Chapter 1: The Last Feast
The Month of the Wolf Moon (Late Winter), 487 AK
The last feast for the dying king felt hollow.
Kael ven Gorian, Crown Prince, watched the great hall from his high seat. Lords and ladies laughed and danced, but their joy was a thin mask. Everyone knew the truth. His father, King Theron, was dying. The smell of good food and wine couldn't hide the scent of sickness coming from the king's rooms.
"They act like they can't hear death knocking," a low voice said beside him.
Kael didn't need to look. It was Soren of the Red Cliffs, standing at his right hand, as he had for ten years of war and peace. His presence was a comfort, and a burden.
"Let them pretend," Kael replied, gripping his cup. "Right now, pretending is the only thing holding this kingdom together."
"Pretending can only last so long." Soren's eyes were fixed on Lord Valerius, the king's main advisor, who was holding court by the fireplace. "He's already acting like you're king. And I hear he plans to tax my people in the Eastern Reach until they starve, to fill the royal coffers."
A new, cold tension sat between them. It had grown over the last year. The Eastern Reach, Soren's home, was poor and felt ignored by the Crown.
"I will fix it, Soren," Kael promised. "When I am king, my first order will be to help the Reach. You have my word."
Soren finally looked at him. His eyes, usually full of fire, were dark with doubt. "Your word doesn't mean what it used to, Kael. Your father made promises too, and broke them all."
Before Kael could reply, a young page ran into the hall, his face white with fear. The music and laughter stopped dead.
"Your Highness!" the boy cried out. "The King… he demands you come. Now."
A chill ran down Kael's spine. He stood up, his chair scraping loudly in the silent room.
Soren's hand shot out, gripping Kael's arm. The grip of a brother. A fellow warrior.
"Whatever happens in there," Soren said, his voice firm, "we face it together. Like we always have."
Kael met his gaze and nodded. The bond between them felt strong and real. "Together."
He turned and followed the page, leaving the feast and Soren behind. He didn't look back. If he had, he would have seen Lord Valerius watching them, a small, knowing smile on his face.
The door to the king's room shut behind Kael with a heavy, final sound. The air inside was thick with the smell of herbs and death.
King Theron lay on his bed, his skin pale and thin. But his eyes burned with a last, fierce light.
"Kael," the king whispered, his voice rough. "Come closer."
Kael walked to the bedside, his heart pounding.
"The kingdom… is weak," his father struggled to say. "It needs a strong hand. The Eastern Reach… their complaints… are treason. Soren… he gives them a leader. He is a threat."
A sick feeling grew in Kael's stomach. "Father, Soren is loyal. The Reach just needs—"
"Quiet!" The king's hand, suddenly strong, grabbed Kael's wrist. "You will be king. Your first act… will show your strength. You will… arrest Soren of the Red Cliffs for treason. Tonight."
The world seemed to stop. The words hung in the bad air, a command he could not follow.
"You will do this," his father hissed, his eyes locking with Kael's, "or you are no son of mine."
Outside the door, Kael heard the heavy footsteps of the Royal Guard taking their positions. They were waiting for his order.
He stood frozen, his father's dying command a knife at his neck, and his brother's trust the only thing at his back. He had to choose, and whatever he chose would break the world he knew.
(Chapter 1 End)