one toward each of them.

  Zak caught his, startled. “What—? Toby, this is—these are—”

  “Gold marks,” Reece finished softly, staring down at the coin as if afraid it might disappear. “From your prize chest?”

  Toby nodded once. “Four marks. Four falcons.” He held up the last coin between two fingers, turning it so it caught the light. “The last one’s for Sire Kay.”

  Zak frowned, his usual humor softening. “You don’t have to—”

  “I know,” Toby cut in gently. “But I want to.”

  Reece hesitated, shaking his head. “You earned this, Toby. You won the tournament. We just—”

  “—proved ourselves,” Toby said firmly. “All of us. You two fought well, and Sire Kay’s the reason we’re standing here at all. Four coins. Four would-be knights. Seems right.”

  For a moment, neither spoke. Only the sound of hooves and the low murmur of the city filled the air. Then Zak laughed, rubbing his thumb over the engraved falcon on the coin’s face.

  “If this is how you pay loyalty, I’ll never leave your service.”

  Reece smiled, slipping the coin into his pouch with quiet care. “I’ll keep mine safe—a reminder we made it this far.”

  Toby tucked the last coin back into his pocket, the one meant for Sire Kay, and looked toward the castle ahead. The gold-lit gates rose tall and silent before them, and the air grew still in that way places of power often did.

  “Let’s go make him proud,” Toby said.

  They were led through marble corridors that glowed faintly under torchlight. Carved eagles lined the walls, their wings stretching up toward high vaulted ceilings. The squires walked in silence behind the castellan—their boots loud against polished stone, hearts louder still.

  When they entered the great hall, the space swallowed them whole. It was vast—columns of white stone rising into shadow, banners hanging like rivers of silk. At the far end, beneath a window of colored glass, sat the throne of Eaglelight.

  King Aldred the Fourth—the Eagle King—was not what Toby expected. He was neither young nor frail, but something in between, a man whose strength had traded speed for endurance. His hair was iron-grey, his eyes sharp and gold like the sigil he bore.

  The herald announced them, voice carrying clear: “Your Majesty, the squires of Highmarsh, bearing word from Sire Kay of Highmarsh.”

  A flicker of recognition crossed the King’s face. “Ah. The falcon banner.” He gestured for them to step forward. “Approach.”

  Toby went first, eyes catching on the sealed parchment already resting on the King’s arm. He dropped to one knee all the same. “Your Majesty.”

  The King glanced down at the letter, its seal already broken, before looking back at them.

  “So it’s true, then. They sent squires. No knight to speak for the fief.” His tone wasn’t cruel, only dry—the weary humor of one long used to disappointment. “And yet…” He looked to Toby with faint amusement. “You’re the same lad who won my tournament this afternoon.”

  Toby bowed his head slightly. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The King leaned back. “Then I suppose I’ll forgive the slight. Any realm that breeds squires capable of humbling Goldeer’s finest must be raising strong knights indeed.”

  Zak couldn’t help a grin. Reece straightened with pride. Toby kept his expression steady, though warmth touched his chest.

  The King tapped the parchment with his index finger. “Now, these tidings. You speak of elves. I haven’t heard that word in a generation.”

  Toby nodded slowly. “They’ve returned, Your Majesty. I was there when they came—in Brindle Hollow. A year ago now.”

  The King’s brows drew together. “And Sire Kay believes this a lasting threat?”

  “He does,” Toby answered. “We all do. They strike from the south marshes, quick and silent. If they’re left alone, they’ll grow bolder.”

  The King sighed, looking toward the great window above. Rainlight filtered through the colored glass—the white eagle glimmered faintly on the floor before his throne.

  “Do you know how many lords say the same of something else, every month?” he asked quietly. “Brigands, border feuds, crops gone to rot, beasts gone wild. But elves…” He shook his head. “That’s a rarer word. A dangerous one.”

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  He turned the letter over in his hands. “I can’t send men south. Not yet. The war in the north drags on—and every sword I move weakens another border.”

  Toby hesitated. “Then… the elves will keep spreading, Your Majesty.”

  The King glanced back at him, measuring him in a single, sharp look. Then he smiled faintly. “You speak plainly. I like that. Tell me, what would your lord do with coin instead of soldiers?”

  Toby exchanged a glance with the others, then said carefully, “Sire Kay and Castellan Lawrence wrote of this in the letter. They believe we can build and hire—walls, watchtowers, militia, mercenaries. Or remove the problem before it grows worse. That way the land can prosper, and in time, the crown receives more than it gave.”

  For a long moment, the hall was quiet except for the echo of the King’s fingers drumming lightly on the armrest.

  Then Aldred nodded. “A sound mind in that one. Very well. I’ll release a purse from the southern levy funds—enough to aid in their defense and recruitment. But only because the boy who bears the message fights like a knight already.”

  Toby blinked. “Your Majesty?”

  The King smiled. “Tell your Sire Kay that the crown acknowledges his service and sends its aid. And tell your instructor, Master Maxwell, that his teaching still bears fine fruit.”

  Zak elbowed Toby gently, grinning. “You hear that? We’re royal messengers now.”

  Reece muttered, “Better than being royal fodder.”

  The King smiled and rose from his seat. “Go then, Falcons of Highmarsh. Carry word home. The realm is blessed to know such hearts still guard its borders.”

  They bowed deeply. Toby’s hand tightened briefly around the last gold mark in his pocket—the one meant for Sire Kay—as they turned to leave.

  Behind them, the King’s voice echoed once more through the hall: “And tell your lord this—the kingdom hasn’t forgotten the old oaths. If the elves truly stir once more in great force… the Eagle will not let the Falcon stand alone.”

  The night air outside the castle was crisp and cool, washing the heat of the hall from their skin. Torches lined the courtyard, their flames bending in the wind like slender gold ribbons.

  The squires walked in silence for a time, boots striking the marble steps in rhythm. Behind them, the banners of the gold eagle rippled against the violet sky. Ahead, Eaglelight stretched out—streets glowing with lamplight, the murmur of merchants closing their stalls, and the far-off clatter of horses on cobblestone.

  Toby walked in the middle, one hand resting lightly on the leather pouch at his belt. Inside was the writ—sealed in yellow wax, bearing the royal crest. A few sheets of parchment, and yet it carried more weight than steel.

  Zak peered down at the pouch as they crossed the outer bridge. “Still can’t believe he just handed that to you,” he said, his tone low but edged with disbelief. “No guards, no advisor hovering about—just ‘here you go, lad, take some of the Kingdom’s gold.’”

  Reece nodded. “Aye, it felt… easy. Too easy. Shouldn’t something like that take, I don’t know—”

  “Half a dozen seals and a week of arguing?” Zak offered.

  “Exactly.”

  Toby glanced between them, then looked toward the dark river below, where the water wound through the town—another defense for the grand castle—glimmering faintly in the torchlight.

  “Maybe it was easy because he meant it,” he said softly. “Maybe he trusts Sire Kay. Or trusts that Highmarsh is worth the gamble.”

  Zak snorted. “Or maybe he’s tired of listening to nobles and wanted the problem off his table.”

  “Does it matter?” Reece said, voice careful. “Whether it’s trust or indifference, we still have it.”

  Toby nodded. “Aye, and that means something. The King’s levy opens doors—to coin, to men, to supplies. With this, Sire Kay could raise a company strong enough to hold the marsh.”

  Zak rubbed at his neck. “Or strong enough for Hudson to march through every fief in the south if it fell into his hands.”

  That thought settled like lead between them. The faint sound of the river filled the quiet.

  Reece frowned. “You really think Hudson would stoop that low?”

  Toby met his eyes. “He already did. He went to war for land that wasn’t his, and killed for pride. Why stop now?”

  Zak’s humor faded, replaced by a more sober expression. “Then we guard it like it’s the Falcon’s heart.”

  Toby nodded. “We do.”

  They passed through the gatehouse, where guards saluted lazily—the night shift, their armor dull in the lantern light. The streets beyond were empty but alive with the smells of stables and cooling forges. Somewhere not too far, a cheer rose—a tavern’s celebration.

  Reece tugged his cloak tighter. “Still feels strange, doesn’t it? How something so small could change everything.”

  Toby touched the pouch again. “Tell that to Lawrence.”

  Zak stretched his shoulders with a grunt. “Well, it’s ours now. Guess that makes us the King’s errand boys—or his scapegoats if it all goes wrong.”

  Toby allowed himself a small smile. “You’d rather he hadn’t given it?”

  Zak thought about that, then sighed. “No. I’d rather it had come with a few more soldiers attached.”

  Reece laughed quietly. “You wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

  “I’d learn fast,” Zak said, mock-offended. “First order: someone else carries the writ. Preferably a knight with more armor and less of a hangover.”

  Toby shook his head. “We’ll be fine. We made it this far—we can make it home.”

  They reached The Silver Stag, its signboard swaying gently above the door. Warm light spilled from the windows, carrying the sounds of laughter and clinking mugs into the street. For a long moment, none of them spoke. Then Toby drew a slow breath.

  “Come dawn,” he said, “we ride south. Back to Highmarsh.”

  Reece looked over the railing at the dark flow beneath. “Feels strange being this far from home for so long. Will it still be ours by the time we return?”

  Zak nodded. “Aye. It’s ours. And if the elves, or Hudson, or anyone else comes for it—”

  Toby finished for him, voice steady. “—then they’ll have to go through us first.”

  In the morning, the three rode side by side, looking down the long road that stretched into the mist beyond the city walls. Once, that road had led Toby through ruin. Fire, ash, and loss. But now… now it led to something worth defending. The same road—once walked from ruin, now ridden to prevent it. The same boy, tempered into something more.

  Above the gatehouse, the wind stirred the banners. The falcon of Highmarsh fluttered briefly against the light—smaller than the eagle that flew beside it, but proud all the same. For a moment, he just stared. He’d wondered what had become of their banner—and somehow, seeing it there felt like an unspoken gift of honor.

  “Come on,” Toby said at last. “We’ve got a long ride home.”

  They turned from the city, cloaks snapping behind them as the sun started taking shape through the morning haze—gold spilling slowly across the road ahead. The writ stayed close to Toby’s heart, sealed and safe—a fragile promise of hope. The road ahead was long, but this time he wouldn’t walk it as a survivor. He would walk it with purpose, with power, and with brothers beside him.

  As Falcons.