It had been six days since Renault made his offer to Serena.

  In the alvarynn home, the air was thick with quiet preparation. Folded clothes lay neatly stacked atop the table, wrapped in soft linen, while small bundles of dried herbs and travel bread were set aside with careful intention. Idun moved with practiced calm, her hands steady as she packed provisions for the journey ahead.

  “Remember,” Idun said softly, not looking up, “mana refers to the energy within and used by the body, our life essence.”

  Serena nodded.

  “And ether,” Idun continued, finally meeting her gaze, “is the energy we shape for magic.”

  “Mana for the body,” Serena repeated quietly. “Ether for magic.”

  Idun allowed herself a faint smile.

  “Good.”

  She tied the final cord around a bundle of clothes, then placed a gentle hand on Serena’s shoulder.

  “If Master Turenne tells you that your mana is getting low,” Idun said, her voice firm now, “you must stop.”

  “If you push too far, your body will weaken and you might collapse like you did in the forest.”

  Serena swallowed and nodded again.

  “I’ll remember,” she said.

  “Can I—” Leif faltered. “Can I come too?”

  Idun turned to him, surprised. “I thought you disliked fighting.”

  “I do,” he admitted. “I just… want to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

  Idun’s expression softened. “The king will be with her,” she said gently. “Serena will be well protected.”

  She paused, then added with a faint sigh, “Besides, you should have said something sooner. We would have needed the king’s permission.”

  Leif glanced at Idun, then at Serena, his worry unwavering.

  “Next time,” Idun said, noticing her son’s unease, “you may ask the king for permission to come along.”

  With no other choice, Leif nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

  Idun reached out and ruffled her son’s hair.

  “Now,” she said gently, “let us pray together before we part ways.”

  She opened her arms, and both children stepped closer. Leif and Serena took her hands, and the three bowed their heads and whispered.

  “We give thanks to the Creator,

  have faith in the Protector,

  and trust always in the Mentor.”

  Idun let go of their hands and spoke first after the prayer.

  “I’ll be walking Serena to the palace,” Idun said. “Please take her things to the carriage.”

  Leif nodded, then stepped forward and wrapped Serena in a brief, careful hug.

  “Take care out there.”

  “I will,” Serena replied quietly. “Thank you, Leif.”

  After letting her go, Leif lifted the crate containing her belongings and headed outside.

  “Come now, dear,” Idun called, moving toward the door once Leif had left.

  Serena took a few steps after her—

  then stopped.

  She glanced around the house, listening.

  It was silent, save for a sound whose source she could not discern. A low whisper of a woman—

  Take my hand…

  She glanced left and right, up at the ceiling, nothing.

  It was just her and Idun, she thought, until her gaze turned to the front.

  And right then, the color drained from her face. Her lips quivered, and beads of sweat formed along her brow.

  Just beyond the wide-open doorway,

  standing on the stone pathway,

  a woman-shaped silhouette lingered, hand outstretched.

  Her form was so dark it seemed to drink in the light around it, its edges blurring against the day, as though the world itself refused to acknowledge her presence.

  She whispered once more.

  Come, take my hand…

  Serena’s breath caught in her throat.

  “Serena, is everything all right, dear?” Idun asked, noticing her discomfort, turning to glance in the direction Serena was staring.

  Serena hesitated, then blinked.

  The silhouette was gone.

  She shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed on the doorway a moment longer, as if to be certain the figure had truly disappeared.

  “Yes, Mother Idun,” she said after a moment, forcing the words past her throat.

  “Everything is… everything is fine.”

  Serena went to Idun, slipped her hand into her mother’s, and together they made their way toward the palace.

  Everything is fine.

  Serena repeated to herself as they walked.

  Inside the palace, royal auditors gathered with the harvest season concluded. Some had just returned from distant towns with sealed ledgers; others were already preparing to depart, having submitted their reports. Scribes exchanged bundles of parchment, their murmurs blending with the footsteps of servants carrying crates of dried grain brought for inspection into storage.

  In the council room itself, King Renault sat with his ministers. The atmosphere was calm and work worn. The only sounds were the crackle of the hearth, the soft rustle of paper, and the subdued voices of ministers comparing figures from their respective scrolls.

  Several of them nodded, though a few kept poring over their scrolls, skepticism lingering behind furrowed brows.

  Renault’s eyes were fixated on the stacked ledgers before him, his expression thoughtful. As monarch, he understood too well that prosperity was fragile, and complacency its enemy.

  Two hours later, after the remaining reports had finally arrived and every figure had been examined twice over, Renault declared the numbers satisfactory and dismissed the ministers.

  The door shut behind the last of them.

  Renault released a long, weary exhale and leaned back in his chair.

  “Grain is becoming costlier to produce,” he murmured.

  “Truly, Majesty,” Horace replied, still folding the reports into neat stacks. “Count Nicolas’s proposal does carry more weight than we first assumed.”

  Renault’s gaze drifted back to the rolled report lying before him. He tapped it once, absently, as if hoping the parchment might yield some hidden reassurance. His thoughts, however, pulled southward, toward the Confederated States and the battered lands Nicolas had spoken of.

  “How long has it been,” Renault asked quietly, “since the Silent Decades’ economic devastation finally passed?”

  Horace paused mid-roll. He lifted his head, brows narrowing slightly in thought.

  “It depends by region, sire,” he answered at last. “But the general consensus places recovery at roughly the year 1686.”

  Renault closed his eyes. His breathing was calm, but strained around the edges, the thought itself weighed more heavily than the ledgers ever could.

  “Forty-two years…” he murmured. “And still Calyssia suffers.”

  Horace returned to sorting the scrolls, sealing each with quick, practiced motions.

  “It should not surprise us, Majesty,” he said. “Many kingdoms outside Ambria recovered far more quickly. Naturally, the wealthy left for those lands while they could.”

  His gaze remained on the reports as he tied the final ribbon.

  “They left behind empty workshops, abandoned estates, and towns with no patrons to fund their rebuilding. On top of being the most heavily taxed region during—” Horace hesitated a bit, eyes darting at the king, though Renault didn’t lift his gaze.

  Horace continued after clearing his throat.

  “…in the past, the people were left with nothing to build upon.”

  Silence lingered as Horace handed the sealed documents to an attendant.

  Renault’s gaze drifted toward the closed windows. Outside, the last leaves had fallen, leaving only the stillness of late autumn pressing against the glass.

  “What do you think, Horace?” Renault finally asked. “Should we accept Nicolas’s proposal?”

  Horace nodded absently to the attendant before taking a seat beside him. He reached for the teapot, pouring into the king’s cup with steady, deliberate motions, a gesture that gave him a moment to choose his words.

  “I would advise caution, sire,” he said at last. “You recall what happened when your late father offered them aid.”

  Renault said nothing. He didn’t need to. The memory stirred at once, vivid, bitter.

  Horace slid the teacup toward him.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Three weeks later,” Horace continued quietly, “they sent back crates full of ashes. The grain burned to cinders.”

  Renault’s fingers curled slightly around the cup, though he did not drink.

  “They would rather starve than receive aid from us, Majesty,” Horace said, his voice soft but unwavering.

  He paused, considering.

  “That said…” he added carefully, “I would not dismiss the count outright. I would consider further discussion with him. I am certain he is aware of the sentiment in the Confederated States, and that he has already prepared, or is in the process of drafting, a plan to regain their favor.”

  Horace’s gaze lifted, steady and cautious.

  “I will consider it, Horace,” Renault said at last.

  “Setting that aside, if you don’t mind me asking, Majesty…” Horace leaned back slightly, his eyes sharpening with quiet curiosity. “Why isn’t Prince Edmund here? I assumed you wished him to review the grain reports with us.”

  Renault took a slow sip of tea, letting the rising steam ease the fatigue gathering behind his eyes.

  “He has been with Grenier and Aristide these past few days,” the king replied. “They’re helping him study our history. I didn’t want to burden his mind further today.”

  “Ah. Our history.”

  Horace’s tone softened. A note of understanding beneath the words.

  “A wise decision, Majesty,” he murmured. “Digesting that while discussing grain shortages would be far too heavy a load for a young man of Prince Edmund’s age.”

  While the two men continued their discussion over tea, a knock sounded at the door. One of the attendants stepped in and bowed.

  “Majesty, Serena and Tristan are waiting outside,” he announced. “They’ve come as you requested.”

  “Excellent,” Renault said, setting his cup aside. “I’ll meet them at once.”

  Horace also set his tea down and rose to follow. Outside the chamber, the two youths stood waiting, backs straight, hands folded respectfully.

  “Majesty,” they greeted in unison with a bow.

  “Serena, Tristan,” Renault said warmly, “how are you both today?”

  “I am well… Majesty,” Serena answered softly.

  “I too am doing well, Majesty,” Tristan replied with crisp formality.

  “Good,” Renault nodded, satisfied. His gaze settled on Serena. “Serena, do you remember Tristan?”

  Serena turned toward the older boy, head tilting slightly. Tristan kept his posture rigid, gaze fixed ahead until spoken to. After a moment, recognition flickered in her eyes.

  “Yes… I remember,” Serena said. “You asked me… to heal him once. After he was injured… during training.”

  “Precisely,” Renault replied with an approving smile. “Tristan will now be joining you during your lessons. I want the two of you to learn together.”

  He turned to the young man. “That is acceptable to you, I trust, Tristan?”

  Tristan bowed, fist over his heart. “It would be an honor to train alongside her, Your Majesty.”

  “Excellent,” the king said with a warm, almost fatherly tone. “The two of you head to the main hall. I’ll join you shortly.”

  Renault and Horace departed down a side corridor, leaving Serena and Tristan to make their way toward the main hall.

  At first, neither spoke.

  The mirage from earlier had been weighing heavy in Serena’s chest. Moreover, her natural shyness kept her quiet, and Tristan, disciplined, formal, and raised under strict expectations, would not speak unless addressed. Only their footsteps echoed softly along the wide, silent corridors.

  Halfway to their destination, Serena finally gathered the courage to talk, wanting to ease the tension burdening her. She glanced up at him, her voice small but earnest.

  “Do you live close by?”

  Tristan didn’t turn his head, but he answered at once. “Yes.”

  Serena nodded, then tried again.

  “How… how did you know the king?”

  “My father owns a forge near the palace,” Tristan replied, still keeping his gaze forward. “We came here from Trinovantes years ago. His Majesty offered him work and a place to live.”

  Serena blinked, intrigued.

  “Oh… so you and the king have always been… close?” she asked carefully.

  Tristan’s footsteps didn’t slow. “Not close, no,” he said. “But my father is loyal to him. And I was raised to repay that generosity through service.”

  He paused, just long enough for it to sound like a personal truth rather than a recitation of duty.

  “That is why I train.”

  “Why… did your father move here?”

  “He grew to dislike Trinovantes’s martial traditions. He wanted a more peaceful life, one where he doesn’t have to drill soldiers every day.”

  Serena wanted to ask Tristan more questions as she always got curious when meeting new faces. She had dozens bubbling in her chest, but before she could speak again, her steps slowed.

  Someone familiar stood at the end of the corridor.

  Her eyes widened just slightly.

  “Prince Edmund…” she breathed.

  Edmund had just come from the library with Aristide, their lessons finished for the afternoon. He hadn’t seen Serena in nearly a week. His studies had consumed most of his time.

  Serena dipped her head in a small bow. Tristan followed her lead with a deeper, more formal one.

  “How are you doing, Serena?” Edmund asked, his tone softening the moment he saw her face.

  “I’m doing well… Highness,” she replied. “How about you?”

  “Quite good,” Edmund said with a smile. “Sorry I haven’t visited in a while. I’ve been… a bit occupied.”

  “It’s okay,” Serena assured quickly, her smile warming. “I understand. I’m… happy to see you today.”

  Edmund’s expression gentled further.

  “I’m happy to see you too,” he said quietly.

  He then turned toward Tristan, who still stood upright and silent beside her.

  “Tristan, I didn’t know you were here at the palace.”

  “His Majesty summoned me today to accompany Serena in her training,” Tristan answered formally.

  Edmund tilted his head, thinking, and then the realization struck.

  “Oh. Right,” he murmured. “Father’s offer.”

  He turned back to Serena, taking a step closer instinctively.

  “I didn’t know you accepted,” he said, concern threading his voice. “Will you be fine? I thought you might refuse, but you accepted and…”

  Serena nodded softly.

  “I will be fine… I wanted to help… to keep you safe. That’s why.”

  Neither Edmund nor Serena spoke after that.

  Edmund’s gaze lingered on her a moment too long, soft, warm, almost mesmerized. His cheeks had taken on a faint pink hue, and Serena, shy but pleased, lowered her eyes for a heartbeat.

  Before either of them could gather their thoughts—

  “Then you’re in good hands, Serena,” Aristide said from behind Edmund, making his elder brother jolt slightly. “Tristan is exceptional with a sword. And his father, Sir Humphrey, was a renowned knight in Trinovantes.”

  Edmund blinked himself back into composure and nodded quickly.

  “That’s right. You used to live in Trinovantes’s capital, didn’t you, Tristan?”

  “That is correct, Your Highness,” Tristan replied. “My family resided in Camulus.”

  “What was your father’s title again?” Edmund asked, cupping his chin, trying to remember. “Knight of…”

  “He was honored as Knight of the Forge by the late Grand Duke William,” Tristan finished. “For both his military aptitude and his mastery in blacksmithing.”

  Aristide gave a small, approving nod.

  “A rare distinction.”

  Serena’s eyes flickered toward Tristan again. She had wanted to ask him more questions since they met that day.

  “I thought your father… hated being a soldier,” she said softly.

  Tristan nodded.

  “Indeed, Lady Serena,” he replied with calm formality. “Though he was an accomplished soldier, he never truly had the heart for wielding the blade as much as he did for forging one. Hence his decision to leave for Aurelith.”

  Lady Serena, Edmund noted, a brow arching slightly. The title sounded strange coming from Tristan’s lips, unnecessarily formal, but earnest.

  Encouraged by Tristan’s steady answers, Serena continued, her voice small but curious.

  “How did your father… become a knight?”

  “What was Camulus like?”

  “And… why do you never smile?”

  Edmund nearly coughed at the last question, hiding the twitch of amusement threatening to reach his mouth.

  Tristan, however, didn’t flinch.

  He simply answered each question with the same composed politeness, as though Serena’s earnest barrage of curiosity didn’t bother him in the slightest.

  Before Serena could ask another, footsteps echoed down the corridor.

  King Renault approached, accompanied by two knights and a mage. The knights were fully armored. One with a sword sheathed at his hip, the other had a long spear strapped across his back. The mage wore layered blue robes and carried a polished wooden staff crowned with a red stone that glowed faintly under the lantern light.

  Tristan instinctively stepped a little closer to Serena, taking his place beside her.

  Renault’s warm voice greeted them.

  “I see you all found each other.”

  His gaze moved over each of the younger ones, gentle, almost fatherly. Standing before the monarch should have felt intimidating, but Renault carried himself with a softness that eased the air around him. Even the sword sheathed at his own side added no tension.

  “How were your studies, Edmund?” the king asked first.

  “It went well, Father,” Edmund replied, though his words came with a hint of uncertainty and timidity. “I’m learning things I… didn’t know before.”

  “Well done, my son,” Renault said, despite the tone of Edmund’s voice.

  He then turned to Aristide. “And I trust he’s progressing well, Aristide?”

  “He is, Father,” Aristide answered with a respectful bow. “Though I would say—”

  “So long as he’s progressing well,” Renault interjected with a firm but kindly tone, “that is enough.”

  “As you say, Father,” Aristide replied, bowing once more.

  Renault stepped forward, gesturing to the armored men and the mage standing behind him.

  “Serena,” he said, “I would like you to meet Sir Felix, one of our finest swordsmen. And this is Sir Gilbert, master of the spear. The mage is Master Turenne, among our foremost combat mages.”

  Serena’s hands tightened briefly in her skirt, but she stepped forward and bowed.

  “It’s a pleasure… to meet you all.”

  Tristan bowed as well.

  The knights and the mage returned the gesture with crisp professionalism.

  “If you’re both prepared,” Renault said, “we will depart for the training ground now.”

  “I am ready for departure, Majesty,” Tristan answered instantly.

  Serena nodded. “I’m ready as well.”

  “Excellent,” Renault said. “Let us go then.”

  He turned and began walking. His knights, Master Turenne, Serena, and Tristan followed in formation.

  Edmund watched them take their first few steps down the hall. Something tugged at him. Something instinctive and protective.

  “Father,” he called suddenly, “may I accompany you?”

  Renault stopped and turned back toward his son. The sound in the corridor fell still as he stepped closer, preparing to answer him.

  “We’ll be away for six days,” Renault said, his tone firm yet calm. “I need you to remain here and take charge of the palace with Minister Horace.”

  “But…” Edmund stepped forward, eyes pleading. “Father, I’m sure Minister Horace can handle everything. And Aristide is here too. He’s much better than me at thinking. Please… I want to help Serena learn as well.”

  Renault shook his head. His composure did not waver, even under his son’s earnest insistence.

  “Just as she is coming with me to learn her future duties,” he said gently, “you must remain here to learn yours, my son. And part of those duties…” he placed emphasis on the words, “is learning which affairs require your presence most.”

  Edmund’s gaze wavered, first toward his father, then toward Serena standing quietly behind him. Despite the firm refusal, a longing remained in his eyes.

  Renault stepped closer when he noticed the disappointment written plainly on his son’s face. He placed a reassuring hand on Edmund’s shoulder.

  “I know you worry for her safety,” he said softly, his voice dropping to something meant only for Edmund. “But Turenne is with us. I am with her. And the knights as well. We will keep her safe.”

  Edmund’s breath trembled faintly. He lowered his eyes, drew in a steadying breath, and nodded.

  “I understand, Father.”

  Renault tapped his shoulder twice, warmly, proud, before returning to the group.

  “Thank you, Edmund. I will see you in six days.”

  Serena and Edmund exchanged a small wave, shy on her end and quiet on his. Then the king’s entourage turned the corner toward the stables and disappeared from view.

  Edmund let out a long, dissatisfied exhale.

  “Why do they have to be away for so long?”

  “Serena will be trained to use magic in combat,” Aristide replied matter-of-factly. “Father wants to make sure she can control her release properly, away from the palace and the city. For safety.”

  “Still…” Edmund muttered, shoulders sagging. “Why ask Tristan and not me to come?”

  “Perhaps Father wanted someone more disciplined to learn beside her,” Aristide reasoned. “Someone close to her age, still learning, but willing to push her properly and not go easy on her.”

  Edmund puffed out a defeated breath, though frustration still clung to his tone.

  “Yeah… I guess you’re right. Tristan’s good with a sword. And stiffer than you. He can teach Serena well.”

  “I knew you’d—wait.” Aristide paused mid-nod as Edmund’s words sank in. “What do you mean stiff?”

  “Huh?” Edmund turned, suddenly realizing what he’d said under Aristide’s glare. “Oh—no, I meant it in a good, um… professional way.”

  “Uh-huh,” Aristide replied, eyes narrowing. “As if I’ve forgotten how you laughed at me a few days ago.”

  Edmund almost laughed again at the memory, but he thankfully managed to restrain himself.

  “I was just… surprised. Like I told you back then.”

  “Very well,” Aristide said with exaggerated dignity. “Since you are clearly trying to stay on my good side so I’ll help you study, I shall take your word.”

  Edmund let out a relieved sigh, grateful to have avoided another scuffle caused by teasing his brother.

  “Anyway,” Aristide continued, brushing the moment aside, “setting this banter aside… do you want to head to the Royal Gallery?”

  “The gallery?” Edmund asked, brows lifting.

  Aristide nodded, brightening a little. “It’s easier to understand history when you see the objects themselves, coins, tools, garments, rather than only reading about them.”

  Edmund looked up thoughtfully. “I do want to see the first Ambrian coins… and the old styles of clothing.”

  “Excellent!” Aristide exclaimed, unable to hide the spark of excitement. “Let’s go then!”

  He hurried down the corridor toward the gallery, and Edmund couldn’t stop a fond smile from rising.

  He now understood exactly why Aristide had suggested the visit.

  Grenier had been right.

  Beneath Aristide’s restrained manners and measured tone, he was still a young man with his own hidden bursts of enthusiasm.

  And so, as Serena strode with King Renault and Edmund followed Aristide,

  the girl and the prince set upon separate paths.

  One to discover herself.

  The other to understand his history.

  And somewhere between those two truths,

  as they stepped farther from one another,

  the future of the kingdom quietly shifted once more.