The throne room of Oakhart rose like a cathedral of opulence. Sunlight streamed through towering stained-glass windows, scattering jeweled colors across the polished marble floor. The air shimmered with drifting incense, its warm sweetness coiling around the faint metallic scent of polished armor. Gold-trimmed banners stirred overhead, whispering of old victories and long-dead kings. Courtiers in embroidered silks clustered in murmuring knots, their glances sharp as blades as they assessed Lyra and the knights who had limped home beside her.
Every gaze measured them—admiration, curiosity, suspicion, expectation.
Valor tasted like spectacle in this room.
King Aldric's voice boomed through the chamber.
"My heroes have returned!"
He rose from his throne, robes of crimson and ivory flowing like river water, his eyes gleaming with carefully crafted pride.
"General Lyra. Captain Rita. Lieutenant Shawn. Step forward. Tell me of your journey. Spare no detail—for the kingdom hung upon your every action."
Lyra stepped forward, spine straight despite the exhaustion gripping her muscles. Shawn began the report, recounting the march to Valeria's borders—the skirmishes, the harrowing defense of outlying villages, the orcs driven back, and the grim, silent horror of the Burnt Village. Rita followed, her tone crisp and precise, illustrating their maneuvers and hard-won victories.
As they spoke, Lyra kept her eyes respectfully toward the throne, but her mind drifted—pulled to the shadowed alcove behind the curtains. Selene sat hidden there, small hands clenched, her form trembling beneath Elise's steadying touch. Rory sat beside them, barely containing his excitement but sharply attuned to the tension that thrummed through the air.
Princess Rayah, the crown princess, watched from near the throne—composed, confident, and amused.
"Just as expected, General," she said lightly, a teasing lilt in her voice. "I was prepared to rescue you myself."
Lyra allowed a small smile. "I heard you held your border well. Aren't you going to thank me for sending those reinforcements, It seemed I made a wise choice."
Rayah laughed softly, but the moment of lightness evaporated as King Aldric lifted a hand.
Silence fell like a blade.
"And now," he declared, voice shifting into ceremonial gravity, "for the reward befitting your loyalty."
He leaned forward. His eyes gleamed—warm, proud… and calculating.
"Lyra Grey, General of Oakhart, you have proven yourself beyond measure. You have protected this kingdom. You have preserved its people. For this, it is my decree that you shall be united with Princess Kylie in marriage."
The words dropped like stones into still water.
Whispers exploded:
"Princess Kylie—the second daughter?"
"He didn't even tell the royal family?"
"So sudden… surely a political move."
"A marriage to secure influence—typical Aldric."
Knights stiffened in disbelief.
"Marriage? The General?"
"She didn't know—look at her face."
Selene's breath caught behind the curtain, her fingers twisting violently in her skirt. Elise's posture tightened, eyes flashing with warning. Even Rory sensed the peril and shrank into Elise's side.
Lyra's calm cracked—only for a heartbeat—but that was enough. A storm of thoughts lightning-struck through her:
Selene. Duty. A trap. A cage disguised as honor.
A future carved for her without her consent.
Princess Rayah's eyes widened in genuine shock.
Her lips parted.
Her gaze darted to her father—disbelief, even betrayal flickering across her face.
He had not told his daughters at all.
The King, oblivious to the silent unraveling he had caused, raised his goblet.
"Let us toast! To the hero of Oakhart!"
Applause thundered, but to Lyra every clap felt like a nail in a coffin.
Selene trembled behind the curtain. Elise gripped her shoulders. Rory looked between them with frightened confusion.
Lyra forced herself to breathe. She could not refuse outright. A direct decline would humiliate Aldric, perhaps even provoke him. And Selene—Selene would be the first consequence.
She needed strategy. Precision. A blade hidden in silk.
King Aldric motioned to the knights next.
"For all who fought under General Lyra—your reward."
Servants entered with chests of gold and bolts of fine silk. Murmurs rose—grateful, astonished, uneasy.
Shawn leaned close, whispering, "Lyra…"
But she stepped forward.
"Your Majesty," she said, bowing deeply, her voice steady but weighted. "I am honored beyond measure. To be deemed worthy of Princess Kylie's hand is more than I could ever have imagined."
The King beamed.
Lyra continued.
"But my duty is not yet finished."
The room stilled.
"There are whispers of unrest in the borderlands. Valeria stirs. A wedding now—even a union as honored as this—could imperil the fragile peace we have carved with our blood."
A ripple passed through the courtiers.
"Is she refusing?"
"No—she's redirecting."
"She's sparing the King the embarrassment."
"But… she's right. The borders are unstable."
King Aldric frowned. "Explain yourself, General."
"My army is weary. Our intelligence reports Valeria regrouping. I have begun forming a specialized scout unit to ensure we are not blindsided. If I abandon my post now, the kingdom will be vulnerable."
She lifted her eyes.
"Not for my sake. For Oakhart."
Silence fell—a taut, uncertain line drawn through the hall.
King Aldric stroked his beard, gaze shifting.
Then he nodded.
"A soldier's duty comes first. Very well—one year. One year to secure the borders and prove the peace you have fought so valiantly to win. After that—Princess Kylie will await you."
A collective sigh swept through the room—relief, curiosity, suspicion all blended at once.
Rayah's shoulders dropped ever so slightly—not in approval, but in stunned acceptance. She had truly been kept in the dark.
Behind the curtain, Selene exhaled shakily. Rory squeezed her hand.
Lyra lifted her chin and looked toward the hidden alcove. Their eyes met—Selene's wide and shimmering, Lyra's unwavering.
A vow passed between them, silent but absolute:
I will not let them take you.
Not for a crown.
Not for glory.
Not for anything.
One year.
A borrowed year.
A year that would reshape everything—Oakhart, the borders, the throne, their fates.
And Lyra intended to use every heartbeat of it.