Kaelen's POV
The war table had been cleared of dust and sentiment.
Maps sprawled across the surface like open wounds, red ink marking the sites of our losses. The ink was still wet on Caerthrone.
I stared down at the smudged lines and tattered edges, watching a droplet of water fall from the edge of my cloak onto the parchment. Snow melt. The halls were cold again, but spring was creeping in.
And spring meant war.
"My lord?" Harlin's voice pulled me back. "Do you wish to begin?"
I nodded once, and the room fell silent.
Around the table stood my captains—grim-faced, quiet. Men who'd followed Craven Fenwyn through the bloodiest years of the uprising. Now they followed me, though I saw the question in their eyes more and more: Are you your father's son?
"We strike when the snow clears from the southern pass," I said, voice level. "March at first thaw. No delay."
Harlin tapped the edge of the map. "To Belwyth?"
"Belwyth first. It's Saelow's grain route and his nearest foothold. If he burns towns to threaten us, we'll take the ones he needs."
There was no joy in the order. Only necessity.
Someone cleared their throat—General Corven. "And the Queen?"
I looked up sharply. The room stilled.
"What of her?" I said.
"If she seeks to send a raven to her brother… if she tries to intervene…"
"She won't," I said. I trusted her.
But even as I said it, I saw her face—tear-streaked, pleading, furious. The feel of her hand pressed to my chest. The ache when I'd walked away.
"She won't," I repeated.
When the room emptied, I remained, staring at the map until my vision blurred. My knuckles rested against the table's edge, white with tension.
This wasn't how it was meant to unfold.
The Crown, the throne, Nyriane—none of it had been part of the plan. I had trained for years in the art of conquest, not diplomacy. Craven had raised me to rule with iron, not mercy. And yet—
Queen of Traitors - they called her..
Nyriane hadn't ordered the attack. She hadn't lit the fires or taken those children from their homes. And yet the blood of Caerthrone pooled around her feet, because her name, her family, her crown had made her a target.
And she still asked for peace.
I should've hated her for that.
Instead, I felt the weight of her voice inside me, each word a slow splinter.
Let me be a bridge, she'd said.
But bridges fall when the tide rises. And this tide—this war—would drown us both if I faltered.
---
Later that night, I found myself outside our chamber.
I didn't knock.
I stood in silence for a full minute, staring at the closed door, wondering what I'd even say.
That I regretted nothing?
That I regretted everything?
Spring would come soon.
And with it—blood.
I didn't expect her to be awake.
But when I stepped into her chambers—unannounced, uninvited—she was already at the window, arms wrapped around herself. The fire had burned low. She hadn't lit a lamp.
She didn't turn when I entered.
"You're going to strike. Where Heliath?Roltier? Or Belwyth?" she asked quietly. Looking at my reflection in the window.
My expression faltered, only slightly but it was enough for her to know.
"Belwyth" she said quietly
I stopped. Neither accepting or denying.
"You're planning to catch them off guard," she continued.
I said nothing. There was no point in lying—she'd already put the pieces together.
She finally turned, and the look in her eyes wasn't surprise. It was something colder.
"Belwyth is full of civilians," she said. "Mothers. Students. Families who have nothing to do with Caerthrone."
"It's also a supply hub," I said evenly. "And a rallying point. If I cripple it, I weaken your brother's reach across the eastern corridor."
"You mean to punish them."
"I mean to win."
Her arms tightened around herself. "You're better than this."
"Am I?" I took a step closer. "You saw what was left of Caerthrone. You heard what they called you—Queen of Traitors."
"Because I married you. That's enough reason for the loyalists to label me a traitor. But their words don't matter to me... it's... I never wanted any bloodshed, or for it to continue"
"And yet, here we are."
Her voice rose. "If you do this, Kaelen, you'll drive Saelow into open war. There won't be a path back from that. Not for him. Not for me."
"You think I don't know that?"
"Then why?"
I hesitated.
Because I'm afraid they'll see me as weak.
Because I'm afraid of losing you—completely.
Because I don't know how to stop a war I didn't start, only how to finish it.
Instead, I said: "Because there's no other way."
She crossed the room quickly, standing in front of me now. "There's always another way. Delay. Send terms. Let me write to him."
"I've already sent ravens."
"You mean threats."
I looked away.
She reached for me, her hand brushing my sleeve before pulling back. "Please, Kaelen. Don't go to war with him—not yet. Give me a chance to reach him. A real chance."
I met her eyes. "You think he'll listen to you?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "But I need to try. Because if I don't—and if you burn Belwyth—I won't be able to look at you without seeing fire."
I didn't answer.
I wanted to say I don't want you to fear me.
I wanted to say I'm already halfway ruined by this crown.
But I only reached out, took her hand gently, and set it back against her chest.
"I march at the first thaw."
Then I turned and walked out—before I could change my mind.