Two Days Later at the Royal Palace of Estalis, Inner Sanctum
The towering marble gates of Estalis parted slowly as General Turik rode through them atop a black stallion, flanked by a dozen elite Zuran guards in burnished silver armor. Banners bearing Zura’s golden dragon against a backdrop of red snapped in the breeze—bold and giving a defiant statent.
The guards of Estalis parted to let them in, their expressions wary but silent. A year ago, Zura has sent their princess for a political alliance, and Turik has visited the palace quite a few tis.
In the palace’s high atrium, where golden pillars reached for the painted ceiling, Crown Prince Callan of Estalis stood waiting. Young, sharp-featured, and draped in robes of sapphire and gold, Callan bore the practiced smile of a man born into power—but beneath it, shadows flickered in his eyes.
Beside him stood Princess Lirea, the first Princess of Zura. She stood with poise, her eyes gleaming with quiet triumph.
"General Turik," Prince Callan greeted, arms outstretched. "Estalis welcos its friend in these changing tis."
Turik bowed slightly, his smile controlled. "Your Highness. May our kingdoms rise together from the ashes of foolish rulers."
Callan frowned. What did he an by that? His father wasn’t foolish. How could soone foolish snatch a kingdom from the legitimate heir?
They clasped forearms briefly. No words of peace were exchanged—only the hard tension of shared ambition.
Later that night, golden candlelight flickered over the long oak table where Turik and Callan sat in hushed conversation. Outside, the night wind howled beyond stained glass windows, but inside, betrayal blood like a dark flower.
"We’re aligned in our goals," Turik said, swirling his wine slowly. "You want the throne secured—and I want Northem gutted. Let us start with Carles.
Callan exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against the table. "My father grows weaker by the day. The court sees it. The people feel it. But a crown won’t rest easy on my brow unless the world sees as a king, not a caretaker. And besides, my brothers are all scheming to ascend to the throne."
"That’s where I co in," Turik said smoothly. "Zura lends you military strength. In return, you pledge allegiance to the Zura, and ensure our armies et no resistance from Estalis when we march on Northem."
Callan tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he pondered the words, a flicker of skepticism dancing in his eyes. "What makes this the right mont?" he asked, his voice low and steady, laden with doubt. "Why are you so certain?"
Turik leaned in, voice low and venomous. "Because Northem has lost its fangs. Odin, Asael, Galahad, Bener, their best minds and blades are gone. And that Amnon, who was the best in cavalry, was also gone and exiled. The military is fractured, and the people are confused. Your enemies are weak. My king has given the authority to command the Zuran forces directly. Together, we strike fast. The border city of Carles falls in days. From there, the road to Northem’s capital is open."
The crown prince hesitated. They just ca from a defeat. They lost a lot of soldiers and their economy was bleeding.
Turik’s tone turned colder. "Or... you hesitate, and Zura turns its eyes on Estalis instead. You may have our princess in your harem—but we can always take her back."
That made Callan flinch, just briefly. Then he laughed—half defiance, half fear.
"I don’t need threats, General." Callan said with deliberate slowness.
"I am not giving you threats, Your Highness." General Turik smiled slyly. "I’m giving you an option, the best one, the only one."
Callan breathed deeply. He ant that they didn’t have a choice.
"And what is it for ?" Callan asked.
"Your crown. And a kingdom that won’t crumble beneath it."
...
An hour later, Prince Callan stepped into his father’s dimly lit quarters, an air of tension wrapping around him like a heavy cloak. The king, pale and frail after a month of relentless illness, sat slumped in his ornate chair, his weary eyes blazing with frustration.
The walls echoed with the remnants of his recent battles, each failure to conquer the formidable Carles gnawing at him like a persistent shadow, deepening the lines of worry etched on his brow. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken defeat, as Callan took in the sight of his father, once a towering figure of strength, now diminished by both illness and the weight of unfulfilled expectations.
"Father, Zura conveyed that they are eager to forge an alliance with us. We attack Carles first, and later, Northem."
The king’s eyes widened in alarm, glinting with a mixture of fear and determination. "Don’t trust them!" he exclaid, his voice strained and heavy, as if each word was a struggle against an unseen weight. "They will devour Estalis when the ti cos." His warning hung in the air, thick with urgency, as shadows flickered in the corners of the dimly lit chamber.
"I will do as you say, Father," the crown prince said obediently, but there was a glint in his eyes.
Cough. Cough. Cough.
The king coughed hard and had difficulty breathing. Callan assisted him to the bed and tucked him under the blanket.
"Sleep well, Father." He murmured giving him a kiss on the forehead, before standing to leave. He instructed the servants not to disturb his sleep.
One Hour Later in Princess Lirea’s Quarters.
Moonlight spilled through gauzy curtains as Lirea stood by her window, brushing out her hair. The door creaked open, and Turik stepped inside, closing it behind him.
"Well?" she asked without turning.
"He took the bait. Soon, Estalis and Zura will bleed Northem dry—and he’ll hand the map to do it."
Lirea smirked. "And when Callan becos king?"
Turik walked behind her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "Then we remind him who put him there."
Her reflection in the mirror t his with a cold, knowing gaze. "He’s a fool if he thinks I care for him. I’ve been planting seeds for years. The mont we need him gone..."
Turik chuckled. "Then it will be done."
They clinked glasses, drinking to the fire soon to spread across the kingdoms.
...
Early the following morning. a loud cry ca from the king’s chamber.
"The king is dead!"
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