The carriage wheels ground to a halt against the cobblestones of the inner keep.

  Alaric stepped out, breathing in the cold . The ten-day journey from the Capital had been grueling.

  He looked up at the black stone walls of Ironhold. It had been 4 months since the War Game. He was still growing, but the last few months of relentless training and the mental burden of the "Stranger" act had hardened him.

  He didn't waste time resting. He went straight to the central tower.

  "I keeping my end of the deal, Your Grace," Alaric said, standing at attention.

  Duke Thorne sat behind his massive oak desk, reviewing a stack of reports. He looked up, his sharp eyes scanning Alaric.

  "I know," Thorne said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "My spies tell me you two were practically strangers. You maintained the distance. Good."

  Thorne leaned back. "You have discipline, Alaric."

  Alaric relaxed slightly. "Where is she? I expected her to be here."

  "She will be delayed by fifteen days," Thorne explained, a frown creasing his brow. "King Eryndor has officially announced Prince Lucan Sherisa as the Crown Prince and successor. There is a massive ceremony in the Capital. As the Saintess, Lucia’s presence was... mandatory."

  Alaric narrowed his eyes. "Prince Lucan... What is your read on him?"

  It was a bold question for someone to ask a Duke, but Thorne didn't dismiss it. He treated Alaric as an asset now.

  "Lucan is..." Thorne searched for the word. "He is not evil, but he is naive. And he is forceful with his desires. He believes the crown gives him the right to reshape reality to his whim. Some people use it to their advantage to play him like a fiddle"

  Thorne sighed. "I do not prefer him as King. He lacks the temperament. But I respect King Eryndor deeply. As long as the King lives, House Thorne remains neutral. unless I am forced otherwise."

  Alaric nodded, absorbing the information. "And the Army? If a succession crisis happens, who do they follow?"

  "The 'Royal Army' is a lie," Thorne said bluntly. "It is singular in name only. It is fractured into factions, each general loyal to a different noble house. If civil war breaks out, the army will split overnight."

  Thorne pointed to a map on the wall, tapping the southern region.

  "For example, the Southern Wing is commanded by General Alther, count of Brigast. He is Vice Commander Selzer's brother. If push comes to shove, the South stands with Ironhold."

  Alaric felt a chill. The country's unity was an illusion, where each faction was keeping each other at check .

  "Go rest," Thorne dismissed him, but then paused. "You've been training with my knights for a while now. Do you need better gear? The armory is open to you."

  Alaric hesitated. "Actually, Your Grace... I have spoken to your blacksmith. I don't want standard enchanted gear. I have some designs for custom equipment."

  Thorne raised an eyebrow. "Custom? Very well. House Thorne will bear the cost. Get it done fast."

  Fifteen days later, the gates of Ironhold opened again.

  A royal convoy, flanked by Church Templars and Thorne Knights, entered the courtyard.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Alaric stood at the front of the receiving line, dressed in his formal Thorne uniform.

  The carriage door opened. Lucia stepped out.

  She looked tired. The travel and the ceremonies had clearly drained her. But the moment her eyes swept the courtyard and landed on Alaric, the fatigue vanished.

  Her face lit up.

  It wasn't the polite, plastic smile she wore at the Academy. It was a blinding, genuine beam of happiness. Her mask shattered instantly.

  Alaric felt his own stoic expression crumble. He smiled back, a gentle, warm expression reserved only for her.

  He walked forward, ignoring the surprised looks of the Church officials.

  "Welcome home, Lucia," Alaric said, placing his hand over his heart and bowing slightly.

  "It's good to be back, Alaric," she replied, her voice relieved.

  They walked together toward the Duke’s office. They didn't touch with too many eyes but the air between them was electric with unspoken words. They filled the silence with small talk about the journey and the weather, just happy to hear each other's voices again.

  That night, the atmosphere shifted back to business.

  Alaric stood in the strategy room with Duke Thorne and Vice Commander Selzer.

  "We have a situation on the Southern Sea Coast," Thorne said, pointing to a jagged coastline on the map. "Scouts have sighted a Nightmaw."

  Alaric recalled the beast from his studies. A quadrupedal monster with black fur that absorbed all light, making it nearly invisible at night. Its teeth could chew through mana-reinforced steel, and its fur generated static lightning, stunning anyone who touched it.

  "It moves like lightning," Selzer grunted. "Standard knights can't keep up. We need speed."

  "You leave at dawn," Thorne ordered. "Alaric, you will join the vanguard."

  "Yes, sir."

  After dinner, a maid approached Alaric.

  "Lady Lucia invites you to her guest parlor for tea."

  Alaric’s heart skipped a beat. He made his way to her private quarters.

  The door clicked shut behind him.

  Lucia was standing by the window, still wearing her travel dress. She turned around.

  "Lucia—"

  Before he could even say a proper greeting, she launched herself at him.

  She slammed into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shoulder. She squeezed him tight desperately.

  "L-Lucia?" Alaric stammered, his face heating up. He awkwardly patted her back. "Is everything okay?"

  "I missed you," she mumbled into his coat. "It was awful. Walking past you every day... ignoring you... it felt like a cruel punishment."

  Alaric’s heart softened. He wrapped his arms around her, returning the hug. "I know. I missed you too…."

  They stayed like that for a moment before Lucia finally pulled back, her face flushed red with embarrassment at her own boldness.

  "Tea," she squeaked. "Let's have tea."

  They sat on the plush sofas. The tea was warm, calming the tension. But Alaric noticed Lucia’s hands were shaking slightly as she held the cup.

  "Something happened in the Capital," Alaric stated. " didn't it?"

  Lucia lowered her cup. She looked down.

  "During the coronation..." she began quietly. "Prince Lucan... he took a special interest in me."

  Alaric stiffened.

  "He cornered me after the ceremony," Lucia continued, her voice tightening. "He offered to take my hand in marriage. He said the Crown Prince and the Saintess would be the perfect union for the kingdom."

  Alaric gripped the armrest of his chair. "What did you say?"

  "I rejected him, obviously," Lucia said quickly. "I told him my duty is to the Goddess. But..."

  She looked up, fear in her eyes.

  "He didn't listen. He laughed and said he likes a challenge. He was... stubborn.I had to hide in the carriage just to get away."

  Alaric didn't speak.

  A cold, dark pressure began to leak from him. The air in the room dropped a few degrees.

  Lucan.

  The Crown Prince.

  This wasn't just some other dude. This was the future King. If Lucan decided he wanted Lucia, he had the power to force everyone’s hand.

  Alaric felt a surge of possessive anger so strong it frightened him.

  "He won't touch you," Alaric said, his voice low. "I don't care if he's the Prince or the King. He won't touch you."

  Lucia looked at him, seeing the coldness in his eyes, but she didn't pull away. She reached out and took his hand.

  "I know," she whispered.