The carriage ride back to the Valenfirth Embassy should have been a moment of relief—quiet, private, offering even a single breath of calm after the brutal hearing.
It wasn't.
The city outside roared.
Crowds lined the marble streets, some cheering the Empress for surviving an assassination attempt, others shouting accusations planted by Asterfell's envoys. Union guards held the crowds back as the royal convoy passed, but suspicion lingered in the air like smoke from a fire not yet extinguished.
Inside the main carriage, Lysandra, Daren, Serene, and Rhedon shared the cramped space.
No one spoke.
The silence was thick.
Unsettling.
Serene was the first to break it.
"Well," she said bluntly, "that could have gone worse."
Rhedon snorted. "Only a princess could look at political arson and call it 'not too bad.'"
Serene shrugged. "They didn't strip Valenfirth of voting rights. And Daren didn't get exiled. I call that a win."
Lysandra did not comment.
She stared out the window, watching the Union Square slip by—the statues, the banners, the burning torches. Her posture was too straight. Too composed. Too still.
Daren watched her carefully, quietly.
He recognized that posture.
He'd seen it once before—after her coronation, when her father's sudden death left her surrounded by advisers who expected a nineteen-year-old to rule a kingdom overnight.
It was her containment posture.
The one she used when emotion threatened to crack through.
The one she used when she was afraid.
He leaned slightly toward her. "Your Majesty?"
She blinked, slow and deliberate, then turned her head just enough to acknowledge him.
"Yes, Daren?"
"You're quiet."
"Should I not be?"
He held her gaze.
"You're never quiet after a victory."
She hesitated.
Longer than he expected.
Finally, she looked away. "This doesn't feel like a victory."
Serene's smile faded.
Rhedon straightened.
Daren waited.
Lysandra lifted a hand, touching the small welt on her shoulder where a blade had grazed her the night before. "The Council punished Mavren. They acknowledged the attack. They accepted the evidence." She exhaled shakily. "But I don't feel safer because of it."
Rhedon nodded grimly. "That's because you're not. A cornered king is more dangerous than an ambitious one."
Serene leaned forward, expression tightening. "Lysandra… Mavren will retaliate. Everyone in that hall knew it."
Lysandra closed her eyes for a heartbeat.
Then she straightened again, as if forcing the moment of vulnerability back into a locked drawer.
"We'll deal with Mavren," she said firmly. "But we must prepare before he makes his move."
Daren met her gaze.
"We will," he said, steady as stone. "Together."
Her eyes flickered—softening just slightly—before she turned away.
The Embassy Briefing Room
The Valenfirth Embassy was already in chaos when they arrived. Advisors rushed in every direction. Union representatives demanded clarification. Foreign officials stood near the steps like vultures circling carrion.
The moment Lysandra entered, silence fell.
Every advisor bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty!"
"Congratulations on the verdict—"
"Your safety is paramount—"
"We must prepare a press statement—"
"Asterfell has already lodged a protest—"
The voices collided like waves crashing against cliffs.
Lysandra raised a single hand.
Silence returned instantly.
"Strategic council," she commanded, "now."
They moved. Quickly. Efficiently.
Within minutes, the embassy's situation room was filled.
The long oval table gleamed under overhead lanterns. Maps, sealed documents, and coded reports were stacked at every corner.
Lysandra sat at the head.
Daren stood behind her right shoulder.
Serene took her place at the left end.
Rhedon stood near the wall, arms crossed, wearing an expression that promised violence if needed.
Lysandra began.
"Status update. All of it."
A senior advisor stepped forward. "Your Majesty, the Council's ruling has already caused international waves. Three kingdoms issued support. Four issued 'concern.'"
"And Asterfell?" Lysandra asked.
"They issued… this."
He slid a paper across the table.
Lysandra read it.
Daren leaned slightly forward to catch the text.
Asterfell's official response:
We deny the baseless accusations fabricated by Valenfirth's young and inexperienced ruler. We condemn the Union's bias and reserve our right to respond appropriately.
Rhedon swore under his breath. "That's not diplomatic language. That's war bait."
Serene crossed her arms. "Mavren's practically begging for a fight."
Lysandra set the letter down calmly.
"We will not give him one."
The advisors exchanged uneasy looks.
Daren watched her closely.
She was composed.
Too composed.
"Next," Lysandra ordered.
Another advisor stepped forward. "Your Majesty, there has been an unusual increase in coded correspondence from the Asterfell embassy. Three messengers left this afternoon. They used unofficial routes."
Daren's instincts sharpened immediately. "They're preparing something."
"Or contacting the infiltrators who survived," Rhedon added.
Serene's eyes flashed. "Or bribing more Union officials."
Lysandra remained calm, but her fingers tapped once against the table. "I want constant surveillance on Asterfell movements. Every message. Every departure. Every supply shipment."
"It's already being arranged, Your Majesty."
"Good."
A beat.
Then Daren stepped forward.
"There's something else."
Lysandra turned toward him.
"The attack at the palace," he said quietly. "It wasn't sloppy. The infiltrators knew guard rotations. They knew access points. They knew which halls were least monitored."
She nodded slowly. "You believe we have a leak."
"I don't believe," he said. "I'm certain."
Silence.
Heavy.
Serene looked between them. "A traitor in the palace?"
"Possibly," Daren answered. "But more likely a bribed official. Someone with access to security patterns."
Rhedon added grimly, "Someone Mavren can reach. Someone close enough to observe the Empress's habits."
Lysandra exhaled. "Then we tighten security. And we trust no one outside this room."
Daren stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Not even long-standing advisors?"
She met his gaze evenly. "If you suspect them, I suspect them."
A subtle shift passed between them.
Serene noticed.
So did Rhedon.
Neither commented.
Private Quarters
Hours passed before Lysandra finally dismissed the advisors.
The embassy quieted.
Night deepened.
Daren followed her to her private office, stopping when she turned.
"You may rest, Sir Vale."
"With respect, Your Majesty," he said, "I'm not leaving your side tonight."
Her eyes softened. "Daren—"
"Mavren has already shown what he's capable of," he said. "And now you're exposed in a foreign capital. I won't gamble with your life."
A pause.
A long one.
Her voice softened. "You're exhausted."
"So are you."
She gave a small, tired smile. "I'm allowed to be. You're supposed to be invincible."
He huffed. "I'll work on that."
She shook her head, the faintest laugh slipping out.
Then she turned serious again. "Daren… today they questioned your integrity. Your loyalty. Even your place by my side."
He said nothing.
"So if you wish," she continued quietly, "you may withdraw from my personal guard until this political storm settles."
He stepped closer. "No."
She blinked.
"No?" she repeated.
He shook his head. "I won't step back. Not now. Not ever. They can accuse, scheme, or attempt to separate us, but it won't change anything. My loyalty isn't conditional."
Her breath hitched.
A very small, involuntary sound.
"Daren…" she whispered.
He bowed his head slightly. "Your Majesty, wherever this path leads—however dangerous—it is one I choose."
She held his gaze.
So long that it became something else.
Something unspoken.
Something forbidden.
But something neither stepped away from.
Finally, she murmured, "Then stay. Not as command… but as choice."
His voice was quiet. "Always."
Asterfell's Retaliation Begins
A sharp knock shattered the moment.
Rhedon burst in without waiting for permission.
"Your Majesty," he said urgently, "you need to see this."
He handed her a parchment marked with Asterfell's sigil.
She unfolded it.
Daren watched her eyes widen—just a fraction.
Then narrow dangerously.
Serene ran in behind Rhedon, breathless. "What is it? More protests?"
Lysandra handed Daren the page.
He read it.
Then sank into stillness.
Cold, lethal stillness.
Asterfell had mobilized troops along Valenfirth's eastern border.
Not crossing it. Not attacking.
But enough to send a message: retaliation has begun.
Serene whispered, "Mother of gods… he moved that fast?"
Lysandra looked at her knight.
Her voice was low. Controlled.
"Prepare the embassy. Prepare messages. Prepare the kingdom."
A long pause.
Then:
"Mavren wants a war."
Daren folded the parchment.
"Then we prepare for one."
Lysandra straightened.
Her eyes burned—not with fear now, but with steel.
She said softly. "Everything after this… changes everything."