The morning light spilled through the cracked shutters of a dingy tavern room. A mug teetered on the edge of the table, forgotten amidst the clutter of empty flagons, discarded garments, and the faint scent of smoke and ale lingering in the air.

​

Korrin groaned as the morning light found his face. The scrape of fabric and a soft, teasing laugh brought him fully awake. He opened his eyes to see a woman—a brunette with a sharp jawline and piercing green eyes—perched on the edge of the bed, lacing up her bodice. The corners of her mouth curled in quiet amusement, though sleep still clung to her eyes. “Rough night, my Prince?” she asked, her voice lilting with the faint accent of the southern plains.

​

Korrin groaned, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Rough mornings seem to follow me like a curse,” he muttered, sitting up and reaching for his trousers.

​

The room came into sharper focus. Another woman lay tangled beneath the sheets, her face still buried in the pillow. Korrin pieced together what little he remembered. Drinking. Laughter. Then her.

​

His eyes flicked back to the green-eyed woman as she finished fastening her belt.

​

A brief, bitter smile played on his lips. “You remind me of someone.”

​

The woman glanced back. “Someone who left you in better shape than I did, I hope.”

​

Korrin laughed, shaking his head. He didn’t answer, instead pulling his tunic over his head and rising to his feet. He knew she was watching him, but refused to acknowledge it. He’d learned long ago that some memories were best left unspoken.

​

The knock at the door was sharp. Korrin paused, then recognised the familiar voice beyond it.

​

“Korrin, get your arse out here before I burn this hovel to the ground.” Ronan.

​

With a sigh, Korrin glanced back at the green-eyed woman, tossing her a silver coin from his belt. “For your trouble.”

She caught it with a smirk. “More like for my patience.”

​

Korrin opened the door to find his elder brother standing there, arms crossed and an exasperated expression on his face.

​

“You look worse than the whores you keep company with,” Ronan said.

​

“Charming as always,” Korrin replied, stepping into the hallway. The woman’s faint laughter followed him as the door swung shut.

​

The two walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the tavern fading behind them as they emerged into the fresh morning air. Ronan handed Korrin a skin of water, which he took gratefully, rinsing the taste of stale ale from his mouth.

​

“You didn’t have to come for me,” Korrin said eventually.

​

“You’d end up in the stocks if I didn’t.” Ronan glanced ahead before adding, “Someone has to watch your back.”

​

They walked side by side, their boots crunching over the dirt road as they moved away from the village. 

​

Korrin glanced across at his brother. “Why haven’t you taken a wife, brother? Or is there some poor lass waiting in one of these taverns we should know about?”

​

“War is my mistress.”

​

“That’s a lie.”

​

Ronan glanced at him, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Perhaps. But it’s a convenient one.”

​

Korrin let it drop, sensing his brother’s reluctance to dig deeper. They walked on in companionable silence until Korrin suddenly stopped.

​

“Do you still think of her?” he asked.

​

Ronan didn’t have to ask who. “Mother?”

​

Korrin nodded. 

​

A rare, genuine smile crossed Ronan’s face. “I remember how she used to sneak us bread rolls from the kitchens when Father wasn’t looking. Told us she’d steal the stars themselves if it would make us smile.”

​

Korrin chuckled. “And that one time she tried to braid my hair because she said I looked like a wild dog. I bit her hand for it.”

​

Ronan laughed, a deep, hearty sound that felt rare and almost out of place amidst the burdens they carried.

“She loved you more for that,” Ronan said.

​

“She loved us both,” Korrin replied.

​

As they reached the castle gates, the moment faded, replaced by the looming shadows of duty and expectation.

Ronan’s stride became brisk, purposeful, while Korrin lingered, his attention drifting to the horizon as if searching for something lost.

​

“Come on, Korrin,” Ronan called over his shoulder. “The day won’t wait for your melancholy.”

​

With a sigh, Korrin followed, though a faint smile lingered on his lips.

​

Far from where his thoughts lingered, another chamber lay quiet beneath the morning sun. Valtor stretched slowly, like a cat rousing from sleep, his tunic half-buttoned. Behind him, a red-haired maid lay sprawled on the pillows, her smile as bright as the dawn. She tugged at the sheets to cover herself but made no effort to hide her amusement.

​

“You should go,” she teased. 

​

“If the guards find you here, I’ll have to explain why the prince was too charming to resist.”

​

Valtor chuckled, slipping on his boots. “And I’m sure your explanation will be far better than mine.” He leaned over, stealing a kiss before grabbing an apple from a tray near the bed. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before anyone’s the wiser.”

“You’re already late,” she warned.

​

Valtor grinned and gave the sheet a playful tug as he passed. She gasped, clutching it back to herself, though the smile she shot him said she wasn’t truly offended.

​

“Worth it,” Valtor muttered, pulling his tunic straight before slipping out the door.

​

Valtor bit into the apple with relish, the crunch echoing faintly against the stone walls.

​

“Prince Valtor,” one of the guards called out, a burly man with a crooked grin. “You still owe me from last night.”

​

“Do I? Or perhaps your memory is as poor as your hand at cards.”

​

“You cheated me, Your highness.“

​

“Double the stakes next time,” Valtor replied, tossing the guard the remains of his apple. “Consider it a lesson in humility.”

The guard shook his head as Valtor moved on, his laughter fading into the hum of the waking castle. He paused only briefly when a maiden approached him, her arms crossed.

​

“You promised me you’d visit last night.”

​

Valtor placed a hand over his heart. “Ah, my lady, a cruel twist of fate kept me from your side. I was waylaid by the stars themselves, whispering tales of love too vast for words.”

​

“What does that mean?”

​

“It means you were too radiant for mortal company, and I feared I might dim your light.”

​

The maiden rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

​

“Yet irresistible,” Valtor countered, stealing a kiss. As he turned to leave, she lifted her tunic slightly, revealing a flash of bare skin. “This is what you missed,” she teased.

​

Valtor bit his fist dramatically, winking. “A tragedy I’ll mourn for the rest of my days.”

​

He made his way to the kitchens, where the clatter of pots and pans mingled with the comforting scent of freshly baked bread. Behind the long wooden tables, Master Chef Odrik looked up from his work, a flour-dusted scowl creasing his weathered face.

​

“You’re late.”

​

“Early,” Valtor corrected, snatching a crust of bread from a cooling tray.

​

“If this is early, then the sun must be lazy today.”

​

“Fine, fine—perhaps a little late. But it’s worth it to see your cheerful face.”

​

Odrik wiped his hands on his apron. “Your father’s returned. Thought you’d be scrambling to greet him.”

​

Valtor laughed, tearing off a bite of bread. “Scrambling isn’t my style.” He flipped a coin toward the chef. “For last night. Same table tonight?”

​

The coin clinked on the table before Odrik caught it. “Royal coin always sounds different,” he said, tucking it into his apron.

​

Valtor winked as he left, stepping into the banquet hall where his brothers sat at a long table. Ronan, ever stern, looked up first. Korrin was already halfway through his meal, more interested in his plate than the conversation.

​

“Good morning, brothers.” Valtor slid into a seat. He tugged at his tunic, hoping no one noticed he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

​

“You smell like a tavern,” Ronan said.

​

“And you smell like ambition,” Valtor retorted. “Careful, dear brother, it’s a scent that draws predators.”

​

Korrin chuckled, though he didn’t look up from his plate. 

​

“Did you at least bathe after leaving the maid’s chambers?”

​

“Her chambers were immaculate, cleaner than your wit, at least.”

​

Ronan’s scowl deepened. “Enough. Father has asked for you.”

​

“Me specifically? How flattering. Perhaps he misses my charm.”

​

Ronan ignored him. “He looks older. Weaker. We need to prepare for what comes next.”

​

Korrin glanced at Valtor, both brothers recognizing the familiar undertone in Ronan’s words.

​

Before Ronan could press further, The Queen entered the hall. Ronan stood immediately, eager to intercept her, leaving Korrin and Valtor alone.

​

“He’s relentless,” Valtor said, watching Ronan go. “One might even say desperate.”

​

Korrin shrugged. “He’s always been like that.”

​

Valtor leaned closer. “Perhaps it’s the Queen who makes him so… driven. They do spend an awful lot of time together.”

“She’s our stepmother. Of course they’d speak.”

​

Valtor laughed, shaking his head. “Never change, Korrin.” He leaned back, the grin fading slightly. “But seriously, what does Father want?”

​

Korrin’s expression darkened. “Whatever it is, it won’t be good.”