Chapter 3 — The Prince Who Brought War With Him
The bells of Arkhavel rang at dawn.
They were not celebratory bells. No, these rang slow and heavy, their echoes crawling through stone corridors and across marble courtyards like a warning. Even before the palace stirred to life, Avelyn felt it—an unfamiliar pressure in the air, thick and restless.
She stood by her window, watching soldiers assemble below.
Ashford banners—black and crimson—fluttered beside Arkhavel's gold and white. The sight alone was enough to make servants whisper and nobles pale. The Ashford Dominion did not send envoys lightly.
They sent threats wrapped in silk.
"So he has arrived," Avelyn murmured.
Behind her, Sir Kael Ardyn straightened, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his sword. He had insisted on accompanying her since dawn, citing security concerns. She suspected something more.
"Yes," Kael replied. "Prince Raven Ashford crossed the western gate an hour ago."
Avelyn turned to him. "You sound displeased."
"I am cautious," he corrected. "Ashford princes are raised for conquest. Raven more than most."
That piqued her interest. "You know him."
Kael's jaw tightened. "By reputation."
That alone spoke volumes.
Avelyn returned her gaze to the courtyard. A procession moved through the gates—mounted knights clad in dark armor, their movements precise and disciplined. At their center rode a man astride a massive black horse.
Even from this distance, she felt him.
Prince Raven Ashford did not look like a diplomat. His presence radiated violence restrained by will alone, like a blade kept just short of the throat. His dark hair fell loosely against sharp features, his expression unreadable, his posture arrogant without effort.
The palace guards stiffened as he passed.
Fear followed him like a shadow.
"So that is the enemy," Avelyn said softly.
Kael glanced at her. "You should not involve yourself today."
She smiled faintly. "You forget, Sir Kael. I am the involvement."
---
The grand hall buzzed with restrained hostility.
Nobles lined the walls, their smiles tight, their eyes sharp. At the far end stood the throne, King Caelistron seated stiffly upon it, Crown Princess Elara beside him like a living symbol of stability.
Avelyn took her place among the lesser royals, unnoticed—until the doors opened.
The sound of steel against stone echoed as Ashford's delegation entered.
Prince Raven walked at the front, his cloak trailing behind him like a banner of conquest. His gaze swept the hall, dismissive, amused—and then it stopped.
For a brief moment, his eyes met Avelyn's.
The air shifted.
She felt it like a sudden drop in temperature, sharp and electric. His gaze lingered—just a fraction longer than propriety allowed—before moving on.
Interesting.
He bowed to the throne, perfunctory at best. "King Caelistron," Raven said, his voice deep, edged with mock courtesy. "I bring greetings from my father—and a proposal."
"Speak," the king replied coolly.
Raven smiled. "Peace."
A ripple of disbelief passed through the hall.
"Peace," Raven repeated. "Conditional, of course."
Avelyn listened intently as terms were laid out—border agreements, trade concessions, shared military oversight. Each condition was designed to benefit Ashford disproportionately, thinly veiled beneath the language of cooperation.
Then came the final clause.
"To secure this peace," Raven said smoothly, "Ashford proposes a binding alliance through marriage."
The room froze.
Avelyn felt every gaze shift instinctively.
"My sister Elara is already promised," the king said sharply.
Raven inclined his head. "Which leaves Princess Avelyn."
Silence thundered.
Avelyn remained still.
"I have no interest," Elara said quickly, her tone brittle, "in offering my sister to—"
"To your enemy?" Raven finished for her, smiling faintly. "Nor do I. That is precisely why she is suitable."
Avelyn raised her eyes.
For the first time, Raven looked directly at her.
Not with hunger. Not with contempt.
With curiosity.
"Avelyn Caelistra," Raven said, tasting the name. "The forgotten princess."
The words were a provocation.
She rose to her feet.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the hall.
"If I am to be discussed," Avelyn said calmly, "I would appreciate the courtesy of being addressed, not appraised."
Raven's brows lifted.
"Well," he said, amused, "she speaks."
Kael stiffened beside her, but Avelyn ignored him.
"You propose peace," she continued, "yet arrive with demands and threats disguised as generosity. Is this how Ashford courts its allies?"
A murmur spread.
Raven laughed—low and genuine. "I like you already."
The king slammed his staff against the floor. "Enough. This discussion will continue in private."
Raven bowed again. "As you wish."
But his gaze followed Avelyn as she sat back down.
And this time, he did not look away.
---
Later that afternoon, Avelyn was summoned.
Not to the council chamber.
To the eastern tower.
Kael escorted her in silence, tension radiating from him.
"You are not obligated to attend," he said quietly as they climbed the steps.
"Then why am I summoned?" she asked.
Kael did not answer.
The chamber at the top of the tower was sparsely furnished, its tall windows overlooking the borderlands beyond the city. Prince Raven stood alone near the balcony, his cloak discarded, his posture relaxed.
He turned as they entered.
"Leave us," Raven said casually.
Kael stepped forward. "Princess Avelyn will not be alone with—"
"She will," Avelyn interrupted calmly.
Kael's eyes snapped to her. "Your Highness—"
"I trust myself," she said softly. "Do you?"
The question struck deeper than she intended.
Kael hesitated—then bowed stiffly and withdrew.
The doors closed.
Silence stretched between them.
Raven regarded her openly now, his gaze sharp and unflinching. "You're braver than you look."
"I hear that often," Avelyn replied.
He chuckled. "Most people tremble when left alone with me."
"Most people rely on fear," she said. "I find it inefficient."
Raven studied her for a long moment.
"You know," he said slowly, "this alliance is inevitable. Refuse, and Ashford will take what it wants by force."
Avelyn stepped closer to the window, gazing out at the distant mountains. "And you expect me to surrender quietly."
"No," Raven said. "I expect you to survive."
She turned back to him. "Why me?"
His expression darkened slightly. "Because you are expendable enough for Arkhavel to offer… and intelligent enough to be useful to Ashford."
Honest. Brutal.
"I will not be owned," Avelyn said evenly.
Raven smiled. "Neither will I."
Their gazes locked.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them.
"I am not asking for your affection," Raven continued. "This would be a contract. You gain protection. Influence. Power."
"And you?" she asked.
"I gain leverage," he said without hesitation. "And perhaps… entertainment."
Avelyn laughed softly. "You mistake me for something passive."
"Oh, I hope not," Raven replied. "You'd bore me."
The air hummed with tension—dangerous, alive.
Before either could speak again, the doors burst open.
Magic rippled through the room like a sudden gust of wind.
Elior Lunaris stood in the doorway, his silver eyes glowing faintly.
"This is where fate bends," he said calmly.
Raven turned sharply. "Who are you?"
"Someone who dislikes rushed contracts," Elior replied.
Avelyn exhaled slowly.
Of course.
Elior moved to her side. "The bond he proposes," he said softly, "will not be as simple as you believe."
Raven's gaze flicked between them. "You speak as if you know something."
"I do," Elior said. "And so does the crown."
The room trembled faintly.
Avelyn felt it again—that ancient awareness, stirring beneath stone and blood.
Raven's smile faded, replaced by something sharper. "Interesting."
He stepped closer to Avelyn, lowering his voice. "It seems, Princess… that whether you wish it or not—our fates are already entwined."
Avelyn met his gaze steadily.
"Then you should be careful," she said quietly. "I am no one's weakness."
Raven laughed softly.
"Good," he said. "Neither am I."
Outside, thunder rolled across distant mountains.
And with it came the unmistakable scent of war.