The council chamber was everything the training hall was not.
Where the hall swallowed sound, the chamber amplified it—every footstep echoing against marble, every whisper skittering along the high, arched ceiling like a living thing. Sunlight poured through tall stained-glass windows, painting the long council table in fractured colors: gold, crimson, deep blue. The colors of Elyndor.
Prince Aurelian Valenor sat at the right side of the table, hands folded neatly before him, posture perfect in the way that came from habit rather than confidence. His expression was calm, attentive. Those who glanced at him saw what they expected to see.
The spare prince. Listening. Learning.
Across from him sat King Aldric Valenor, broad-shouldered even in age, his iron-gray hair pulled back, his crown resting heavy upon his brow. He did not look at Aurelian. He rarely did during council.
To the king's left sat Crown Prince Lucien, relaxed in his chair, one boot hooked casually around the leg of the table. He listened with half an ear, fingers drumming idly against the wood as a noble droned on about tariffs and grain shipments.
"…and if the Dominion of Varkath continues to delay their tribute," the lord concluded nervously, "we may face shortages before winter's end."
Lucien leaned forward. "Then we stop waiting."
The room stilled.
"We reinforce the border cities," Lucien continued easily. "Cut off their trade routes. Remind them what happens when Elyndor is patient for too long."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the council.
King Aldric nodded once. "You propose escalation."
"I propose prevention," Lucien corrected. "They're testing us. They always do."
Aurelian's gaze flicked to his brother, sharp despite the casual tone. Lucien had always spoken of war the way other men spoke of weather—inevitable, manageable, almost familiar.
"And the cost?" Aurelian asked quietly.
Several heads turned.
Lucien blinked, surprised, then smiled. "There's always a cost."
Aurelian met his eyes steadily. "There's also always a choice."
The smile faded—just a fraction.
King Aldric finally looked at his younger son. "And what would you suggest, Aurelian?"
The question was not unkind. It was worse. It was disinterested.
Aurelian inhaled slowly. "Diplomatic envoys. Reinforce defenses without advancing troops. If Varkath wants provocation, deny them the satisfaction."
A few councilors nodded thoughtfully. Others frowned.
Lucien scoffed. "That's hesitation dressed up as wisdom."
Aurelian did not rise to it. "It's restraint."
"Restraint doesn't win wars."
"No," Aurelian said softly. "But it can prevent them."
Silence fell again, thicker this time.
King Aldric tapped two fingers against the arm of his throne. "Enough. We will send envoys and prepare troops. I will not have Elyndor caught unready."
His gaze shifted to Lucien. "You will lead the northern campaign preparations."
Lucien straightened, satisfaction flashing across his face. "Gladly."
King Aldric's gaze did not move when he added, "You leave within the month."
Aurelian's breath stilled.
Lucien's grin widened. "Then I'll make it count."
Council adjourned soon after, the nobles rising in a flurry of silk and whispers. Aurelian remained seated a moment longer, his fingers tightening imperceptibly.
War. Again.
As the chamber emptied, a familiar presence settled at his side without a sound.
Sir Caelan Thorne stood just behind Aurelian's chair, close enough that the prince could feel the quiet solidity of him, like a shield cast in flesh.
"You should have let it pass," Caelan murmured.
Aurelian did not look up. "I couldn't."
Caelan hesitated. "The king does not value contradiction."
"Then he should stop asking questions he doesn't want answered."
That earned the faintest exhale from Caelan—not quite laughter, not quite surprise.
Lucien approached them, clapping Aurelian on the shoulder. "You worry too much."
Aurelian looked at his brother then. "And you don't worry enough."
Lucien's expression softened, just a touch. "That's why we balance each other."
He glanced at Caelan. "Keep him out of trouble while I'm gone."
Caelan bowed. "With my life."
Lucien nodded once and turned away.
When he was gone, Aurelian stood.
The walk back to the eastern wing was quiet, their footsteps echoing in tandem along stone corridors lined with banners and portraits. Past kings. Past queens.
Past mistakes.
They stopped before a painting Aurelian had never been able to ignore.
Queen Seraphina Valenor gazed out from the canvas, painted in soft light and gentler colors than any of the men who surrounded her. Her smile was calm, her eyes warm—alive in a way no portrait should be.
"She hated this corridor," Aurelian said suddenly.
Caelan looked at the painting. "Your mother?"
"She said it was too heavy with ghosts." Aurelian's lips curved faintly. "She preferred the gardens."
Caelan nodded. "I remember."
Aurelian glanced at him in surprise. "You met her."
"Once," Caelan said. "Before the war."
The words settled between them.
Aurelian studied the painting, his voice low. "Do you think she would have wanted another war?"
Caelan was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, it was careful. "She believed strength did not have to be loud."
Aurelian smiled sadly. "Then we remember her the same way."
They resumed walking, but something had shifted—subtle, unspoken. Memory had a way of doing that. Of binding people without permission.
Outside, the training yard rang with the sound of steel and shouted commands. Lucien's soldiers were already preparing.
Aurelian stopped at the balcony overlooking the yard. Below, banners snapped in the wind, emblazoned with the sigil of Elyndor. He watched Lucien move among the soldiers like a flame among kindling.
"They'd follow him into the abyss," Aurelian said.
"Yes," Caelan replied. "They would."
"And you?" Aurelian asked, not looking at him.
Caelan answered without hesitation. "I would follow you anywhere."
The words landed heavier than either of them expected.
Aurelian turned slowly. "Even if I was wrong?"
Caelan met his gaze. "Especially then."
Something sharp twisted in Aurelian's chest. "That kind of loyalty is dangerous."
"I know."
Aurelian held his gaze, searching for something he did not yet have words for. Then he looked away.
"Lucien leaves in a month," he said. "Everything will change."
Caelan's jaw tightened. "Change is inevitable."
Aurelian nodded. "So is consequence."
The bells of the castle began to toll, marking the hour. Their sound rolled over the courtyard, over the city beyond the walls, over a kingdom standing at the edge of something it did not yet see.
Aurelian straightened his shoulders.
"Come," he said. "Train me again."
Caelan followed him without question.
Above them, banners fluttered.
Beyond them, war waited.