The thunder of hooves echoed across the training grounds as the royal carriage rolled to a halt. Soldiers straightened immediately, forming neat lines. Morix wiped his brow and exhaled slowly he knew whose crest shimmered on that carriage door.
The eldest prince.
Rales of Elydria.
A man worthy of the bow he was about to receive.
Prince Rales stepped down with the effortless grace of someone born to leadership. He was handsome in a way that made court ladies lose their composure, but his charm came second to the sharp intellect that made him the backbone of Elydria's foreign affairs.
Morix stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Welcome to our facility, Your Highness."
But Rales caught his arm before he could lower his head further.
"Oh mighty warrior," he said warmly, "hold your head high. You are as vital to this empire as I am. You are the very arms that shield Elydria."
The words made several young soldiers straighten with pride.
As the rest returned to their drills, Morix and the prince walked toward a quiet corner, away from the sound of clashing weapons.
"I heard the news of your engagement," Morix began. "Congratulations, Your Highness."
"Thank you, old companion," Rales said the perfect fantasy equivalent of "buddy," a term only someone close could use. "This marriage will finally end generations of tension between our kingdoms. It will strengthen everything we have fought to protect."
Morix hesitated. The prince's tone held nothing personal only politics.
"Sire… are you thinking only of the alliance? Do you not care for Princess Falicia herself?"
Rales paused, gaze drifting toward the distant palace spires.
"Morix… I could have afforded a heart-driven choice," he admitted quietly, "but Elydria cannot. Enemy nations prepare for war even as we speak. My feelings must come second."
"Then let me handle your enemies," Morix said firmly. "If war comes, my spear alone is enough to pierce through an entire army's line. As long as I stand, no threat will breach this kingdom."
Rales smiled softly, the weight of a thousand responsibilities resting behind that expression.
"I have never doubted your strength, dear friend. But in war… regardless of the side, people die. Fathers. Sons. Children. Killing should never be our first answer. I dream of a world where not just Elydria… but all of Aurethion lives in peace."
Morix fell silent. Rales's words struck deeper than any blade. He had seen battlefields. He had seen families crumble after loss. The prince's dream felt impossibly noble… yet painfully needed.
Then
A sharp whistle cut the air.
Morix's body moved before thought.
An arrow tore toward the prince but Morix's hand snapped out, catching it inches before impact. Gasps rippled through the soldiers.
Without hesitation, he hurled his spear toward the distant rooftop the arrow came from.
The force of the throw cracked the ground beneath his feet.
The gust it generated sent soldiers stumbling backward.
Training dummies snapped in half from the shockwave alone.
Morix blurred a single leap carrying him to the tower's peak.
There, his spear was buried clean through the assassin's torso, pinning the man in a black cloak to the stone wall. Blood dripped, pooling at Morix's feet.
The insignia on the assassin's glove confirmed it an enemy nation.
Someone who did not want Prince Rales's engagement to succeed.
Morix's rage surged. His hair lifted. His eyes glowed like molten gold. Sparks of lightning danced around him.
"I will not tolerate this," he growled.
Even after dispatching an assassin, Morix trained alone until the sun sank behind Elydria's walls. No warrior was strong enough to spar with him; his blade swished once, and the resulting pressure shook rows of soldiers off their feet.
The late-afternoon sun licked the sweat from Morix's skin, turning every carved line of muscle into molten gold. His torso was bare, the black training trousers riding low on sharp hipbones that flexed with each lethal swing of the blade. Veins corded down his thick forearms, pulsing beneath skin that gleamed like polished bronze. When he pivoted, the heavy slabs of his back rippled, sweat tracing the deep valley of his spine before disappearing beneath the waistband that barely clung to the powerful curve of his ass.
Behind the wooden fence, three young maids pressed together, cheeks flushed crimson, thighs squeezing tight beneath their skirts.
"Look at those abs," Lira breathed, fingers already slipping beneath her apron, circling the aching bud between her legs through damp cotton. "Eight… no, ten ridges, each one begging to be licked clean."
Beside her, shy little Mara had both hands under her skirt, two fingers pumping slowly in and out of her slick heat while she bit her lip bloody to stay quiet. "Gods, the way his biceps bulge when he grips the sword… I want those arms pinning me down while he"
"Shh!" the third hissed, but her own hand was frantic, rubbing furious circles over her clit as she stared at the thick bulge shifting in Morix's trousers with every thrust of his hips. "If he moved like that inside me I'd come in ten seconds. Look how big he is even soft… imagine him hard, splitting us open"
Their soft whimpers mingled with the clash of steel. One by one, knees buckled; skirts grew dark with shameful wet spots as they shuddered through silent, desperate orgasms, eyes never leaving the god among men who remained utterly unaware of the lust dripping down their trembling thighs.
Whispers spread across the courtyard awe, fear, admiration.
Morix sat afterward, silently replaying the prince's words, the arrow, the assassin, the dream he had yet to understand.
But elsewhere in the palace… another sound filled the night.
Not steel.
Not training.
But muffled voices, gasps, laughter.
Prince Damion Rales's younger brother lay sprawled across his luxurious bed, a lazy smirk on his face. Even without describing the scene, the atmosphere made one thing clear:
Damion lived for indulgence.
For beauty.
For pleasure.
For everything Rales never allowed himself.
From the royal wing drifted soft gasps and low, sinful laughter.
Inside his moonlit chamber, Prince Damion lounged among scattered silk and bare, flushed skin. Four exquisite beauties clung to him one trailing kisses down his throat, another curled against his chest, while the remaining two trembled beneath his slow, possessive touches. Their whispered praises filled the air like incense.
"You are the true legend of this kingdom," one sighed against his lips. "Not him… never him."
Damion's violet eyes gleamed with dark triumph. He pulled her closer, claiming every moan as his own, while his smile turned sharp as a blade.
But as he lounged in arrogance, one of the women whispered something that made Damion's eyes sharpen a hint of envy twisting his beautiful features.
"Your Highness… someone as talented as you should be Elydria's strongest. Not Morix."
Damion's expression darkened.
"Morix…" he muttered. "Always Morix."
A dangerous gleam flickered in his gaze.
A thought forming.
A plan beginning to take shape.
The room fell into a tense, eerie quiet.
The prince's lips curled into a slow, sinister smile.
"Perhaps," Damion whispered, "it's time this kingdom remembers who truly deserves power."
And in that moment
a scheme was born.
A scheme meant to bring Morix down.