Kaelen's POV
Belwyth was taken without a single sword drawn. Gates open. No defenders. Not a drop of blood spilled.
I've learned much about my brother by law these past few days: rash, audacious, cruel—and a fool.
King Tharion was appalled by his cowardice, attacking in the dead of night. He sent a formal letter of apology the next day, condemning Saelow's actions and marching off with his army in tow.
Left with dwindling support, Saelow fled before the battle even began. He surrendered the field before we stepped onto it.
The fool tried to have me killed—sent a handful of men in the dead of night. They barely made it past the first barrier. My men fought and killed, I then finished the last of them myself.
The path is clear now. Helieth, Roltier—and after that, all of Velmoria. Mine.
But for now, Belwyth requires my attention. I'm to meet with the mayor, begin the process of bringing this city under my banner. First I sent a few men to check if the city was safe to walk through. Nyriane insisted on coming along.
"This city is so congested! And look how tall the buildings are!" she exclaims, peering out the carriage window as we wind toward the city square. "Four stories, at least!"
"When there's no space on land, the only way is up," I tell her.
I don't know why I'm indulging her. Why did I even let her come?Why can't I ever just tell her no?
"Remember, no wandering off. Stay close," I warn.
"I know, I know," she says, rolling her eyes.
Damn me, I grin like a lovesick schoolboy.
We arrive at the city center. I lead the way to the council building, Nyriane beside me. Harlin, my general, and several guards follow.
"My… our King!" the mayor Quindle Famble greets with an exaggerated bow. "The city of Belwyth welcomes you with open arms."
"Does it now?" I reply flatly. Political men need to be kept on edge— you need to instill fear early, otherwise power goes to their head.
"Y-Yes, Your Highness," he stammers.
"We'd like to view your records," Harlin says. It's not a request, and Quindle's sweaty smile confirms he knows it.
"Quite a payout you gave yourself last year, eh, Quindle?" Harlin mutters, flipping through scrolls.
Within fifteen minutes, we've spread out every parchment—last year's budget, years of trade revenue, and the current year's expenditures.
"Tsk," Harlin clucks, voice low. "Lord Commander, look at the taxes on these poor folk."
Quindle dabs at his brow with a handkerchief, silent.
"And none on the wealthiest merchants," I say, eyes scanning the ledgers. "The rich stay rich."
"And the poor stay poor," Harlin finishes for me.
"Sire… Your Highness… My King," Quindle stammers. "I am but a servant! These tariffs, these salaries—they were set under King Elarion and continued by King Baylor."
He swallows. "I am more than willing to adapt. I'll do whatever it takes to gain your trust."
"Whatever it takes?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Absolutely, Lord Commander."
"Then it's settled. Send men to the mayor's home. Have it searched."
"My home?!" Quindle wheezes like he's underwater. I ignore him.
"Any ill-gotten gains are to be returned to the treasury. And Quindle..." I pause. Two seconds pass before he starts to shake.
"You will resign. A more suitable man will take your place. Do you own ships?"
"Yes, Lord Commander."
"How many?"
"F-f-Four."
"You may keep two. The other two are now state property. The house you live in—is it yours, or official?"
"Official quarters… but—"
"Then you'll vacate and find one within your means."
He fumbles for words, eyes lowered. "As… as you see fit, Lord Commander."
"I would've hanged you," I say. His eyes bulge. "But why waste good rope?"
"Harlin, take care of the accounts," I order, throwing aside the parchments. "And see to it that fairer taxes and wages are instated. This is despicable."
I make my way towards the Council Hall. I'm looking for someone in particular...
Workers are removing Elarion's portrait from the Council Hall, lowering the gilded frame to be taken away.
"Where's Nyriane?" I ask the men nearby.
"Outside, in the square, by the fountain," one replies.
"Alone?!"
"No, a few guards are with her," another adds.
"I told you to keep an eye on her."
"We did, but… you didn't say stop her."
Of course they couldn't. I wouldn't be able stop her let alone them.
As I descend the council steps, I hear laughter. A crowd has gathered by the large fountain at the square's center.
"She's kept in a dungeon with big, big chains. This big!" a young boy shouts, arms stretched wide.
"Really? That big?" Nyriane gasps dramatically.
"Yes! The theater people came last Tewsday. They told us a big dragon with big big blue eyes came and fire breathing through his mouth took Princess Nyriane!"
"Aww, poor Princess Nyriane," she pouts.
The crowd laughs. The boy puffs out his chest.
"I'm going to rescue her. And then marry her!"
The crowd roars in laughter. "What?! I'm telling the truth!"
"Of course," Nyriane says, patting his shoulder. "Only a brave knight like you could save her."
I stand at the steps, watching her in awe.
Who would believe she's Elarion's granddaughter? That man fed his dogs better than his people. Yet here she is—sitting with strangers, commoners—and showing them respect. Showing them warmth.
My heart hums as I watch her pinch the boy's cheek.
"Sire, can you step aside?" a voice says from beside me.
I turn, I'm met with two familiar stern eyes. Craven Fenwyn's portrait is being carried past me.
I can almost hear him
I'm not even cold in the ground yet, and you're already sighing like a lovesick fool? Look at you! Pathetic!
I watch as they carry him toward the Council Hall. His gaze never leaves mine.
Have I failed you?
"Lord Commander." Harlin's voice interrupts my thoughts.
"Yes, Harlin?" I clasp my hands behind my back.
"It's about the treasury, but… it can wait."
"If it's important—"
"No. I think there's something else more pressing."
I frown. "What is it?"
"Do you remember what the late Lord Commander did before every campaign? Before every journey?"
I don't answer. I already know.
"He'd visit Amara's grave place peonies cause they were her favorite."
Harlin's voice softens. "He loved her more than anything in this world. Losing her and his sons… it broke him."
He exhales. "I think he wanted to protect you from that kind of extreme pain. But—if given the chance—Craven would live through it all again. Just to see her one more time."
I pause for a bit, thinking over his words.
"What are you saying, Harlin?"
"Don't hold yourself back out of duty to your father," he says gently. "I'm old. I'll be seeing him soon enough. I'll fight your case with the old geezer myself."
He pats my shoulder with a reassuring smile.
"Even if I wanted to, Harlin…" I murmur, eyes drifting back to the square.
"I don't think I'm capable of holding myself back."