Silence fell around the table, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery. The queen lifted her cup of warm honey wine with practiced grace, taking a slow sip. The sweetness lingered on her tongue, the warmth spreading through her chest, chasing away the lingering chill that hung in the dining hall.
Taking the last sip, she set the cup down with quiet grace, gesturing for the maid to clear her place. Lifting a napkin, she dabbed delicately at the corner of her lips before turning her gaze toward Seravyn, her jade eyes narrowed, sharpening like blades as she straightened in her seat. Her posture shifted regal, commanding, a queen in everything but crown.
"We received information from your uncle," she said, her voice smooth yet edged. "Another boatload of runaway men from the Thar'Zan Queendom."
A flicker of surprise broke across Seravyn's face, quick as lightning gone just as fast. She lifted her cup of honey wine with controlled grace, taking a slow sip before lowering it again and meeting the queen's razor-sharp gaze head-on.
The queen spoke.
Her words calm but carrying the weight of something grim.
"He planned to turn them back," she said. "But when he saw them… he couldn't. Some half-dead, the rest little more than bones wrapped in skin. The sea had already claimed some. Those few still breathing were only borrowed time."
Seravyn met her mother's eyes.
A faint tension crawled up her spine.
Of course her uncle had hesitated. Any sane ruler would. Taking in runaway men from Thar'Zan invited trouble political, military, and all the shadows in between.
But her mother was not known for caution.
Even if her uncle had rejected them, Seravyn knew exactly how the queen would have responded. Mercy was her greatest weapon… and her most dangerous weakness. The other two matriarchies on the Elaris Continent despised that soft spot of hers, her instinct to shelter the defenseless, especially men.
In the world they lived in, compassion was a crack in the armor.
And cracks always spread.
Seravyn eased back in her seat, stretching just enough to work the stiffness from her shoulders. The air in the hall felt heavier than usual thick with the unspoken truth that the tension between their kingdom and the other matriarchies grew a little tighter every day.
Still… she understood her mother. And with each passing day, she respected her more for the choices others called foolish.
"Then," Seravyn said softly, "should we send word to Queen Latiff? If she hears it from us first, it might blunt her reaction."
The queen's gaze flicked toward her consort just a heartbeat, but enough to say everything.
Then her eyes returned to Seravyn.
"We tried diplomacy," she murmured. "The last time a boatload of men and children washed up on our shores, we sent Mr. Heimric betrothed to the Duchess of the Northern Valley, at that."
Her fingers tightened around her cup.
"All we received in return was his decomposing skull… and a letter soaked through with his blood, spelling out her disapproval in great detail."
A quiet settled over the table.
Not silence pressure.
The kind that warns that a storm is already blooming on the horizon.
"This is far gone, Mother."
Seravyn's voice was quiet, but the steel beneath it rang clear. "She's a veiled beast. Words don't reach her anymore. If we keep accepting stowaways, we need solid ground to stand on—or better yet…"
She leaned forward slightly, jade eyes narrowing.
"Why don't we ask Uncle to close the western borders? If we seal them off, even temporarily, the blame on us weakens. Queen Latiff's gaze shifts elsewhere. And we both know… with how quickly his kingdom is growing, his budget stretches thin. More mouths to feed. Fewer hands to toil."
"We can't keep feeding his delusion of being the savior of men," Seravyn said, her tone edged like a drawn blade. "Meanwhile, we stretch the empire's budget just to cover his shortcomings. And with the tension between us and the other two Queendoms…"
Her eyes darkened.
"Who knows when they'll decide to strike."
The words hung in the air harsh, but true, and heavy enough to crack stone.
The Empress didn't flinch. She absorbed the blow like someone used to swallowing bitter medicine. Slowly, she nodded, then lifted two fingers in a small gesture. A maid stepped forward at once, placing a stack of sealed files into her hand.
Seravyn watched in silence as her mother flipped through the files with meticulous precision. Page after page whispered against the Empress's fingers, the only sound in the vast chamber. Then the queen lifted her head slowly, deliberately her gaze locking onto Seravyn's. Her eyes were calm, but cold in a way that made the room feel smaller.
"We've received reports," the Empress said, voice low enough to chill the air. "High-grade monsters are moving south through the Highlands."
The table fell utterly silent.
Everyone knew what that meant.
Monsters were mindless gluttons walking disasters with jagged teeth and empty skulls, roaming endlessly in search of flesh to tear apart. Normally, their movements were scattered, chaotic. But when they migrated in groups… that was something else entirely.
And the south had been drowning for weeks now seasonal floods were nothing new but a grand migration happening during the flood season?
That was the first sign something was wrong.
The last time monsters moved in numbers large enough to be called a horde, the empire's transport network collapsed overnight. Caravans vanished. Rail tracks twisted under claw and weight. Trade froze. Cities starved. And the smaller towns cut off and unprotected were left to fend for themselves against the tide of beasts pouring through their streets.
It had taken years to recover.
Seravyn felt a cold weight settling in her chest. This time… it could be worse.
"What do we do, Mother?"
Seravyn asked, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed the cold façade she tried so hard to maintain.
The Queen's lips curved into a faint, almost tender smile. Warm light from the chandelier settled on her features, softening the steel beneath her gaze. She closed the file in her hands with deliberate care before answering the question that had been choking the room since the meeting began.
"Multiple sightings," she said quietly, "of large ships. Each one carrying a full Thar'Zanian Guardian Trove. And they draw closer by the day as if announcing an inevitable strike.
"We cannot afford to waste the Rose Brigade on culling cheap monsters," the Queen continued, her voice turning sharp. "Not while our borders remain exposed to those deranged queens to the east. One mistake, Seravyn one miscalculation and they will carve into our lands the moment we look away."
She leaned back, fingers steepled, the warmth in her smile now gone.
"The monsters in the south may be mindless, but the women waiting across our frontier are anything but.
"we'll just have to put our faiths on Shieldmaidens," the Empress said at last. Her voice sharpened like glass, and the temperature in the dining hall seemed to drop with every word.
Her gaze locked onto Seravyn cold, unwavering, imperial.
"You will lead them."
The room went still.
"Ride into the Highlands," she continued, "and clear every High Beast before they reach the valleys. If even a handful slip past you, they'll scatter and once they do, rooting them out one by one will bleed our forces dry."
Her tone pressed down on everyone present, heavy as iron, final as a verdict.
"Take a hundred Floormen with you. They'll handle the lesser creatures."
For a moment, no one breathed.
This was the Empress beneath the crown the woman whispered about in courts and war camps alike. The one whose eyes could freeze a man to the bone, whose orders carried the quiet promise of disaster if disobeyed.
Seravyn swallowed, bowed her head slightly, and felt the weight of an empire settle on her shoulders.
Seravyn shifted lightly in her seat before rising, the legs of her chair whispering against the marble floor. Half her meal still lay untouched whatever appetite she had walked in with had long since been carved away by her mother's words.
"I'll inform Ivory immediately," she said, voice firm despite the knot tightening in her chest. "The Shieldmaidens will be ready before moonrise. And I'll have Sir Alex gather the best of the Floormen. We depart at dawn."
Her eyes met the Empress's steady, respectful, sharpened by purpose.
The Empress responded with only a slight nod. A gesture small enough to be subtle, yet heavy enough to seal a military order. She turned to the nearest maid, extending her cup to be refilled with warm honey-wine, its sweet scent cutting faintly through the chill of the dining hall.
Seravyn bowed, then turned with the effortless grace drilled into her since childhood, ready to leave
"Seravyn."
Her mother's voice, smooth but edged, stopped her mid-step.
The Empress brought the cup to her lips, blowing lightly on the rising steam, her next words leaving her almost casually yet the weight behind them suggested she had been waiting morning evening to ask.
"I've been meaning to ask," she murmured, "why are you dressed that way?"
The question lingered in the air, soft… but unmistakably loaded.
Seravyn's gaze dipped to her own clothes
not because she was ashamed,
but because her mother's question carried the weight of a blade pressed to the nape of her neck.
Her outfit was elegant, yes, but built for movement instead of ceremony.
High-waisted combat leggings clung to her legs like a second skin, the fabric sleek and reactive, shaped for someone who expected to run, leap, or kill at a moment's notice. Her crop top, dark and fitted, breathed easily against her skin, crafted for warriors who valued mobility over modesty.
And draped over her shoulders was the thing that truly drew the Empress's eye.
Her jacket white, light, and almost deceptively simple glimmered under the golden chandelier. Thin golden stripes traced the length of the sleeves, subtle but defiant, catching the light whenever she moved. And on her back, embroidered with painstaking precision, was the emblem of the Empire:
A spotted hyena's face, jaws slightly parted in a silent challenge,
its golden crown tilted like it had been claimed by force,
laurel branches curling around it like vines bowing in submission.
A symbol of fearlessness.
A symbol of victory.
A symbol the Empress did not give out lightly.
Seravyn felt heat creep up her neck before she could stop it.
Her cheeks flushed not the dignified blush of a princess, but the unmistakable, helpless warmth of a child caught doing something oddly personal.
She lifted her head and met her mother's gaze.
The Empress's eyes were wide with curiosity, the kind she only ever showed behind closed doors soft, almost playful, like she was waiting for Seravyn to explain herself the way a young girl might explain sneaking sweets before dinner. The glass of honey wine hovered halfway to her lips, frozen in midair.
Seravyn swallowed.
This outfit wasn't common. It wasn't even regulation. She had gone out of her way to request it every stitch, every choice of fabric, every gold stripe approved in secret.
"Uhh… I had it made by the royal seamstress," she muttered, voice tightening with embarrassment.
The Empress took another calm sip, eyes never leaving her.
"I think it looks good on you, darling…" her mother said softly.
Then, with a slow tilt of her head, "…I'm sure he does too."
Seravyn's eyes snapped to the man seated at the Empress's side her mother's consort. He sat stiff and motionless, desperately pretending to be invisible. His attempt failed spectacularly. Seravyn's blush deepened.
The Empress's gaze softened, warm as the candlelight. "I'm guessing you're going for a morning run?"
"Y-Yes, Mother… thank you," Seravyn managed, her voice betraying her composure.
The Empress set her cup down, her tone shifting into the gentle worry only a mother could use without losing a shred of authority.
"It's pouring out there. Be safe and be mindful of the floors. The rain makes the marble quite slippery."
That warmth wrapped around Seravyn more tightly than any jacket.
"I—I will," Seravyn said quickly.
She turned toward the door, eager to escape the warmth tightening around her chest. As if summoned by her urgency, the door opened on cue the same young attendant from earlier standing there, head bowed. Seravyn slipped past him, her steps light and hurried, fading down the corridor until only silence remained.
In the dining hall, the Empress and her consort watched her go.
Both wore warm expressions but only one carried real authority behind it.
The quiet settled like dust.
It was the consort who finally broke it, his voice soft… almost timid.
"Y-You didn't tell her about the murder of the Queen of Kael'Rith."
The words dropped into the air like a stone into still water heavy, disruptive, impossible to ignore.
For a long moment, the Empress didn't answer.
When she finally spoke, her voice was warm, yes… but sharp enough to draw blood.
"She doesn't need to know that."
He flinched.
Not from the volume she hadn't raised her voice but from the finality.
He might have loved Seravyn dearly, but going against the Empress…
That was death wearing silk.
He bowed his head, lips pressed together, submitting as he always did.
Outside, Seravyn stepped into the rain-washed air of the courtyard, unaware utterly unaware that while she adjusted her jacket and steadied her breath…
the empire had already entered a war it could not turn back from.
Two queendoms.
One already on its knees.
And she, chosen to march into the highlands at dawn, like a child shooed outside to play while the adults handled the world-shaking consequences.