Then she walked away. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor long after she disappeared.
Drexo stood where she left him, motionless. Her words lingered in the air like smoke that refused to clear.
There will be no crown on your head by then.
The threat should have chilled him, and it actually did. But something else held firmer. He let out a slow breath. "I would rather abandon the crown for my child," he murmured to himself, his voice low, almost defiant, "and not the other way round."
He had barely finished when another presence stepped into the corridor.
Havana.
Her hands were folded before her, posture composed, though her eyes were not.
They searched his face. Measured him. Judged what she saw. "Do you even realize what you are doing?" she asked. Her tone was quiet. Which made it heavier.
Drexo gave a small shrug, though there was no ease in it. "I am protecting my family."
Havana nodded once. Slowly. As if acknowledging the sincerity but not the wisdom. "Maybe," she said, stepping closer, "you do not know the position of things."
Her gaze sharpened. "You are playing the game of crowns." She let the words sit. "And in this game, you do not play with emotions."
Drexo said nothing.
She moved nearer still. Now close enough that her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "You cannot afford mistakes." Her eyes locked onto his.
Hard, and unblinking. "In the great game of kings," she said, "you do not lose. You do not quit."
She paused, then smiled dryly. "There are only two outcomes."
Another pause.
"Victory, or death."
The corridor felt colder. Havana tilted her head. "What outcome do you desire?" Her voice lowered further. "Death, or victory?"
Drexo lifted both hands and rested them on her shoulders. Not as a king, but as a man pleading to be understood. "Of course I want to win." His voice carried conviction. "But I also know." He leaned in slightly. "There is no victory in losing yourself in the process. Victory shouldn't come at the expense of my soul."
Something flickered in Havana's face. Not agreement. Not quite, but something unresolved.
Drexo dropped his hands. Then walked past her. Toward the kitchens. Toward Maria. Toward the choice he had already made.
Behind him, Havana did not call him back. She only watched, and worried over her nephew's lack of emotional intelligence.
The news did not stay inside the castle walls. It spilled. Like wildfire finding dry grass. By sunset, the harbor whispered. By moonrise, the markets repeated it. By dawn, all of Cliffland knew. The king had impregnated his female commander.
While engaged to Friya Kenwool. Every alley held a version of the tale. Some called it passion. Some called it betrayal. Others called it madness.
Women leaned over balconies exchanging rumors. Old men at taverns argued about bloodlines and succession.
Soldiers muttered in barracks. Servants passed the story from kitchen to corridor. Everywhere, the same scandal. Growing sharper with each telling. And beneath the gossip, was fear.
Because everyone knew this was not merely romance. It was politics, and politics bled.
By the next morning, a knock came at Drexo's door. Hard, and urgent. It tore him from sleep. His eyes opened at once. His hand instinctively reached beside him.
Maria slept still. Peaceful. That made the knock feel even harsher.
Again.
"Who is there?" he called.
"Theon, Your Grace."
Drexo pushed up at once. He crossed the chamber and opened the door. Theon stood bowed. But he was tense. "What is it?"
Theon raised his eyes. "Your Grace "
A beat.
"Lady Friya is leaving." The words hit like cold water. Drexo's heart thudded once.
Hard.
Then again, he knew exactly what that meant. No farewell journey. No wounded pride. This meant Ashford. Her father, and escalation between House Dragaria, and house Kenwool.
He moved immediately. "Where is she?"
"She is already loading her ship."
Drexo did not wait for more. He was gone before Theon finished breathing.
The shore was alive with movement.
Guards, servants, and sailors. Trunks being hauled aboard. Horses restless in harness. House Kenwool banners snapping in the wind.
Drexo strode through them all. Fast, and sharp. Like a storm given human shape. He saw her at the gangway.
Turning to board. "You will leave without informing me?" His voice cut through the harbor.
Friya turned.
Her eyes were red. Not from sleep. From tears she had likely fought all night. "You lost that right," she said, "the moment you got another woman pregnant."
Her jaw tightened. "And announced it to the world."
She turned again. But his hand caught hers. Firm, but not rough.
"You and I know your father won't be happy with this." His voice lowered..Danger threaded through it. "Yet you rush home to inform him."
Friya gave a bitter smile. "He deserves to know." Her chin lifted. "Both he and your father started this alliance."
She paused.
"Now that it is falling apart," her gaze hardened. "He needs to know."
She moved. He held her again. More desperate now. "I do not want you to go." The words surprised even him. "I do not want your father to know this soon."
Friya stared into his eyes. Long enough to wound. "You should have thought of that." Her voice shook. "Before running after other women's legs."
She tore free. This time he let her..She stepped onto the ship. Then paused at the doorway.
Turned.
Her expression softened so suddenly it hurt. "Drexo."
Almost a whisper. "I love you."
Silence.
Wind moved between them. "I will forgive you."
A breath.
"If you send Maria away." Her voice nearly broke. "And come for me."
Then her face hardened again. Like armor returning. "But anything short of that."
She held his gaze.
"This alliance will be forever broken." She turned. Entered the ship.
Gone.
"Move the ship!" a guard shouted. Ropes released. Wood groaned. The vessel began to drift. Then sail. Then leave.
Drexo stood still. Watching, not blinking, not moving. Until the ship became smaller against the sea. Then he exhaled sharply. A hollow sound.
"I guess!"
His voice was almost lost to wind. "I am about to fight the hardest battle of my life." His eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
"My child!" He paused. "Or my crown?"
Two days later, Friya's ship reached the shores of Ashford at dawn. Gray light spread across the water. She disembarked without ceremony, and mounted at once.
Her escort followed. Hooves struck hard earth. The ride inland was fast, and silent. No one dared speak to her.
The city gate rose in the distance. Massive, and ironbound. Watchmen spotted them. One shouted from above.
"Open the gate!" Another voice echoed it. "Lady Friya Kenwool approaches!" Chains rattled. The iron gate swung open. She rode through. Straight-backed, and unyielding.
Ashford bent around her like it knew something terrible rode in.
At the Warden Castle, Lord Fabio Kenwool knew none of this. He lounged in silk cushions. Wine in his hand. Concubines draped across him. Laughter drifted through the chamber.
The scent of incense hung thick. He looked every inch a lord at ease. Then Friya entered. The laughter died at once.
Fabio's face brightened. "Oh!" He spread his arms. "My angel." He smiled. "You are back so soon?"
But she did not smile. Her face was stone. His grin faded. He straightened slightly. "Why is your face frowned?"
Friya bowed at once: formal, and cold. Then raised her head. "Drexo has broken his vow to me."
Fabio's brows drew together. "What are you talking about?" She stepped closer. Close enough that only he truly heard. "He has impregnated Maria Woodland."
The words hit.
Fabio froze.
Like lightning had struck indoors. "He did what?" His voice thundered. But Friya was not done. Her eyes burned now. She let each word sharpen. "He has promised to marry her."
Fabio jolted upright. The women beside him tumbled away. He barely noticed. Wine spilled across the floor. His breathing changed.
Faster, and hotter. "He won't dare!" He roared it. The chamber trembled with it. And in that roar, war began to stir.