The morning sun rose over a valley of open grass and shrubbery that spanned nearly a kilometre from one side to the other. With the heavy rain that had soaked the ground not two days prior and the summer light now bathing it in bright warmth, the vegetation had grown rapidly to where it reached halfway up the lower leg of the average man. It was green, too – a bright, bold green that was not just beautiful to look at but calming in how it rippled like an ocean under a gentle breeze.

It was almost enough to make Arian forget he was at war, enough to make him forget the visions and sounds and smells of events that had occurred only a little over twelve hours ago. When he closed his eyes, he was in a place of steel, blood and thundering noise, but when he watched the grass sway in the morning wind he was back in the hills of his homeland. If only there was a stream next to him, if only the sound of thousands of men preparing themselves for what was to come could be replaced with the sound of running water and the splashing of fish. He would have liked to imagine that he was fishing at the riverside and not stood there, waiting at the top of a hill that might turn red by the evening.

“Arian, we’re ready,” said a slightly older man with shoulder-length brown hair and who wore a finely embroidered brown doublet, with dark trousers and boots. It was Caden, and Arian turned to him and gave a sombre nod. Arian himself wore similar attire but his doublet was blue with white sleeves, though this didn’t prevent him from looking any less out of place than his brother. It wasn’t exactly usual to be dressed so formally in a place of war and the soldiers who meandered around them in armour of varying types found their eyes drawn to the brothers as a result.

“I’d much rather be wearing armour for this,” Arian commented.

Caden glanced at him for a moment, then gave a small shrug. “Nothing will happen to us. None of them will be wearing armour either – it’s a formality, a show of how committed we are to keeping the talks non-violent,” Caden explained.

“I know, though I notice it doesn’t stop us from wearing swords,” Arian said, pointing out how both wore blades at the hip.

“Well, it would be reckless to go completely defenceless.”

The two turned and made their way over to where a group of men stood waiting to mount their horses, all dressed in similarly formal clothing and each wearing a sword at their belts. Amongst them stood Edmund Gray, duke of the Midlands; Harik Wulfsurd, marshal of the army and most importantly King Valen II himself, who wore a pendant of silver and ruby.

When the two princes reached them and found their own horses, Valen looked to them with a nod. “Arian, are you certain you are ready to attend this conference?” He asked, examining his younger son closely. “I know how battle’s first taste can stain the mind and it is still so recent since yours.”

“Father is right,” Caden added. “As much as I loathe to be so blunt, it is the truth that our power in this coming game of minds and words will be weakened if we do not, as a whole, present a front of steady hands and steeled eyes.”

“I am ready,” Arian replied, slightly hurt that both his father and brother doubted him.

“That you are, good prince,” said Lord Gray, clapping Arian on the shoulder with an encouraging nod. “But I will look out for you if for some reason those circumstances were to change.”

“Let us go then,” the king said, and one by one the party mounted their steeds and began to ride east at a slow pace, making their way down the hill and into the valley.

The previous night Sarkana’s entire army had made camp at the top of the hill and on the wide plateau that had seen battle the previous afternoon, with hundreds of tents and banners arrayed in defensible positions. Soldiers prepared wooden stakes along the eastern and southern slopes, while lookouts and guards watched for the movement of an enemy that had yet to return in force.

Never-the-less the enemy was there, in plain view, on the other side of the valley. The Lavellan army had made their camp on that opposite hill, using the sporadic woodlands to help protect it and openly preparing themselves for the possibility of a second battle. The sworn enemies watched each other across that open plain, as two kings and their small entourage of lords and knights rode slowly to meet in the middle of it.

King Valen’s party was accompanied by a small group of kingsguard, but as they grew closer to their Lavellan counterpart Caden could not help but notice that they were outnumbered. There were ten knights with them for their protection, alongside the five agreed lords who were to negotiate, but Caden counted that the Lavellan had brought twelve. “He breaks the terms of our meeting,” Caden said to his father.

“He only wishes to show that he can,” Valen replied.

“Or to show that we are powerless to stop him,” Caden retorted, then raised his hand to rest above his eyes so that the morning sun could no longer obstruct his vision. He saw Armand, King of Lavell, riding towards them with four of his lords and officers in tow. He recognized three of them; one he had fought in Kedora, two others they had dined with, but the fourth was unknown to him. A knight, perhaps? He looked young and strong, and vaguely resembled Armand’s only son who had died in battle years ago. Caden’s eyes fell back upon the Lavellan king, whose thin, angular face reminded him of a man deathly ill from lack of eating. Yet despite that, the king’s face was full of colour and though his hair had been shaved almost bald it was still thick and surprisingly youthful.

Eventually the two parties came to a stop by a pavilion tent that had been set up in the field, with Sarkana’s banner on one side and Lavell’s on the other. Together ten men in total dismounted, then in two columns headed by their respective rulers they entered the tent in ceremony. Seats were arrayed facing one another and both kings sat opposite each other, their accompanying lords either side. Caden sat by Valen’s right side with Wulfsurd to the right of him, while Arian and Lord Gray took seats to the left.

They had barely been seated a moment when King Armand began to speak, his voice lacking the low tone and depth of his counterpart but still plentiful in sharpness. “It is good to see you again, Prince Caden,” he said, his Lavellan accent thick and high-class. Caden was taken quite by surprise by this sudden greeting, as was Wulfsurd, but neither were given time to react. “I remember when you were a boy, visiting in my court with your father. We spoke about how great a king you would make, when your time came.”

Caden looked sideways for his father’s reaction, but Valen had none. His expression was calm, not looking for even a moment away from Armand’s eyes. He did not even blink. “I remember those days,” Caden eventually replied. “You were not yet a king yourself.”

“No, but I am now. As will you, perhaps soon, seeing by the way you sit at the king’s right side,” Armand told him. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes focusing next upon Arian as an eagle’s eyes focused on prey. “Yet I notice your younger brother is not afforded that courtesy. Brave Arian, who I hear fought with valour not half a day ago, seated on the unfavourable side of his father. Do you not feel you are mistreated by him, as both father and king? Fates decreed by the order of your birth say that you will only wear a crown if you lose those you hold dearer than they you. You would think that, just for a little while, your devotion would be rewarded with equal measure of fondness.”

Arian cleared his throat, finding a little difficulty in matching Armand’s gaze. “My father and brother treat me well. Besides, I have no desire to be king,” he explained, then looked away to the other Lavellans – though only to avoid that of their king.

“I think that is enough, King Armand,” said Lord Gray. “We should speak on the matters that have gathered us here.”

“I did not speak to you, Duke Edmund Gray,” Armand snapped, eyes like flames falling on the older man.

“And I did not give you permission to speak to my sons or vassals,” Valen said then, his voice deep and fierce like a lion.

“Finally, he makes himself known,” said Armand, now looking at Valen. “But you overstep, fellow King. You do not have authority to order me, especially in my own land.”

“Do I not?” Valen asked him. “I seem to recall driving your men away from some of your land last night, fellow ‘king’. By virtue of that victory I say that piece of land is now mine, paid for with Lavellan blood, and if you do not surrender then this valley and the rest of this country will follow.”

“It is you who will be driven from this field,” said another Lavellan voice, belonging to Ghislain Souchon, Marquis of the Rougmars. “And I would happily pay for it with a few buckets of Sarkanian blood. Perhaps we could use it to water our crops, no?”

The Lavellan party chuckled at the Marquis’ words, all except for Armand himself, who seemed deadly sincere. “Leave Lavell, King Valen,” Armand said. “Take your men and go home from here, and I will give you peace. We can forget this foolishness.”

Valen nodded, though only to signal that he had heard Armand’s words. “Here is my counter-proposal, Armand. Offer me your unconditional surrender, here and now. You will hand me your crown and kingdom and I will spare the lives of your vassals, your armies and your daughter. Be polite about it and I might even spare you,” the king demanded bluntly.

Armand groaned and rolled his eyes and one of the men to his side leaned closer to him suddenly and whispered. Caden leaned forward to try and hear what was said but it was fruitless, and a moment later the other Lavellan began to join in, all whispering amongst themselves. The Sarkanians sat there quietly, waiting, until eventually their opposites stopped.

“I see you are intent on foolishness,” Armand said. “So, my answer must be no.”

“Foolishness?” Asked Wulfsurd, his voice gruff and threatening a temper. “In Sarkana we would term it just recompense.”

“Do you know, Armand, what was truly foolish?” Asked Valen, one of his fists closing tightly. “Betraying your lifelong friend and ally, joining with his enemy and then attacking him. What did Kedora offer you that was so inciting, Armand? Did they offer you the border region? Everything east of the Alheller? Perhaps if you had come yourself your combined might would have overwhelmed us, but you lacked the honour to face us yourself. Instead you send your Marquis, who was as foolish as he was incompetent.”

“Do not insult my brother, King,” said the Marquis Souchon.

Wulfsurd chuckled at this, folding his arms across his middle. “Believe us, Marquis. We would not do such a thing. Your brother was not a man worth insulting,” he joked, with a sinister undertone to his voice.

“Lord Harik Wulfsurd,” the Marquis said, “by the time this is over I will let my hounds rape your severed head.”

Wulfsurd began to roar with laughter, but Valen put his hand out and he stopped. Armand similarly ordered the Marquis to be quiet and the room was suddenly unbearably silent. Even the breathing stilled, to the point that Caden could hear only the singing of birds in the morning.

When the silence was finally broken it was by Armand, who stood from his seat. “Then it seems we are unable to reach an accord,” he concluded.

“If you say so,” Valen replied.

Caden looked at his father, surprised that he would let the meeting end so abruptly. He hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect when they came to the meeting, but he had hoped his father would negotiate far more strongly for peace. It was likely Armand would have accepted a peace in which Lavell lost some of its border territory, especially after the previous day’s battle, but for Valen to demand complete and unconditional surrender? He was giving them no choice but to fight.

Armand began to walk out of the tent, but he was stopped suddenly by a young man who called out to him. “King Armand? Do you not recall what we had discussed?” The young knight asked, his gaze meeting Caden’s with a nearly unnatural pull. Caden had seen him before, had noted how he looked suspiciously like the son that Armand had lost years ago, though his eyes were different. They were pale blue like ice, or like the eyes of a snow wolf, yet they burned with a searing flame that made Caden feel completely powerless.

“Ah, yes,” Armand said, pausing and turning at the tent door and raising his hand in a gesture to proceed. “Give your challenge.”

The knight stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword, then turned his gaze away from Caden and to Arian. “My name is Alaric Laurens,” he introduced himself, “and I am a knight of Lavell. Yesterday afternoon, Prince Arian killed my brother on that hill.”

Arian suddenly looked up at Alaric, a fear spreading inside him. “I apologize,” Arian said, not sure what else he could say. “He challenged me to battle. He was... A skilled warrior.”

Lord Gray placed his hand on Arian’s shoulder, urging him to say no more with a shake of his head. Valen stood, his own hand resting on his sword hilt as he looked the knight in the eye and asked him, “what is it that you want, Alaric of Lavell?”

“I was going to challenge your son to a duel, so that I might avenge my brother,” Alaric explained. “But being here now I see that he is no danger, that his victory was no more than an accident. Yet even so, Prince Arian, you have taken away my brother and left me with the pain of that loss. I would have you know that feeling.”

“How would you do that?” Arian asked, his chest tightening.

“By taking away your own brother,” Alaric replied, his eyes once again shifting back to Caden. “Prince Caden, by the ancient laws and customs of these southern realms, we will duel here tomorrow morning.”

“Do not be preposterous, boy,” Wulfsurd suddenly said. “You cannot challenge a man who did not cause you any har-“

“I accept your challenge,” Caden suddenly replied.

“Caden?” Wulfsurd asked, clearly shocked.

“I will fight him.”

“It is settled, then. Tomorrow morning,” King Armand told them, before turning and leaving the tent. The young Alaric nodded and quickly followed his king without another word, and next the Marquis Souchon and the remaining lords stood up and followed them, the Marquis grinning nefariously.

“Valen?” Wulfsurd asked, standing to confront the King. “You say nothing to stop this?”

“It is not my decision to make, Harik,” Valen replied, his tone almost brooding.

“Brother, you do not have to do this,” Arian pleaded as he stood from his chair. “I do not wish you to risk your life because of what I have done.”

“Arian, this is war,” Caden told him. “We’re all risking our lives.”

“And I have no doubt the Lavellan is risking his more than you are, Prince Caden,” Lord Gray said, his words strangely encouraging.

Caden said nothing else and instead turned and walked from the tent. As he made his way to his horse, he was aware that his father and the others were following him, but suddenly there was a strange feeling of responsibility weighing him down from it. He became aware for the first time not just that they were walking behind him, but that he was leading them, and it made him feel… Strange.

-

The Sarkanian entourage rode back up the western slope of the hill to their war camp, which had taken up the entirety of the wide plateau at the hill’s highest point. Offering a nearly full view of the surrounding area and highly defensible, the victory that won them the hill the previous day had not only driven the Lavellan back but given them a significant advantage for the battles ahead. The plateau was large enough to hold the over ten thousand Sarkanian soldiers, gave them safe access to clean water, a safe place to retreat to if the unexpected happened and the ability to survey the entire valley without having to step into it. That final fact would be useful tomorrow, where the Sarkanian commanders could see the exact movement of troops over a wide area and give accurate signals that individual units could react to.

It now seemed to Caden that battle was inevitable and when they returned a war council was called that ran from the mid-morning to just after mid-day. Each lord gave an evaluation of what part of their effort he commanded, then the discussion turned to battle tactics. Caden was distant, hearing them but not listening and remaining silent where even his younger brother had something to say. His mind was on something else, a battle far more personal than the massacre of thousands – it was on the fear and intricacy found in single combat and the consequences that could follow from his victory… Or his defeat.

“So, we are decided then?”

Those words brought Caden back from the depths of his mind and he looked up, a questioning look on his face.

“Caden?” King Valen asked him. “Are we decided?”

“Decided what?” Caden asked to disappointed mutters around the room. He looked towards Wulfsurd for clarification but the bear of a man was looking down at the floor with his arms crossed, clearly embarrassed.

“Are you well, Prince Caden?” Asked Lord Gray.

Caden was about to give his assurance but the king shook his head and stood from his chair. “We shall proceed as discussed. Lords and captains of the realm go now with a singular mind and put to motion the plans that will lead us to our victory. Council dismissed; you may leave us.”

One by one the men in the tent stood, then took their turn bowing slightly and leaving until only Caden, Arian and Harik remained.

“Well that was a little awkward,” Wulfsurd said, his deep voice broken by a slight chuckle.

“Caden, what is the matter with you?” The king asked, his tone short of temper. “You embarrass both you and I in front of the lords. Tomorrow we will have battle, so I imagine you understand the importance of discussing how to win that battle, yet even so you sit there and do not even bother to listen? To offer the keen strategic mind that we both know you possess. Instead you do nothing but dream with your eyes open.”

“I have my own battle to plan, father,” Caden replied, meeting Valen’s stare. “A battle that was in your power to stop, though I notice you made no effort to do so.”

“Caden, that’s enough,” Wulfsurd said, though Valen raised a hand to stop him from speaking further.

“You are a man now. Twenty-one years of age and fully capable of making your own decisions,” Valen explained.

“Ah, such worry for your child. How saddening it is to me that I show far more affection and concern for my younger brother than you ever do for me,” Caden seethed.

Arian, who had remained silent thus far, folded his arms and looked down at the ground between his feet. “Always fighting,” he muttered just over his breath. Wulfsurd looked across at him and raised his brows, though decided not to interfere.

“Don’t insult me, boy,” Valen replied. “We have had this conversation before, and I have my reasons.”

“Oh, I understand,” said Caden. “You seek to use distance and cold demeanour to shape me into a king who is prepared for all the horrors of life and ruling, but you are so good at it that I often wonder if you aren’t just uncaring. I accepted Laurens’ challenge because I knew that if I didn’t, he would simply challenge Arian instead, and I think he has done enough fighting in this war. I stand by my decision, fully aware that tomorrow I risk my life in doing so – but I can’t help but wish you had at least tried to stop me.”

“Who said I wanted your protection, brother?” Arian asked, looking up at Caden with distaste. “I appreciate your desire to keep me safe, but you treat me like a child. It is clear to me that I do not have your confidence, that I do not have your trust, even though I have proven myself capable in battle. I did not kill Laurens’ brother while other men held him down, I defeated him alone and with valour on the field and I would have been perfectly capable of fighting the duel you accepted to shelter me like a boy.”

“Arian,” Caden began, clearly shocked by his younger brother’s tone, who had never lashed out at him before. “Of course you have my confidenc-“

“Do I?” Arian interrupted. “Our father places far more confidence in you than either of you do in me, yet even so you question and belittle him for treating you like-“

“Arian, that’s enough,” the king said suddenly and both sons fell silent, turning their heads to look at him. “Do not hate your brother for his compassion. It is true, Caden, I did not try to stop you, but you must understand why. We were in negotiations with our enemy, negotiations that neither side went into with plans of reaching an accord. Our strength, our steady demeanour in the eyes of our foe, meant everything; my own more so as king. Caden, my son, I did and do now worry about your life and the outcome of your fight tomorrow, but as king I cannot let that fear rule me. You must understand – the lives of over ten thousand fighting men could be lost tomorrow if I was to lose my courage or my composure, if my cool head was to slip into heated frenzy or concern. If we lose this upcoming battle, not only do I risk the lives of all those gathered here but the very future of our country and its people. You accuse me of not showing worry, but the life of a king is to be barraged by it from all sources and directions. A king’s strength is not that we do not fear, but that we push on and face our next task despite it.”

The two brothers went silent for several long seconds and Wulfsurd examined them with a slight grin. Valen was like his own brother, Caden and Arian like his nephews, and despite the king’s terrible talent for heart-to-hearts it was clear to him that his words had reached Caden in ways they usually didn’t.

“I see,” Caden eventually replied. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize – “

“There is no need to apologize,” Valen told him. “But yes, your brother Arian is right. I do have confidence in your ability to win, in fact I am certain that you will. What point is there for either of us to worry about it?”

Both Caden and Wulfsurd smirked at Valen’s remarks, but Arian had something else on his mind. “Father, you said neither side actually planned to reach an agreement for peace?” He asked.

Valen gave a slow nod. “The purpose was to delay. I did not wish to risk battle this day, not without sufficiently preparing our camp and developing a plan that could best Armand’s craftiness. I suspected Armand wished to delay himself, but it was not until Laurens’ gave his challenge that I became certain of it. He tried to hide it and plotted to make it seem as though he was merely doing that knight a favour, but Armand would not forget something like that. He underestimates how well I know him and because of that, tomorrow he will lose.”

“How did you suppose that?” Asked Wulfsurd, both he and the princes now eager for the king’s response.

“There can be no battle until the duel ends,” Valen replied. “Armand used that to delay our confrontation until tomorrow. That suits our needs as well, which is one reason I did not attempt to stop it… But for Armand, it was critical to his plan.”

Caden sat up then, the light in his eyes betraying epiphany. “The garrison at Formere.”

Valen nodded. “And garrisons from other towns and castles along the way.”

“The bastard plans to flank us,” Wulfsurd blurted. “Is this why Lord Colbert and Anselm were not at the council?”

Caden suddenly remembered Lord Colbert – the wiry, bald count who he realized had been absent from the war council despite his keen tactical mind and talent for military command. Anselm too, the old knight and warrior who Caden had befriended, had been missing from camp – though Caden had supposed he was busy overseeing some matter.

“It is,” Valen explained. “I had them take a small force and go northwest. We have been avoiding the roads to try and stay hidden as much as possible, but Armand cares far more about the speed at which his reinforcements can arrive and, simultaneously, almost certainly believes we don’t know of their coming. They will take the road here, where Lord Colbert and Sir Anselm will meet them in ambush.”

“Father, why did you not tell the Lords of this in council?” Arian asked.

Valen narrowed his eyes ever-so-slightly, uttering, “because Armand is as crafty as a fox. I do not say with any measure of certainty that one of them speaks to him, but just in case I would err on the side of secrecy and caution.”

As the king finished speaking, bells began to ring from outside the tent. Not the frantic bells of alarm, but a rhythmic call to tell the soldiers that it was time for most of them to eat. At the mere thought of food Wulfsurd’s stomach grumbled loudly and the serious contemplation of strategy gave way to light-hearted laughter.

“Perhaps, sires, it is time to eat,” Wulfsurd suggested when the laughter died. “We will need the strength when tomorrow comes, unless there is something more to say?”

“I think all that needs to be said has been said,” the king replied with a slight groan in his voice, but rather than moving towards the tent’s exit he instead returned to his chair and sat down as though he was weary. “The three of you will go now; eat and rest. I wish to be left alone with my thoughts.”

“Are you well, father?” Arian asked him.

“I’m fine, though I have many things yet to contemplate. Go. I will join when I am done.”

“Very well.”

Arian gave his father a slight nod, then together the three men left him to his empty pavilion of war. They went out into the bright sun to eat and joke with the soldiers who followed them, while inside their king sat alone and in silence.

-

Around the camp preparations continued in full swing. The outer perimeter of sharpened stakes was finished, water was stockpiled in great barrels for drinking and cleaning wounds and as the sun set over the valley soldiers cleaned their weapons and armour around hundreds of lit campfires. On the opposite side of the valley the men of Lavell did the same and perimeter guards watched them closely, looking for any sign of unusual activity.

There were no clouds in the sky that night; only stars and an almost full moon that bathed the Sarkanian host in light. They all knew what was going to happen the following day, what great confrontation awaited them, and they were unusually silent as a result. The calm before the storm, broken only by occasional laughter as groups of companions ate roasting meat and drank their allotted ale.

Caden had spent much of the late afternoon in his personal tent, lying on his cot-like bed and still in the same formal doublet he wore when attending the false negotiations that morning. It was unusually comfortable, and with the relative quiet of camp he found the peace of a clear mind despite what awaited him. It was nice, he thought, that he was not plagued by anxiety or restlessness and he listened to the warm crackling of his fire, and though he did not sleep he closed his eyes so that his suit of armour could not taunt him.

“Sire, the king wishes to see you,” a man said, who had poked his head through Caden’s tent. Caden opened his eyes and looked to find a young face, recognizing him as a page to the royal chamberlain, though he did not know his name.

“I see,” Caden replied as he sat up on the edge of his cot, his senses coming back to him as the comfort left.

With a slight sigh, he stood and approached the tent opening and the page bowed, then turned and led him without a word towards the large personal tent of the king. When they reached it they stepped inside and the page bowed towards Valen, who sat behind a desk in one of the tent’s quarters. “Prince Caden, sire,” the page said. Valen looked up to them and nodded, then the page turned and left.

“You wished to see me?” Caden asked, and Valen nodded.

“Caden, this is Ethelyn,” the king told him, gesturing towards an area beside him that candlelight did not fully illuminate.

Caden turned to it, confused, and suddenly realized a woman was standing there. He blinked to clear his eyes, wondering how he had missed her when he had entered the tent, but sure enough there she stood. She was partially obscured in the shadow, wearing a maroon dress with a bodice laced over a dark, feminine tunic.

“My lord prince,” the woman said, curtseying forward until her features passed into light. She was of fair complexion, her skin free of marks or blemishes, and despite her hair being textured with slight waves it still fell past her shoulders. The colour of her hair was warped in the evening candlelight, mahogany, but her eyes could be mistaken for nothing else than what they were. They were unusual, to the point that Caden had to wonder if they were unnatural – white-gold hues that seemed to defy everything when he looked into them.

“My lady,” Caden eventually greeted her with a slight bow. “May I ask why you are here? This is a place of war, suitable for none but the soldiers who fight it.”

“Ethelyn serves the Philosopher King,” Valen explained, his finger tapping slowly against his desk.

“It is true,” Ethelyn replied, though there was no smile or comforting presence in her expression. She was solemn, dignified, otherworldly. “I have been sent in advance to prepare for his arrival.”

“He really is coming?” Caden asked, looking from his father to Ethelyn, then back again. “What business could he possibly have in these southlands? We are so far from the heart of his influence; there is nothing here.”

“I have not been told, lord prince,” Ethelyn said. Caden suddenly recognized the maturity in her tone, how her voice was just deep enough to betray she was older than him despite the youthfulness of it. “The Philosopher King tells us only what we need to know. I cannot understand his wisdom, but I can comprehend it. I do not question him.”

“It must be because of this war,” Caden considered. “Though I do not know how it could possibly interest him. He wishes it to end, perhaps?”

“It is possible, lord prince,” Ethelyn agreed. “Though I could not say for certain. I have been ordered only to remain a guest of your father and inform you of his coming.”

Caden watched her carefully. He did not trust her, and despite her beauty he could not bring himself to like her. It felt… Off around her, as though the air itself was somehow tainted or changed in her presence. Was she a magic user, he wondered? Was she a witch, a sorceress? He had never known one before, had never encountered the supernatural, yet when she stood close he felt a feeling akin to a faint creeping, as though he could not quite comprehend she was actually there.

“I believe he will try to enforce peace between me and Armand,” Valen said. “Which makes our timely victory far more pressing.”

“If that is true, is it wise to go against his wishes? Even if the command has not been given directly, there could still be an argument that we went against it,” Caden said. “Lady Ethelyn, does Armand know of this? Does the Philosopher King intend to visit him also; has he sent another envoy to the Lavellan camp?”

“I am aware of no such envoy being sent, lord prince,” Ethelyn replied.

Caden turned away from the woman and took a step towards his father, rubbing the back of his head in slight distress. “But why? Why now?” Caden asked, trying to think of the answer for himself but not wanting to imagine it would be as simple as control.

“He has no direct command in these lands, but hundreds of years ago oaths were made to him. Since then his power has waned, but it is likely he seeks to re-establish it. What better time to do so in these lands than now, when we are torn apart by war?” Asked Valen.

“Oaths? No man alive today gave their oath to him,” Caden replied.

“No, but he could claim quite convincingly that we are vassals to his empire by the laws that even kings follow. If we disregard that claim, he would have the backing of those who serve him should he wish to invade.”

“And you think he would?” Asked the prince.

“We should prepare for the worst. Lavell would sooner join him than us. As for Kedora? Who could tell? From where I sit it seems we only have one path left open to us: we must win tomorrow, then we must force a personal union between the crowns and bring Lavell under our control.”

“And you think that Lavell’s knights would follow us?” Caden asked, acutely aware that the Philosopher King’s servant was standing there and listening to their entire conversation. Somehow, he did not feel threatened by her; he did not trust her, but he felt he had no reason to hide their plans.

“They would follow their monarch, yes,” Valen surmised. “If we were to make Armand declare his daughter heir to his kingdom, as opposed to one of his cousins, would you be opposed to marrying her? She would become queen of Lavell on her father’s passing, then when the crown of Sarkana passes to you, you would be king of both.”

Caden stopped for a moment. He had known marriage would be an unavoidable arrangement eventually, but he had not expected to discuss it on the eve of battle. “I suppose I would not be opposed. However, if it was to happen, she would become queen of Sarkana and though I would want Arian to have the crown If something happened to me, we would not by law be able to strip her of her title. I would be in a precarious situation, and the weight of my responsibility would be greater still, for if I were to fail then we would lose everything to them.”

“I understand,” Valen replied, somehow not concerned about the presence of Ethelyn. “But Arian has no desire for the throne and I see no alternative. Once you have a son of your own victory will be ensured for both; it is only the lack of a further heir that makes this plan so dangerous, and that can be remedied.”

Caden sighed then and looked back towards Ethelyn, who stood politely and in silence as they spoke. “But first, we have to win tomorrow. I have to win tomorrow,” he said.

“You will,” the king assured him. “You will.”