Chapter 15.The Long Road to Iza

"Men speak of war as if it is theirs to fight. But tell me, who secures their alliances, whispers in their ears, and turns the tide without lifting a sword?"

-Duchess Irene

My P.O.V - Military Camp

We finally began our march north. The lands beyond Elria were little more than scattered villages, dense forests, and vast open plains. We had 800 men with us—men who had fought and bled at Lion’s Crest. But they were in no condition to fight again, and what was worse, we had left behind the people of Elria, abandoning them to the mercy of Duke Eadric. I knew Eadric wasn’t the kind of man to senselessly slaughter civilians—that would only turn more of the realm against him—but even so, it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

That first night, we set up camp. Our wounded filled every spare tent, and the air carried the heavy scent of sweat, blood, and desperation. As I moved through the camp, Aria approached me, her expression grim.

“There are rumors spreading,” she said quietly.

I raised a brow. “Rumors?”

She nodded. “That you’re the one truly leading this army now. That you’re the real commander, not Leo.”

I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. “Let them believe what they want. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” she insisted. “If Leo hears this, it will only widen the rift between you two.”

I scoffed. “That rift was there long before Lion’s Crest fell.”

She frowned but didn’t press further.

Later that night, the council convened in the Queen’s pavilion. It was larger and more extravagant than the rest of our tents—far more than we needed given our situation—but we had little choice. Queen Anna, Leo, Ser Midryn, Ser Gildas, and Lord Varus were already seated when I entered. The Queen shot me a cold glance, but I ignored her.

“I need opinions on our next course of action,” I stated.

Leo and Midryn exchanged confused glances. Of course they were confused. They still didn’t understand the position we were in.

Ser Gildas was the first to speak. “As you know, we are taking a longer path north to avoid Eadric’s forces. The villages along the way may provide us with supplies, or even volunteers willing to fight.”

“That’s an option,” I admitted. “But we have to be careful. We don’t have the coin to pay for supplies, and I refuse to steal from the people.”

Aria nodded in agreement.

Lord Varus then spoke, his voice calm and measured. “I have sent word to Duchess Irene, informing her that we seek sanctuary in Iza. I will report back once I receive her response.”

I gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”

Leo exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists. “I still cannot believe we abandoned Elria.”

Ser Gildas sighed, and even Aria rubbed her temple in frustration. How was he still not grasping the situation?

“Elria is too large to defend,” I said plainly. “You think 800 wounded men could hold against Eadric’s entire army? He would have slaughtered us, Leo.”

Leo scowled. “I refuse to be known as the king who ran.”

I leaned back in my chair, unimpressed. “You are not a king, Leo. Not yet.”

Queen Anna stood abruptly, her face twisted with anger. “How dare you speak to your king that way, bastard?”

Aria immediately stepped in. “Enough, Mother! Must you insult him every time he speaks? Alaric is the only one thinking clearly right now!”

Queen Anna turned sharply toward her. “And why do you always defend him, Aria? Why do you stand by this bastard when he is not your blood?”

Aria’s eyes burned with fury. “Because he is my brother, whether you like it or not! And unlike you, I value those who have actually fought for this family instead of sitting in court, clinging to a throne that is slipping through your fingers!”

The Queen scoffed, but she had no response.

Ser Midryn cleared his throat. “We can defend Elria,” he insisted. “It has high walls and strong gates. A well-fortified city can hold even against larger numbers.”

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temple. “And how do you plan to defend a massive city with 800 men, Midryn? Half of them can barely hold a sword. You think city walls will stop Eadric forever? His army outnumbers us fifteen to one. He has siege weapons. He has supplies. He has momentum.” I narrowed my eyes. “You’re a knight, not an idiot. Think.”

Midryn hesitated but didn’t argue further.

Ser Gildas leaned forward, folding his arms. “Alaric is right. If we had stayed, we would have been wiped out within a week. Our only chance is to seek allies. And the closest possible ally is Duchess Irene.”

Leo gritted his teeth. “And what if she refuses us?”

“Then we find another way,” I said. “But sitting here arguing won’t change the fact that Eadric is coming.”

I turned to the Queen, my patience long gone. “Enough with the pride, Your Grace. It will only lead to death and suffering.”

She glared, but this time, she didn’t speak.

Silence settled over the council. No one wanted to admit it, but they all knew the truth—we had no other choice.

Duchess Irene’s P.O.V - The Castle of Divina

The great hall of Divina was stifling, despite the cool spring air that seeped through the high arched windows. I had spent the entire afternoon presiding over court, listening to merchants complain of rising tolls, minor lords bicker over border disputes, and commoners plead for grain after a poor harvest.

It was exhausting.

So when the last petitioner finally left and my steward, Edric, moved to close the great doors, I let out a sigh of relief. Finally, a moment of peace.

Then the doors creaked open again.

"My lady," Edric announced, a note of urgency in his voice. "A messenger from Lord Varus has arrived."

That caught my attention.

Varus was the Kingdom’s Master of Gossips, a man who thrived on secrets and wielded knowledge like a dagger. If he had sent a messenger, it meant something important had happened.

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"Enter," I commanded, sitting upright.

The doors parted, and a man stepped forward. He was road-worn, his cloak covered in dust, but his posture was firm. He carried himself like a soldier—proud, disciplined, and accustomed to duty. He bowed deeply.

"My lady, I am Henry, a messenger of Lord Varus. I bring a personal letter, written by my lord himself."

I extended my hand, and he placed the sealed parchment into my grasp. The wax bore the sigil of House Alford—Varus’s house. I broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and began reading.

To the Most Esteemed and Wise Duchess Irene, Lady of Divina and Guardian of Iza,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits, though I suspect neither is truly possible in these troubled times. By now, I imagine you have heard whispers of what transpired at Lion’s Crest, but let me spare you the speculation and provide you with the truth.

The fortress has fallen. Prince Devran is dead, and so is Ser Lanselot. The Royal Army is shattered, and the Lion’s banner lies in the mud.

But the war is not yet lost.

Alaric, the Bastard of Feldyn, led the remnants of our forces out of the slaughter and now marches north, toward Divina. We have no illusions of our position—we are weakened, we are wounded, and we are few. But there is still a fight to be had, and it is not yet time to kneel.

I do not come to you with empty hands, nor do I come begging. Instead, I extend an opportunity. The war will not be won by swords alone, but by alliances forged in fire. The Crown needs allies, and there is no house greater nor wiser than House Stiedry to see where this war must turn.

Elria is lost. The heart of the kingdom is now in the hands of a man who believes himself King before he has even secured a throne. Leo and his mother grasp at a power they do not yet truly hold. But you, my lady, have something they do not—foresight.

Alaric and his men will reach your lands in due time. Whether they arrive as welcome guests or desperate fugitives remains in your hands.

Choose well, my lady. History does not often give second chances.

Lord Varus of House Alford

Master of Gossips, Keeper of Secrets

I read the letter once. Then again, slower.

So, it was true. Lion’s Crest had fallen. The prince was dead. Leo had crowned himself. And Alaric—the bastard prince, the soldier, the survivor—was marching here.

I let out a slow breath, placing the letter down on the table.

"My lady?" Edric prompted.

I turned my gaze to Henry, the messenger, who remained standing with quiet patience. "How long did it take you to reach Divina?" I asked.

"Seven days, my lady," he replied promptly. "I rode hard, bypassing the usual roads. I stopped only when necessary."

Seven days. That meant Alaric and his forces were still at least two weeks away—perhaps longer, given their wounded. That gave me time to think.

I turned to Edric. "Summon my council. I want to hear their thoughts on this."

Henry cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "If I may, my lady… Lord Varus urged a swift response."

I gave him a knowing smile. "And Lord Varus should know that I do not rush into decisions, no matter how urgent they may seem."

Henry hesitated but then lowered his head. "Of course, my lady."

I dismissed him with a nod, then picked up the letter once more, tapping my fingers against the parchment.

Alaric was coming.

The bastard son of King Valero, the man who had kept what remained of the royal forces alive. The man the Queen despised.

Perhaps it was time I met him.

Duchess Irene’s POV - The Council Hall

The chamber was filled with murmurs and tension, the air thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Seated at the head of the long oak table, I swept my gaze over those gathered—men who had served me loyally, who had advised my father before me.

At my right sat Edric, my steward, the man responsible for the day-to-day affairs of Divina. Beside him was Ser Rodirik, my Marshal and a battle-hardened knight who had fought in more campaigns than I could count. Gendry, my Diplomat, a man skilled with words and courtly maneuvering, observed quietly, his sharp eyes studying everyone present. At my left, Solomon, my Minister of Finance and Trade, adjusted his rings, his concern already evident on his lined face. Other key ministers and officers filled the remaining seats, each awaiting the inevitable discussion.

Edric cleared his throat and addressed the room. "The remnants of the Royal Army are marching toward Divina. They seek sanctuary under your banner, my lady."

There was a pause. A few exchanged glances before Ser Rodirik let out a scoff. "Sanctuary?" He leaned forward, his fingers drumming against the table. "No, my lady, they are not coming here merely for shelter. They are coming to drag us into their war."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.

"They were crushed at Lion’s Crest," Rodirik continued. "The Crown lost its best men, its finest knights, and its strongest position. And now they come here—weak, battered, and desperate—because they know we are their only hope." His eyes flickered toward me. "You know this, my lady. The bastard prince and his so-called army do not come as guests. They come as beggars with swords, asking us to fight for a war we cannot afford."

Edric shifted in his seat. "Regardless of what they want, we cannot simply turn them away. To do so would be a declaration of where we stand in this war. And right now, neutrality is our greatest advantage."

Gendry folded his hands together. "The Royal Family still holds legitimacy, even if their power has waned. If we refuse them, we risk turning them into enemies. But if we accept them, we risk war with Eadric."

"That war has already come to our doorstep," Rodirik countered. "Or have you forgotten Count Magerius? We are already fighting our own vassal, and he is no small lord. He holds vast lands and commands a sizeable force. We cannot afford to open another front while Magerius still defies us."

Solomon, who had been quiet until now, let out a sigh. "And what of trade? We rely on stability to keep our coffers full. War means instability. If we involve ourselves, we risk losing vital trade routes. Montaklar will not remain neutral forever, and if they choose to side against us, our markets will suffer."

The room fell silent for a moment, as everyone weighed the risks.

I leaned back in my chair, tapping my fingers against the armrest. "So, what is our best course of action?"

Rodirik was the first to speak. "Turn them away. We offer them provisions for their wounded and a safe passage west, but we do not involve ourselves in their war."

Gendry shook his head. "That is not a wise choice. If Eadric wins this war, he will remember that we did not support him. If the Crown somehow prevails, they will remember we denied them aid. Either way, we are left vulnerable."

Edric nodded. "We must handle this delicately. Accepting them does not mean immediate war, but rejecting them does mean immediate consequences."

Solomon frowned. "We need to know what they offer. Alaric is no fool. He would not come here empty-handed. We must hear their terms before deciding anything."

Rodirik turned his sharp gaze to me. "And what if they offer nothing? What if they come with nothing but swords and empty promises?"

I exhaled slowly. "Then I will decide what must be done."

The chamber fell into silence once more.

Gendry cleared his throat. "My lady, you do understand that whatever choice we make, we must be prepared to stand by it? There is no turning back once we make our decision."

I knew that. And that was the problem.

Turning away the Royal Family meant declaring our neutrality in the war—but it also meant leaving them with no choice but to seek aid elsewhere. And if Alaric found another ally and emerged victorious, Divina would be seen as weak, unworthy of its duchy.

Accepting them meant an inevitable clash with Eadric. We could not afford to sit in the middle forever.

I looked down at Varus’s letter, still sitting on the table before me. His words echoed in my mind:

"Choose well, my lady. History does not often give second chances."

I straightened my posture, meeting the gazes of those gathered.

"Send word to Alaric," I said. "I will grant him an audience when he arrives. Then, and only then, will I decide where House Stiedry stands.

My P.O.V

Seven grueling days.

The march had been slow, each step dictated by the condition of our men. Some had begun to recover, their wounds scarring over, their strength returning. Others were not so lucky. Their injuries were too severe, their bodies broken beyond repair. And then there were those caught between the two extremes—men whose fates remained uncertain, lingering in pain and fever, waiting to see whether death or survival would claim them.

I knew war would take its toll, but seeing it firsthand was different. The wounded were exhausted, their spirits fraying with each mile. Some tried to hide their pain, gritting their teeth through the agony, but I could see the despair in their eyes. We left Elria behind, but the burden of defeat followed us like a shadow.

Aria and I trained in what little free time we had. It had become a routine—one of the few things that felt normal amidst all the chaos. Despite her improvements, I still bested her every time.

"You never let me win, do you?" Aria huffed, wiping sweat from her forehead.

I smirked, lowering my practice blade. "You want me to lie or be honest?"

"You could at least pretend to struggle."

"That would be an insult to your skill," I teased.

Aria shot me a glare before sheathing her wooden sword. "Flattery won’t make up for all the bruises you’ve given me."

I chuckled, setting my own sword aside. "You’re getting better. Faster. You almost had me that time."

"Almost," she muttered. "That word again."

She crossed her arms, clearly displeased with my unwillingness to let her win. I was about to tease her again when her expression shifted, turning more contemplative.

"Do you think… if Father hadn’t died, any of this would’ve happened?" she asked suddenly.

I stilled for a moment, considering her words.

"I don’t know," I admitted. "But I think it was fated."

Aria frowned. "Fated?"

I leaned against a nearby tree, crossing my arms. "Devran was always going to be king. Leo was always going to challenge his authority in some way. And Duke Eadric… well, his ambitions were never a secret." I exhaled. "Maybe Father’s death accelerated things, but war was inevitable."

She sighed. "I hate war, Alaric. I always have."

I glanced at her. "You grew up in a palace. You never had to fight in one."

She gave me a pointed look. "I did lose something to war," she countered. "You."

I said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

"When Father sent you off to the Third Border War, I thought I’d never see you again," she confessed. "I was only seven, but even then, I knew war was cruel. I used to cry at night, thinking you were dead. That you’d never come back."

I had no idea she felt that way.

"You know," I said after a moment, "I’m still grateful for it."

Her brows furrowed. "For what?"

"The war," I said simply.

She stared at me in disbelief. "You can’t be serious."

I shrugged. "It made me a man."

Aria shook her head. "That’s a terrible thing to be grateful for."

"I didn’t have a choice," I said. "War made me strong. It taught me how to survive."

She let out a quiet breath, then hesitated before asking, "Did it make you happy?"

That question caught me off guard.

I thought about it for a moment. The years I spent fighting, bleeding, and killing had hardened me. It had given me purpose, but happiness? No. That was something war never gave me.

But instead of answering, I turned the question back on her. "Are you happy?"

She didn’t answer right away. Then, after a pause, she said, "I don’t know."

Silence settled between us. The distant sounds of the camp—soldiers murmuring, fires crackling, the wind rustling through the trees—filled the void.

Then, Aria spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "I never asked you this before, but… do you have any idea who your mother was?"

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, did Father ever tell you about her?" She hesitated before adding, "You can’t just appear in the world out of nowhere, right?"

She let out a small chuckle, but I could tell she was genuinely curious.

I exhaled, looking away. "No," I admitted. "He never told me."

Her brows knitted together. "That’s… strange. Didn’t you ever ask?"

I shook my head. "What would be the point?"

"It’s your birthright, Alaric," she insisted. "Even if you’re a bastard, you still have a mother somewhere. Doesn’t it bother you, not knowing where you came from?"

I considered her words, but the truth was, I had long buried that question. When I was younger, I had wondered—fantasized, even—about who she was. A noblewoman, maybe. Someone beautiful. Someone who loved me. But years of war and hardship had hardened me to those thoughts.

"It doesn’t matter," I finally said.

"But—"

"It doesn’t change anything," I cut her off. "Whether she was a noble or a peasant, she abandoned me. That’s all I need to know."

Aria fell silent, watching me carefully.

Then, after a moment, she sighed. "You really are stubborn."

I smirked. "You just figured that out?"

She rolled her eyes but didn’t push the topic further.

Instead, she reached for her sword again. "One more round?"

I raised a brow. "Still want another loss?"

She grinned. "You never know. I might surprise you."

I chuckled, picking up my blade. "We’ll see about that."

And with that, we returned to our training, letting the weight of unspoken thoughts fade into the clash of steel.

"There's still a war to fight,"

-Alaric the Bastard