They say weddings are the most sacred events across the nine kingdoms of Astarous. Blessed by the gods. Watched by the ancestors. Bound by covenant of blood.
That night, even Prince Drexo believed it.
The great hall of Ashford Castle glowed with torchlight. Flames flickered along the stone walls, bending and stretching like living things. Long tables filled the chamber, heavy with roasted boar, honeyed bread, and silver goblets that never remained empty for long. The banners of House Kenwool hung proudly beside the black and gold of House Dragarian. Wolves and dragons side by side.
For once, no one whispered of war. Prince Drexo Dragarian, the king without a throne, sat at the high table with a cup of dark wine resting in his hand. He did not drink it. He only held it. Turning it slowly. Watching the liquid cling to the edges like blood.
Peace.
It felt unfamiliar.
For two years, his life had been nothing but planning, war, bloodshed.
But tonight, something had shifted. Tonight, the last piece of the chess by which he would reclaim the Golden Throne had fallen into place.
Across the hall sat men who would die for him. Lords who had pledged their swords. Houses that had chosen his cause over Robert Rendell's crown.
The great army was no longer just a dream, It was real.
Beside him sat Maria, his wife. She was smiling. Not the careful smile she wore in court. Not the guarded expression of a noble forced to survive among enemies.
This one was unguarded.
Her hand rested over her belly, fingers moving slowly, almost unconsciously, feeling the life already living inside of her.
Their child.
His child.
"You will be out any moment from now."
Drexo's eyes lingered on that small movement. His chest tightened. He had buried everyone else.
His father had burned inside the throne room of Astarous. His mother had died screaming his name. His brothers… He shut his eyes briefly.
Ash.
Nothing but ash.
House Dragarian, the house of dragons, reduced to memory and smoke. Every single dragon was poisoned. They all died. Only a dragon egg remained in his possession.
And yet here he was. Still breathing. Still fighting. Because of her. Because of the woman sitting beside him, carrying his future inside her.
The thought of the life they have now made him smile. "I fell in love with the sister of my enemy and married her," he told himself.
Maria leaned closer until her shoulder rested gently against his arm. "You are quiet tonight," she said. Her voice was soft, and careful.
He turned his head slightly.
"I am thinking."
She raised a brow. "That is dangerous for a king."
A small laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
It surprised him.
He had forgotten what his own laughter sounded like. "I was thinking," he said slowly again, "that I am the luckiest man alive."
She stilled.
Her smile faded, replaced by something deeper.
Sadness.
"You are not allowed to say such things," she whispered. "Not after everything that has happened to your family."
He slid his hand beneath the table and found hers. Her fingers were warm, and alive.
"I lost the throne," he said quietly. "But I found you."
He paused.
"And together we will reclaim the Golden Throne from Robert Rendell."
Maria's eyes lowered. Her hand tightened around his.
Drexo noticed the change immediately.
The hesitation.
The guilt.
"What is it?" he asked. She exhaled slowly. "I hate it," she said. "Hate what?"
She hesitated.
"The fact that my house stands on the other side." Her voice broke slightly. "My brother will be there, Drexo. On the battlefield once again. And I will have to fight against him, and if need be, kill him or die by his sword."
The words lingered between them.
Heavy.
Ugly.
Real.
Drexo squeezed her hand. "Then let us pray it does not come to that."
She looked at him.
He forced confidence into his voice. "He still has time to come to his senses."
She did not answer. She knew Edmond Woodland, she knew he was not one to break his oath, not even for blood.
But her fingers held onto his as if letting go would mean losing him forever.
For a moment, the war did not exist. No burning cities. No broken crowns. No ghosts. Only this hall.
This warmth.
This fragile, impossible future.
Drexo looked up. Across the hall, he found Theon Kendrick watching him.
His childhood best friend. His brother, not by blood, but by choice.
They had grown up together, fought together, bled together, and survived together.
They had survived when others had not. Their eyes met.
Theon smiled.
Drexo returned it.
Then Theon stood. The movement was sudden enough to quiet those around him.
He raised his wine cup high.
"A toast," Theon called, his voice carrying across the hall.
The last conversations faded. All eyes turned to him.
"To Drexo Dragarian," Theon continued, louder now. "First of his name."
The room held its breath.
"King of the Norsemen and of the Seiks."
More men rose to their feet.
"Lord of the Nine Kingdoms of Astarous."
The hall grew louder.
"And protector of the realm!"
Wine cups lifted into the air. Voices followed. "Long may His Grace reign!"
The sound crashed against the stone walls like thunder.
Drexo felt it in his chest. Not fear. Not grief. But something else. Something dangerous.
Hope.
He rose slowly to his feet. The hall quieted again. He looked at the faces before him. Men who had risked everything. Men who had chosen him.
He raised his cup.
"I wish to thank Lord Fabio Kenwool," he said. He turned slightly toward the old lord. "And all members of House Kenwool for this wonderful union."
Fabio nodded, his aged face unreadable.
"For allowing us to vary the agreement slightly."
A few chuckles echoed.
Drexo smiled faintly. "I truly dreamt of marrying a Kenwool." Laughter spread across the hall.
He turned toward Maria.
"But I found love in a Woodland girl." The laughter grew warmer. Maria smiled, though her eyes searched for his'.
He continued.
"But today, our houses are united in marriage."
He paused.
Then pointed toward Theon. "Because Theon here is not just my friend."
Theon's expression shifted.
"He is my brother."
Silence fell again.
"We grew up together. We survived together." Drexo raised his cup higher. "Therefore, I swear by Ago, God of Fire…"
The torches flickered.
"…that the Kenwools will receive all benefits meant for those joined to House Dragarian."
The hall erupted.
Chants.
Cheers.
Cups slamming against tables. Fabio Kenwool rose slowly to his feet. The old lord lifted his goblet.
"Ashford is yours, Your Grace." His voice was steady. "And the Kenwools will remain loyal to House Dragarian."
He paused.
"Even for generations to come."
More cheers followed. "To years of alliance!" Fabio shouted, raising his wine.
"To years of alliance!" the hall roared back.
Drexo smiled. Relief washed over him. It was working. Piece by piece. Step by step. House Dragarian was returning to where it used to be.
From the high table, Havana watched him. His aunt. His mother's older sister.
She said nothing at first. She only watched. Then she leaned closer. Her voice barely reached him. "House Dragarian will rise again."
She paused.
Her eyes locked onto his. "And it will rise through you."
Drexo said nothing. He only held his cup tighter. Around him, the celebration continued.
Laughter.
Music.
Life.
And for the first time in two years, the ghosts were quiet, and celebration lingered.
The music went on. It filled every corner of the hall, drums beating like a second heartbeat beneath the ribs of every man present. Laughter followed it. Cups rose and fell. Wine spilled. Grease stained fingers. Joy pretended to be real.
Drexo leaned back into his chair, his hand resting over Maria's beneath the table. He could feel her warmth, her pulse.
Alive, and safe.
For that moment, he allowed himself to forget the rebellion. Forget Robert Rendell. Forget the Golden Throne.
Tonight he was only a husband. Only a man. Only a friend whose best friend just got married.
Across the hall, warriors sang his name. Some off key. Some drunk beyond sense.
He smiled faintly.
Then Havana's eyes drifted. At first it was nothing. Just a glance. The kind born from habit. From years of ruling. Years of surviving when others fell.
Her gaze settled on Fabio Kenwool. He was smiling. But his wine cup was still full.
Untouched.
Havana's fingers tightened slowly around her own cup. Maybe he was pacing himself. Maybe he was tired.
Just maybe.
Her eyes shifted. Other members of House Kenwool. Their cups were full too.
Not half full. Not nearly empty. But full.
Untouched.
Her heartbeat stumbled. The music continued. No one noticed. Her breathing grew shallow.
Her eyes moved again. Thus time to theon.
His cup was full.
Untouched.
Behind him, servants moved toward the doors.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Closing them. One by one. The sound of wood pressing into stone echoed louder than the drums inside her skull.
Her warriors were still laughing. Still drinking. Still eating.
But now dying and they did not even know it yet.
She sprang to her feet so fast her chair fell behind her. "Stop drinking!" Her voice tore through the hall.
The music faltered. Cups paused mid air. Laughter died. Every eye turned to face her.
Drexo stood immediately and rushed to her, his boots scraping against the stone floor. "Aunt," he said, holding her arm. "Are you alright?" His mouth oozed the smell of wine.
She grabbed his wrist.
Hard.
"This is a set up," she cried.
His brows pulled together. "What are you talking about? Just calm down."
She pointed. Her finger trembled. "Why are their cups still filled up?"
The words fell into silence.
Drexo turned. His eyes moved from face to face. From cup to cup.
Full.
Untouched.
His stomach dropped.
Then he heard it. The sound of steel leaving its sheath.
Soft.
Deadly.
His head snapped toward the sound. Warriors stood. Not his warriors, but Kenwool's. Swords drawn.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs. This was a wedding.
Sacred.
Blessed.
No swords should exist here.
"What is…" Before he could say those words, steel moved: Fast.
A blade plunged into the throat of one of his men. Blood sprayed across the table.
Another sword drove into the back. A scream tore the air.
Then another.
And another.
Chaos exploded. Maria moved. The blade meant for her pierced only air.
She twisted.
Her hand caught the attacker's wrist. Her other hand seized his throat. She turned sharply.
A crack split the air.
His body collapsed.
Her eyes burned with rage. "What is the meaning of this," she growled. Her voice no longer carried warmth.
Only death.
"How dare you raise your sword against your king?"
Fabio stepped forward.
Laughing.
Slow.
Calm.
"He is not my king." The words struck harder than any blade. Fabio's smile widened. "He stopped being my king the very day he broke the oath which he swore to my house and married you."
Maria's chest rose and fell. Drexo stared at him.
Fabio continued.
"A man who breaks his oath is not worthy of the golden crown of Astarous."
More men flooded into the hall.
Armor.
Swords.
Their Sigils carried the black stag of House Rendell.
Drexo's mouth went dry. "You sold me out?" he whispered.
Fabio's smile never left.
"Robert will make a better king than you," he said. "He doesn't break his oath."
"I was in love!" Drexo roared. His voice cracked the hall. "I broke the oath for love."
Fabio laughed again. This time, it was cold, and empty. "Love doesn't make kings. Alliance does."
"Love is the death of duty." He stepped closer. "And duty is what makes a good king, not love."
He raised his hand. His army surged forward. Blades fell. Drexo moved. His fist slammed into a Kendwool soldier's face. Bone shattered beneath his knuckles.
He caught the falling sword. Steel met steel. He cut.
Once.
Twice.
A throat opened. A chest split. Blood covered his hands. Covered his face.
Maria fought beside him. A blade pierced toward her. She deflected, and cut.
The warrior fell and died.
They moved together. Like they had always done. Ten warriors fell.
Then another.
Then another.
Bodies covered the floor. For a moment hope flickered. For a moment it felt like he could win. Like he always had.
Like the legendary king who had never lost. A king who has won all five wars that he has charged.
Then he saw him.
Theon, his best friend, standing against him, with his sword raised.
Drexo froze. Not from exhaustion. Not from fear. But from disbelief.
His lips parted. "You too?" he whispered. The words barely existed. Tears filled his eyes. Memories flooded him. Two boys running through castle halls.
Training together. Bleeding together. Laughing together.
Brothers.
"You too?" he repeated. His voice broke. Tears fell freely now. "You sold me out?"