In the southwestern region of the continent of Eldoria stood a power that had spent years watching the glory of Iskandria with simmering resentment. The Kingdom of Mordune. A hot and arid land, its soil barren, its rain scarce. There were no green meadows like in Iskandria, no lush forests, no clear lakes. Only desert, stone, and anger.
Yet the people of Mordune had never been weak. They were as hard as their land, and for decades, their hatred toward Iskandria continued to grow behind the border lines.
Iskandria itself, though prosperous, was in a precarious position. Three great kingdoms surrounded it like hungry beasts: Arendise from the east, Rosendell from the north, and Mordune from the southwest. Mordune had always held the desire to expand. And Iskandria, positioned in the center of the continent, was like honey surrounded by predatory bees.
The great fortress in the southwest, Valgarde Fortress, had long stood as Iskandria's first shield against Mordune's invasion. Its walls were towering, guarded by elite soldiers and supported by supply lines from the eastern barracks. But now…
The fortress had fallen.
With ease.
A young man around twenty-five walked slowly in front of the fortress with a black horse, his cloak fluttering in the wind. His hair was silver-gray, his sharp eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of his hood. He was Prince Dilan of Mordune, the leader of this invasion.
Beside him walked an older, broad-shouldered man, his face marked by scars and his eyes worn by countless battlefields. His name was Commander Fargan, the highest-ranking general of Mordune's army.
The two of them surveyed the land they had claimed and allowed a small smile to appear as the banner of Iskandria was lowered.
"So easy," Dilan murmured, patting his horse's neck. "Almost too easy."
Fargan chuckled. "We should thank the Iskandrian nobles who panicked and betrayed each other. Those who feared death at the hands of the Mad Queen. Now, there is no one left guarding the border."
Dilan nodded. "And no Queen."
That was the most important point.
Weeks prior, Mordune had launched a secret operation: a trap to kill the Mad Queen, Ashtoria Iskandrite. The mission had been costly. They sent elite units deep into enemy territory, disguised and embedded, waiting for the right moment. None returned. No survivors.
But…
Since then, the Queen had vanished.
Their spies could not find her in the palace, nor the barracks, nor the battlefield. No voice. No shadow.
And even more suspicious, internal conflict had erupted within Iskandria. The nobles fought among themselves for power. Troops were pulled back to the capital, Belgrande City, leaving border fortresses abandoned.
All of this meant one thing.
"She is dead," Dilan said softly. "Otherwise, Iskandria would not be this exposed."
"And their nobles are withdrawing troops to fight each other," the commander added with a low laugh. "Civil strife. A coup. A hated queen. Their walls collapse not from swords, but from their own fear."
Prince Dilan nodded slowly. "They abandoned their borders for power. Remarkable. Their queen may have been mad… but their nobles are far more foolish."
The two of them laughed.
Their laughter echoed among the remnants of Iskandria's once shining glory.
Behind them, the black banner of Mordune flew atop the fortress tower, replacing the former sigil of Iskandria: a lion's head pierced by two crossing swords forming an X, stained in blood-red.
Fargan laughed again, his heavy voice rumbling across the ruins. "But we are not stopping at Valgarde."
The prince drew in a deep breath. "Of course not. We will march east, carve through the heart of Iskandria, and burn their palace… before Arendise or Rosendell can mobilize their armies."
They knew their time was limited. Once the other two kingdoms caught scent of Iskandria's weakness, they too would invade. But if Mordune moved quickly enough, it would be they who sat upon Iskandria's new throne.
.
.
.
Riven slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurry, his breaths heavy. The first thing he realized was not the pain in his body, but the fact that he had just been struck… by the rock.
'Is this payback for always taking my anger out on rocks,' he thought weakly. So this is… karma?
He almost laughed. But as soon as his chest moved, pain shot through his ribs. A sharp agony. He groaned softly.
My chest… broken?
His left hand moved slowly to check the damage. But then he stopped.
There was something—or more accurately, someone—holding him tightly.
A small head rested on his chest, long red hair spilling like silk. Her breathing was steady and warm. Delicate arms wrapped around him with the strength of something gentle yet unyielding.
Riven froze. His breath caught, this time not from pain.
Ashtoria…
The Mad Queen, known for the sharpness in her eyes and the threat in every word, now looked so peaceful. Like a small cat sleeping in its owner's arms. Her face rested exactly against his wound—and strangely, the pain there faded. The ache from the blow vanished, as if healed.
This is… her chamber? Riven wondered. Since when have I been here? Since when has she—
His slightest movement made Ashtoria stir. He quickly stopped, afraid of waking her. But his eyes stayed on her face.
He watched her for a long moment. And slowly, a faint smile formed on his lips.
His hand moved carefully, fingers brushing through her hair. He inhaled softly and whispered, almost to himself.
"How can someone be this beautiful and innocent…?"
He lowered his voice, soft like prayer.
"You're perfect. Your small, lovely nose… your lips, soft like petals… your eyes—even when they're closed, I can remember how they shine when they look at me…"
His gaze lowered even more.
"Your slender neck… your delicate shoulders… and your body—"
He paused, holding his breath. Something stirred deep inside him.
"Your body is too beautiful… too tempting… you…"
Riven closed his eyes, trying to steady himself.
"I'm a man. And I'm human. And you… you make me want to be selfish. How can you torment me like this?"
Suddenly, Ashtoria moved. Her body tensed slightly. Her cheeks, once pale, now tinged with a soft red.
Riven froze.
Slowly, Ashtoria opened her eyes. Those deep crimson irises looked straight into his.
Silence.
Ashtoria lifted her head from his chest, her hair falling loosely. She sat up and looked at Riven, who was now more shocked than anything.
Her cheeks burned crimson.
Riven couldn't speak. He did not know how long she had been awake.
Or more importantly, how much she heard.
"Ashtoria, I—"
Before he could finish, the queen turned her face away, lowering her head to hide her eyes. But from the way she bit her lip and drew in a shaky breath, Riven could see her body trembling slightly.
Not from anger.
But from embarrassment.