The war council met at dawn.
Orion had never seen so many people crammed into the map room. Generals in dress uniforms. Nobles in traveling clothes, summoned from their estates in the middle of the night. The Magister in his grey robes, standing apart from everyone else. Ambassador Velin and his daughter, positioned near the window like they weren't sure if they were guests or prisoners.
Kaelen stood at the center, his back to the massive map that covered the entire wall. He waited until the room fell silent, then spoke.
"Three days ago, a rider reached the Eastern Kingdoms with news of an army gathering in the northern mountains. The Eastern Kingdoms, in their wisdom, sent word to us immediately." He nodded toward Velin. "We are in their debt."
Murmurs rippled through the room. Kaelen held up a hand.
"The army is estimated at five thousand men. Mostly infantry, some cavalry. They fly a banner we do not recognize—a mountain with a star." He paused. "They are moving south. Slowly. Deliberately. As if they want us to see them coming."
"Five thousand isn't an army," General Aris said. "It's a raiding party. We could crush them with half that number."
"Five thousand is what we know about. There could be more behind them. There could be supply lines we haven't spotted. There could be allies we haven't identified." Kaelen turned to the map. "The northern passes are narrow. An army that size would take weeks to move through them. Weeks we can use to prepare."
Lord Cassian stepped forward. "Prepare how? We don't even know who we're fighting. Bandits? Mercenaries? Some northern lord with delusions of grandeur?"
"Someone with a claim." Kaelen's voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. "Someone with Andromeda blood."
Silence. Complete, absolute silence. Orion watched the faces around him—shock on most, confusion on some, and on Lady Mira's face, something that was gone before he could name it.
"I don't understand," the treasury minister said. "The Andromeda line is here. You're here. The prince is here. How can someone else have a claim?"
Kaelen looked at Orion. It was the signal they'd agreed on the night before. Orion stepped forward.
"In the year 873, during the Silent Summer, King Theron and his entire family died of fever. All except one—a distant cousin named Corin, who was stationed in the north. He became king. That's what the histories say." He paused, letting the words settle. "But the histories are wrong. Theron's brother, Aldric, had a wife and a newborn son. They didn't die in the fever. They fled north before it reached them. They survived."
More murmurs. Louder this time. Someone demanded proof. Someone else shouted that it was impossible.
"We have proof," Orion continued. "A city called Newhaven, built by the survivors. A line of Andromedas that's been growing in the north for over a hundred years. And now—" He gestured at the map. "—an army marching under their banner."
The room erupted. Generals demanding to know why they hadn't been told. Nobles asking how the prince knew this when they didn't. Lord Cassian shouting over everyone, his face red with anger.
Kaelen let it go for a full minute. Then he slammed his palm on the table. The sound was like thunder.
"Enough."
The room went quiet.
"I didn't tell you because I didn't know for certain until now. The prince discovered evidence of the northern line months ago. I sent scouts to confirm it. They were killed before they could return." He looked around the room, meeting every eye. "The enemy has been watching us for a hundred years. They have spies in this court. They have allies we don't know about. And they have an army marching toward our borders."
He pointed at General Aris.
"You will mobilize every available soldier. Fortify the northern passes. Send scouts into the mountains to find out exactly what we're facing."
He pointed at Lord Cassian.
"You will coordinate with the northern lords. Raise their levies, arm their people, prepare them for siege."
He pointed at the treasury minister.
"You will find the gold to pay for all of this. Borrow if you have to. Tax if you must. I don't care how."
One by one, he assigned tasks. The room transformed from chaos to purpose, people moving, talking, planning. Orion watched from his corner, noting who seemed eager and who seemed reluctant. Lady Mira had her game face on—calm, helpful, offering suggestions to the generals. But he saw her eyes flick to the door. Saw her hands clench at her sides.
She was worried. That meant something.
---
The council broke up three hours later. Orion found Elara in their secret room, already waiting.
"Well?"
"Chaos. Exactly what Father expected." He sat down across from her. "Lady Mira looked nervous. Not scared—nervous. Like she was calculating something."
"She's probably trying to figure out how to warn them without getting caught." Elara pulled out her map. "I've been watching her household. She has three messengers she uses regularly. One left this morning, before the council even started."
"Going where?"
"North. I had one of my contacts follow him. He made it to the city gates, then disappeared." She tapped the map. "There's a courier service near the north road. They handle messages for half the nobles in the city. He probably dropped it there."
"Can we intercept it?"
"Already tried. The courier service is loyal to whoever pays them. They wouldn't even tell me what the package looked like." She leaned back. "She's good. I'll give her that."
Orion thought about it. About Lady Mira feeding information to the enemy. About the army marching south. About his father preparing for war.
"We need to move faster."
"How?"
"I don't know yet." He stood and started pacing. "Father's mobilizing the army. That'll take weeks. The northern passes will slow them down, but not forever. Eventually, they'll get here. And when they do, we'll have a battle."
"Battles we can win. Five thousand isn't that many."
"It's not about winning the battle. It's about what comes after." He stopped pacing. "They're Andromedas. Same blood as us. If we kill them all, we're killing our own family. If we don't, they'll keep coming. Generation after generation, until one of us is dead."
Elara was quiet for a moment. Then: "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying there has to be another way. Something besides war." He sat down again. "Father said the king's job is choosing which hurts to accept. But what if we could choose something else? What if we could make them stop wanting to fight?"
"You think they'll just give up because we ask nicely?"
"No. But maybe—" He stopped. An idea was forming, half-shaped, dangerous. "Maybe we could give them something else. Something they want more than the throne."
"What could they want more than the throne?"
"I don't know. But they've been in the north for a hundred years. They've built a city. They've raised families. They have lives there." He looked at her. "What if we offered them peace? Recognition? A place in the kingdom instead of trying to take the whole thing?"
"You want to negotiate with an army that's marching to kill us?"
"I want to try. Before anyone dies." He stood. "I need to talk to Father."
---
Kaelen listened without interruption. When Orion finished, he was quiet for a long time.
"You want to offer them a deal."
"A chance. A choice. Something besides fighting."
"And if they refuse?"
"Then we fight. But at least we tried." Orion stepped closer. "Father, they're family. Distant, angry, family—but still family. If we kill them all, that blood is on our hands forever. If we can find another way—"
"I know." Kaelen's voice was tired. "I've thought about this. Every night since Corvis died, I've thought about it." He rubbed his eyes. "But offering peace requires someone to offer it. Someone they'll listen to. Someone who can speak for the crown."
"Send me."
The words hung in the air. Kaelen stared at him.
"No."
"Father—"
"I said no." His voice was sharp. "You're eleven years old. You're my only son. You're not riding into an enemy camp to negotiate with people who've been trying to kill us for thirty years."
"Then who? Elara? You were ready to send her north before. Why is she expendable and I'm not?"
"Because she's not the heir." Kaelen stood. "If something happens to Elara, I grieve forever. If something happens to you, the dynasty ends. That's the difference. That's the weight you carry whether you want to or not."
Orion felt the words like a slap. "That's not fair."
"No. It's not." Kaelen crossed to him and put his hands on his shoulders. "None of this is fair. You didn't ask to be born a prince. You didn't ask for a rival line to rise up and threaten everything. But this is your life now. These are your choices. And my job—my job as your father and your king—is to keep you alive long enough to make them."
"So we do nothing?"
"We prepare. We fight if we have to. And we hope that somewhere in that army, there's someone who wants peace as much as we do." He squeezed Orion's shoulders. "I'm not saying no forever. I'm saying no for now. When you're older, when you're ready, you can make that choice. But not today."
Orion wanted to argue. Wanted to scream. But he looked at his father's face—tired, worried, desperate—and couldn't.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Not today."
Kaelen pulled him into a hug. "Thank you."
---
The days that followed were a blur of activity. Soldiers marching north. Supplies moving. Scouts reporting back with news of the enemy's progress. The army was larger now—seven thousand, according to the latest estimates. Still not enough to threaten the capital directly, but enough to cause real damage if they weren't stopped at the passes.
Orion threw himself into the work. He attended every council meeting. He studied every report. He memorized the names of every northern lord, every pass, every potential battlefield. If he couldn't go himself, he would at least know everything there was to know.
Elara worked her network tirelessly. She had eyes everywhere now—servants, guards, minor nobles who owed her favors. They reported everything. Who was talking to whom. Who seemed nervous. Who had started packing their belongings "just in case."
Lady Mira was the focus of most of their attention. She'd sent three more messages north since the council meeting, all through different channels. Elara's people had intercepted two of them. They contained detailed reports of troop movements, supply lines, and weaknesses in the northern defenses.
"She's giving them everything," Elara said, spreading the copies across the table. "Positions. Numbers. Timing. If they have any sense, they'll use this to avoid our army entirely. Hit us somewhere we're not expecting."
"Can we warn Father's generals?"
"We can try. But they'd want to know how we got this information. And then Lady Mira would know we're watching her." She shook her head. "We're trapped. If we act, she figures it out. If we don't, the enemy gets everything."
Orion stared at the letters. At the neat handwriting, the detailed descriptions, the signature at the bottom of each one.
E.
"Who is E?" he said suddenly. "We've been so focused on Lady Mira, we haven't thought about who she's writing to."
Elara frowned. "Someone in Newhaven. Someone high enough to receive reports and act on them."
"Someone with a name that starts with E. Someone who's been planning this for—" He stopped. "How old are these letters? The earliest one we found was from two years ago. But she could have been writing for longer. Years longer. Decades."
"You think E is the cousin? The one leading the army?"
"Maybe. Or maybe E is someone else. Someone older. Someone who's been waiting even longer." He picked up one of the letters. "This isn't the writing of a young person. Look at the hand—steady, practiced, old-fashioned. This is someone who learned to write a long time ago."
Elara took the letter and studied it. "You're right. The loops, the pressure—this is an older hand." She looked up. "So E is old. Old enough to remember something. Old enough to have been waiting for a long time."
"Old enough to have known Grandfather." Orion's voice was quiet. "Old enough to have sent the assassin thirty years ago."
They looked at each other. The same thought was in both their minds.
"What if E isn't a cousin?" Elara said slowly. "What if E is the son? The one who was supposed to die in 873? What if he's still alive?"
"A hundred and something years old?"
"Possible. The old texts say the first Andromedas lived for centuries. The bloodline was stronger then." She set the letter down. "If he's still alive, if he's been leading this for a hundred years—"
"Then he's not going to stop. He's not going to negotiate. He's waited too long." Orion felt cold. "He wants the throne. He's always wanted it. And now he's coming to take it."
They sat in silence, surrounded by evidence of a conspiracy that stretched back longer than anyone had known. A hundred years of waiting. A hundred years of planning. A hundred years of hatred, focused on their family.
And somewhere in the north, an old man was marching south to finish what he started.
Orion thought about his father's words. About the weight of crowns. About choosing which hurts to accept.
For the first time, he understood what it really meant