When Alpheo had been a slave, he passed through many cities, he mostly rembered the weight of the shackles in his hand and the look of disgusts of passerby. His journey had always been one of forced marches down major roads, through narrow back alleys, and across silent courtyards.
Whether he was paraded through bustling markets or led along deserted paths, people scarcely offered him more than a glance. To most, he was invisible, a part of the scenery, like a stray dog or a beggar. It was only the children who stared, their wide, curious eyes following the chain-bound figure trudging barefoot behind his captors. They looked at him the way one might look at a cockroach—occasionally disgusted, but more often simply unable to tear their gaze away from the wretched spectacle of the unfortunate creature.
Now, marching down the wide, sunlit streets of the capital, it was a world apart. The sa people who would have once ignored him now cheered his na. The air buzzed with the sound of thousands of voices, shouting and applauding, their cries mixing with the clatter of hooves and the rhythmic beat of marching soldiers. It was surreal. The crowds were filled with life, their cheers echoing off the stone walls of the city
And yet, Alpheo couldn't help but feel he had misjudged Jasmine. When he had sent a rider back to the capital to inform her of the victory over Ormund's forces, he had not expected her to do this. He thought she would be more disgusted by the idea of marrying him. But to his surprise, she had acted swiftly like a true politician, to make his na known in his capital.
The mont the news of the battle had reached her, Jasmine had moved with startling efficiency. Rather than waiting for Alpheo's return, she had imdiately inford the city criers of the rebellion, framing the conflict in a way that painted Ormund and his supporters as traitors to the princedom. By the ti two days had passed, she had already made public the news of their crushing defeat, ensuring that the citizens knew exactly who was responsible for saving the city—and, more importantly, who had commanded the forces that brought the rebels to their knees. She apparently wanted to consolidate her power through the victories of his commander and future husband.
On the day the criers announced the victory, she arranged for large donations of grain to be distributed to the people. The timing was perfect. The capital was buzzing with celebration, the streets filled with joyous crowds, and the grain handouts ensured that the people would not only see her as the rightful princess but as a generous ruler . Alpheo couldn't help but admire her skills, though he also found himself wondering just where she had found the resources for such an extravagant gesture, last he rembered the coffers were empty.
My savings, no doubt, he thought with a bitter smile.On one hand, it was a nice move which helped him cent her and at the sa ti his power , a smart one even. On the other hand, it was his money.
As Alpheo finally reached the gates of the keep, the cheers of the crowd began to fade, replaced by the heavy silence that lood over the ancient fortress. He still rembered when he was thinking about storming this keep.
Alpheo pulled on the reins of his horse, the powerful beast snorting in response before coming to a halt. With practiced ease, he dismounted, his boots landing with a dull thud on the cobblestone courtyard.
Ahead of him, Lord Shahab had already dismounted, his movents as graceful as ever for a man of his age . Shahab's long, flowing robes brushed the ground as he adjusted the sword at his side, his dark eyes casting a calculating gaze over the entrance of the keep. He gave a look to Alpheo, before going forward
The guards at the door, clad in polished armor, recognized the n approaching and imdiately stepped aside, their faces stiff with the formality of duty. The heavy wooden doors groaned as they were pushed open, the sound echoing through the courtyard. Inside, the air was cooler, carrying with it the faint scent of aged stone and burning torches. Alpheo adjusted his cloak as he stepped into the dimly lit hallway. A servant, already waiting at the threshold, bowed deeply and gestured for them to follow.
As they were led through the winding corridors of the keep, Alpheo felt the weight of the place. The mories of being in chains, passed from one master to another, surged for a brief mont. Now, he walked freely, with purpose, on equal footing with the powers inside.
They approached the great chamber—once Prince Arkawatt's court—now Jasmine's. The murmur of voices from within reached their ears before they stepped inside, courtiers speaking in low, hurried tones, no doubt whispering about the news of battle . But as soon as the doors opened, the conversations died abruptly, replaced by a heavy silence that filled the grand chamber. All eyes turned toward the entrance. Alpheo could feel the gaze of every lord, lady, and courtier as he entered behind Shahab.
There, at the far end of the room, seated upon the throne of her father, was Jasmine. She looked poised, regal, yet there was a new intensity in her gaze. Standing beside her, but on foot rather than seated, were her sister and mother. Princess Rosalind's face was pale, her lips drawn into a tight line as she stood beside her eldest daughter, her posture stiff with unease. The younger sister, whose na Alpheo did not recall imdiately, stood quietly.
anwhile on the far left , was a man wearing long brown robes with five small fires drawn on his chest. He was a priest, of that he had no doubt. When he was a slave for the army, he saw so congregations of priests following the emperor on his campaign.
He was not really knowledgeable of the particulars of their religion, after all, no priests ever preached to him when he was a farr, even less when he was a slave.
I wonder what power they have, alpheo wondered as he continued on.
Without hesitation, Lord Shahab walked forward, his steps asured and respectful. He moved with the grace of soone well-acquainted with courtly customs, his figure tall and commanding even as he approached the throne. When he reached the base of the dais, Shahab paused and then, in one fluid motion, he knelt before Jasmine, lowering his head in a gesture of fealty. Alpheo soon followed and did the sa.
"You may rise," Princess Jasmine commanded, her voice carrying more authority than before.Now the throne was truly hers. Alpheo lifted his head slowly, and as he did, Jasmine's eyes flicked toward him, a faint but unmistakable smile crossing her lips.
As both n stood before her, Jasmine's expression softened, though her tone remained firm. "Lord Shahab, Sir Alpheo," she began, her voice ringing through the chamber, "I congratulate you on this hard-earned victory. Your loyalty and valor in defending this city, and indeed, defending , will not be forgotten. You have both proven your commitnt to this realm in its darkest hour."
The courtiers exchanged glances, the tension in the room easing as the princess spoke. She held herself with a regal composure, her gaze sweeping across the room before settling back on the two n before her.
"It pains deeply," she continued, her voice faltering slightly before regaining its strength, "that my family was torn apart by the ambition of my uncle. What should have been resolved through diplomacy and honor instead led to bloodshed. I regret that it ca to such violence, but the safety of this princedom—and the justice owed to my father—had to be upheld."
Alpheo noticed Rosalind at her side, her features tightening at the ntion of the fallen prince. The younger sister stood quietly, her hands clasped in front of her, as though absorbing the weight of her sister's words.
Jasmine's eyes softened as she looked at them once more. "You have both done more than your duty, and I know you must be tired from the battle. I wish for you to take your rest''
Shahab, ever formal and composed, nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Your Grace. Your words honor us more than you know," he said, bowing once more before straightening. His voice carried both respect and exhaustion, though he masked it well.
Jasmine gave a brief nod, then raised her hand in a graceful gesture of dismissal. "You are dismissed, my lords. Take your leave, and rest well."
Shahab bowed deeply once more, and Alpheo followed, giving a respectful nod before turning with Shahab toward the chamber doors. The murmurs of the courtiers began to rise again as they exited, the heavy wooden doors closing softly behind them.
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''Where are the bodies?'' Jasmine asked as she sipped on a cup of wine leaning on a chair. He , Shahab and the princess were currently in a private chamber, as apparently she wanted the imdiate details of what happened, things she could not have asked in public.
''They are currently in a carriage outside the city, do I order my n to bring them in?'' Alpheo asked as he made himself comfortable
''Not yet'' she answered as she set her cup of wine down on the table and looked at her granfather , her brows knitting together slightly in thought. "And what should we do with them by the way?Throwing them to the dogs?''
Shahab, ever stoic, inclined his head thoughtfully before speaking. "Your Grace," he began, "I would suggest sending the bodies to Ormund's wife and son''
Jasmine's lips curled slightly at the corners, but her eyes remained hard. "Why would I do that ? Ormund and his eldest are dead, his army is underground , captured or deserted. Shouldn't I deal with the youngest, Cedric, as well?Cut the problem from the stem." Her tone was colder now, sharper, as though testing the logic of Shahab's advice.
Shahab folded his arms across his chest, his calm deanor unchanged by the sharpness of Jasmine's words. "The boy is but six years old, Your Grace. Killing him might bring you temporary peace, but it would earn you the reputation of a tyrant, one who murders children, especially family.No one likes kinslayers.... Right now, we can play the card of the evil uncle marching to steal your throne—many don't yet know the reasons behind Ormund's rebellion. The lords will question the act of kinslaying less, given the circumstances. But killing the boy... that could cause us more trouble in the future than you realize."
Jasmine's eyes flickered with frustration as she considered Shahab's words. "I feel like leaving them alive would be a mistake... a loose end " she said, her tone laced with impatience.
Alpheo, who had been quietly observing the conversation from his seat, set his cup down and leaned forward slightly. "Your Grace," he said, his voice steady, "I may have a solution."
Both Jasmine and Shahab turned their attention to Alpheo, curious. Jasmine raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What do you suggest then?"
A small, confident smile tugged at the corner of Alpheo's lips. He seed entirely at ease, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine cup before he spoke. "I suggest we do as your lord grandfather advises: return the bodies to Ormund's wife and son, and for now, leave the boy unhard. But when the ti for your coronation arrives, we'll send word to all nobles to swear fealty. Among those letters, one will be sent to your aunt, informing her that her son must present himself at court to pledge his loyalty."
Jasmine's eyes narrowed as she considered the idea, but she remained silent, allowing Alpheo to continue.
"If she refuses, we have our excuse. We can march an army to their lands and take what remains of their power—finishing the task with all the justification we need. If she complies, you can pardon the boy, presenting yourself as a magnanimous ruler to your subjects. And, should you choose, he could one day fall ill from an 'unknown sickness.'anwhile the boy will stay in court as your warden... Either way, Your Grace, you secure your throne without the stain of murdering your last nephew."
The room fell silent as Alpheo finished explaining . Jasmine leaned back in her chair, her gaze thoughtful as she considered his suggestion. Slowly, she turned to her grandfather, Lord Shahab, seeking his judgnt on the matter.
Shahab's stern face softened slightly as he considered Alpheo's proposal. After a mont, he gave a slow, approving nod. "It's a good one" he said, his voice low almost as if complinting the boy who coerced his family to marry him. "It gives us options, Your Grace, and maintains your image as a rightful, just ruler. We can always act later if need be, but for now, this approach gives us the upper hand without too much bloodshed."
Jasmine's eyes flickered back to Alpheo, studying him. Her lips twitched into a faint smile, though her eyes remained sharp. "Very well," she said, her voice asured. "We'll proceed with your suggestion, Alpheo. You've proven... quite insightful...." She said locking eyes and smiling straight through him
Shahab's gaze lingered on Alpheo for a mont longer, a complicated look in his eyes—part approval, part wariness, as if he were seeing Alpheo in a new light.Even though he would not admit it , his opinion of the boy increased greatly. Not only was he good at warfare, but apparently he was also not bad at politics, as the plan he suggested was the sa general idea he had regarding going forward.
As the tension in the room eased, Shahab shifted back into his usual composed posture, while Jasmine leaned further into her chair, her gaze distant but thoughtful. Alpheo took another sip of wine, his eyes scanning the room briefly before he clapped his hands together, breaking the silence with a sudden, cheerful sound.
"Well," Alpheo began, a faint smirk on his lips, "there is still one more topic to address." His tone was lighter, almost playful, but carried the sa authority as before.
Jasmine raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly, intrigued by what more he had to say.
Alpheo leaned forward in his seat, his gaze fixed on her, "The date of our marriage, Your Grace."
Jasmine's lips curled into a smile, both coy and knowing. She took a long sip of wine before lowering her cup, her eyes eting his as the room grew still once more. "Ah," she said softly, "of course. That does seem like an important matter to settle."
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