At the Great Council - Princess Martha
The chamber was in uproar.
"Prince Harold, why are you silent?!"
"Answer us!"
"Where is your father?!"
"Did the barracks truly fall? Where are the generals?!"
"Has the king betrayed us—along with the generals?!"
I sat quietly at the edge of the massive council table, my fingers curled into fists beneath its polished surface. The ministers—none from my own kingdom of Briggsvale—shouted over one another, their voices thick with accusation. Beside me, Princess Hera remained still, her sharp gaze locked onto her brother.
Prince Harold sat upon the throne, his composure unshaken. The hostility in the room seemed only to harden his resolve. With a single tap of his finger, silence fell like a blade.
His glare swept across the ministers.
"We are playing directly into our enemy's hands." His voice was steel. "They seek to divide us with fear. And yet here you stand, questioning the loyalty of your own king. Have you forgotten your place?"
One minister dared to interrupt. "That doesn't answe—"
"I am in charge here, Minister Olden." Harold's tone turned lethal. "And let me make one thing clear—while I rule this council, defiance will be met with execution."
A hand rose. Harold nodded.
"Then what do you propose, my lord? What of the generals? Have they truly abandoned us?"
Harold leaned forward. "First—the generals are engaged in a critical operation. Second—the king's disappearance remains confidential. Any leak will be treated as treason."
Then, Hera raised her hand.
Harold's eyes narrowed. "Speak."
She exhaled slowly. "The National Tournament. It begins today."
"And?"
"It's the perfect stage." Her voice was calm, calculated. "Every noble, every soldier, every citizen will be watching. If our enemies intend to send a message—this is where they'll strike."
I frowned. "You think they'll declare war there?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Her smile was razor-thin. "They'll use our own spectacle to humiliate us."
Harold's fingers interlaced. "Are you suggesting we cancel it?"
"No, dear brother." Her laugh was cold. "That would only sow panic among the nobles still loyal to us. No—we let it proceed."
She leaned in.
"But we turn it into a trap."
A pause. Then—
"Let the Eukaphrotians come." Harold's voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of a king. "And when they do—we'll hang their failure for all to see. Continue with the plan, Princess."
In the outskirts of the city of Tritine – Somewhere in the Forest
A trail of carts stretched across the muddy landscape. Narrower paths branched off, swallowed by the surrounding green tapestry. A young blonde boy with refined features sat by the window of his wagon. The wagon itself spoke volumes of his status—clearly that of a noble from the foreign city-state of Briggsvale.
The boy was no older than twenty, yet he already had a companion—his wife, seated beside him. She was a young woman of similar age, dressed in an elegant outfit that matched her brown hair and crystalline blue eyes.
The noble boy finally spoke, though his gaze remained fixed on the scenery outside. "Lady Karaman. Are you enjoying the view?"
"I am. And stop calling me 'Lady.' I'm literally your wife now."
"Yeah, yeah, sure, Lady Karaman. As if you aren't the princess of Briggsvale. Sure."
The young lady turned away, pouting. After a moment, the boy spoke again. "Lady Karaman. Why did you agree to come to Tritine? You know the state of this country, don't you?"
"My sister is here. I'm only here to retrieve her. I have no interest in dirtying my hands with their politics."
"Perhaps that's why they see you as an outcast. Between feigning ignorance of national affairs and marrying a commoner like me, you really are a rebel, aren't you?"
"Oh, shut up. You're no commoner, Harry. You're a major. You command your own platoon. How does that make you a commoner?"
"You might be right..." Harry fell silent for the next five minutes, his gaze sharp and fixed on the trail outside. His intensity unsettled the young princess.
"Is something wrong, dear?" she asked.
"Are we on the right trail?" Harry called out to the wagoner, but there was no response.
Princess Karaman tensed as Harry drew his longsword from its sheath.
"Everything will be fine," he muttered before leaping out of the open window—only to freeze at what he saw.
The trail had vanished. His wagon stood alone, isolated in the heart of the forest. Moving swiftly, he approached the driver, who slumped half-conscious, as if drugged.
"Shit." The curse escaped his lips just as men emerged from all sides. But these were no bandits—they were soldiers of Tritine.
A young woman, accompanied by an old man, stepped forward with confidence. Though unarmed, Harry kept his guard up, eyeing the intruders warily.
"Who are you? Speak!" he demanded.
The old man answered first. "My name is Agrievious. I am the Diviner of Light."
The young woman introduced herself next. "I am Maria Volkslova, and I come only as a messenger."
The major took a step back, his mind racing. "Volkslova? The rebels? What do they want with me? And why is a diviner with them?"
"What do you want?" Harry tightened his grip on his sword.
Maria replied calmly, "Please hear us out. We have no wish to spill unnecessary blood. We're only here to negotiate."
"Negotiate?" Harry scoffed.
"Your platoon—this trail of carts isn't traders, but your own men, correct?"
"How do you know that? Have you been spying on us?" Harry snapped.
The old diviner moved to speak, but Maria stopped him with a raised hand. "No, Major. We have a seer in our organization. It's on his advice that we're here. And it's his suggestion that you lend us your men for the coming battle."
"A seer, huh? So they aren't extinct after all. And why should I believe you? Why would I ever aid terrorists in their little rebellion?"
Her tone softened. "Major Harry, that's precisely why I ask you to listen. I know you're noble enough to sacrifice yourself before letting your soldiers be dragged into this. But you need to hear the truth."
"The truth?" Harry glared at her. "Don't mess with me—"
"The truth behind the king's disappearance," Maria interrupted.
The young man scanned the forest, his sharp blue eyes taking in the Tritine soldiers surrounding him. With a sigh, he relented.