The banners of House Veloni-isha rippled in the cool morning breeze as lord Ilbert and his son Arendon marched through theYarzat's camp.
Ilbert had kept his word, waiting until the promised date had passed without relief from the capital. He now sought only to ensure that the army of Yarzat would leave his lands intact, he had enough of this war.
The camp sprawled across the rolling hills outside the city, an organized hive of disciplined activity. Soldiers moved efficiently, their armor gleaming even under the muted sunlight. Arendon's eyes roved over the n, and his lips pressed into a thin line. Each soldier wore a matching helt and chainmail, many supplented by breastplates and cuirasses that shone with well-maintained polish. Their surcoats, all in the sa color, white, with two black stripes going from shoulder to waist . Even from a distance, the sharpness of their weapons—halberd, swords, axes, maces and spears—was evident, their edges catching glints of light as if eager for battle.
Ilbert kept his gaze ahead, his expression carefully neutral, though he could feel the tension in his son walking beside him.
Arendon couldn't help but glance at his father, his jaw tight. It wasn't just the equipnt of the n—it was the way they carried themselves. These weren't peasants pressed into service or a hastily gathered militia. Every movent, every glance, exuded experience. Veterans. Every single one of them.
He looked back to the soldiers, their helts masking most of their expressions, but their body language spoke volus. The rigid precision of their posture, the confidence in their stride.
Arendon shot another look at his father, his eyes wide with realization. As he now understood how their prince lost against them.
He'd known from the reports of his soldiers after the battle that Alpheo's army was formidable, but seeing it now with his own eyes drove ho the scale of what they had faced.
Arendon's gaze lingered on the soldiers as they passed, the realization heavy on his young shoulders. And today, they would bend the knee to it—not for glory, not for honor, but for survival.
At the center of the sprawling camp, amidst a sea of disciplined soldiers, stood a young man astride a powerful black steed. His face, still touched by the softness of youth, betrayed that he was barely a few years older than Arendon.
Ilbert caught the subtle widening of his son's eyes, a flicker of surprise at the sight of this boy—who had outmaneuvered and outfought lords twice his age. Ilbert himself felt the urge to caution his son with a glance, knowing full well that underestimating the Yarzat prince would be a grave mistake. A youthful face ant nothing; it was the fire behind the eyes that one had to gaze at.
As they ca within a few steps of Alpheo, Ilbert felt the weight of many eyes upon them. Alpheo's gaze shifted too, his face composed yet sharp. His gloved hand rested lightly on the poml of his sword, the casual attitude of a conqueror
Stopping a respectful distance from the young prince consort, Ilbert dipped his head briefly, signaling the beginning of what could be the most pivotal mont of his life. Beside him, Arendon followed suit, though his gaze remained fixed on Alpheo.
Ilbert straightened his posture as he approached, his voice carrying the practiced formality of a seasoned noble. "Prince Alpheo," he began, dipping his head respectfully. "I co before you unhard. This," he said, gesturing to the young man beside him, "is my eldest son and heir, Arendon Hervius."
Arendon, though younger and less composed, mimicked his father's bow. His gaze briefly t Alpheo's, curiosity and wariness mingling in his expression. "Your Grace," the boy said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.
Alpheo inclined his head in return, his tone calm . "Lord Ilbert. Arendon. It is good to et the next steward of your house." His sharp eyes swept over the younger Hervius briefly before returning to Ilbert. "It seems the date we agreed upon has finally reached us," he continued, his words deliberate. "Have you co to fulfill your side of the arrangent?Or instead to inform or your decision to let blood and fire dictate our next actions?"
Ilbert nodded firmly, his voice unwavering. "I have, Your Grace co to deliver the deal . As promised, I am here to swear my loyalty to your wife, Lady Jasmine, and to seal my house's bond with her cause."
Alpheo gave a faint smile, not of triumph but of acknowledgnt. "Good," he replied, his voice low yet carrying the weight of expectation. "The ti has co to settle this without further bloodshed."
Ilbert moved with deliberate purpose, stepping forward and sinking to one knee before Alpheo. His son, Arendon, hesitated only for a mont before following suit, kneeling beside his father. The older lord bowed his head low, his voice steady and solemn as he began the oath.
"I, Ilbert Hervius of House Shafza, do solemnly swear my fealty to Her Grace Jasmine Veloni-isha, Princess and Protector of Yarzat. I pledge my loyalty, my service, and the strength of my house to her cause, to hold her law as my guide and her enemies as my own. May the gods witness my vow, and may my honor never falter in its fulfillnt."
As his words echoed across the gathering, Alpheo unsheathed his sword in a single, smooth motion, the polished steel gleaming in the sunlight. Stepping forward, he gently placed the flat of the blade first on Ilbert's right shoulder, then his left. His voice was clear and firm as he spoke.
"In the na of Her Grace Jasmine Veloni-isha, Princess and protector of Yarzat, I accept your oath, Lord Ilbert Hervius. May your loyalty strengthen the bonds of this realm, and may you rise as a vassal of Yarzat."
With a slight nod, Alpheo stepped back, the blade returning to its sheath with a crisp ring. "Rise, Lord Ilbert, and take your place among the loyal."
Ilbert lifted his head and stood with a asured grace, his expression composed yet resolute.
Alpheo stepped forward, his expression shifting from formal to genial as he patted Ilbert lightly on the shoulder. A faint smile curved his lips as he spoke, his tone warm yet still carrying an air of command.
"The only proper way to welco you into our mix, Lord Ilbert, is with a feast," Alpheo declared, a glint of amusent in his eye.
Ilbert inclined his head, a faint trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You are gracious, Your Grace. I am honored to partake in your hospitality."
Alpheo waved a hand dismissively, though his expression remained inviting. " If you are to serve alongside us, then it's best to start as we an to continue—with camaraderie and wine."
He turned slightly, nodding to one of his nearby aides. "See to it that the preparations are made. Tonight, we feast."
The surrounding lords and commanders murmured approvingly, the atmosphere around the gathering lightening with the promise of revelry. Ilbert gave a small, grateful bow. "Then I shall prepare myself, Your Grace."
Alpheo chuckled softly. "Prepare yourself for more than just food, Lord Ilbert. My n are a lively sort, I am sure you will fit right in...."
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Ilbert and his son, Arendon, were seated at a long wooden table adorned with an assortnt of food and drink, the air thick with laughter and the clatter of plates. Their seats were close to Prince Alpheo, who sat at the head of the table, surrounded by n whose nas Ilbert did not yet know. The only familiar face was Lord Xanthios, who sat to Alpheo's right, occasionally contributing to the boisterous conversation with his booming voice.
Ilbert's gaze wandered to the other n. It was apparent, even to a casual observer, that they were not highborn. None bore emblems on their chests, and their manners at the table left much to be desired. They tore at the at with their hands, drank deeply from their goblets, and laughed without restraint. Their camaraderie was unmistakable, their ease with Alpheo a clear indication of long familiarity.
Perhaps, Ilbert thought, these were companions of the prince consort from his days as a rcenary. The way they spoke to him—equal parts respect and teasing—was unlike anything Ilbert had witnessed among noble courts. These n were no courtiers; they were soldiers that was clear.
As the feast continued, Ilbert ate sparingly, his appetite diminished not by the food but by the thoughts that swirled in his mind. He sipped his wine cautiously, keeping his gaze moving from one end of the table to the other. Suddendly his new prince turned around , locked sight with him and with a wave of his hand called him forward.
''Stay here'' Lord Ilbert told his son as he rose and walked toward the table where he was called.
As soon as he reached the prince, he saw as one of the servant bringing a chair near the prince , clearly prepared for the lord, which he gracefully took with a bow.
Seeing the lord seated, Alpheo leaned back in his chair, raising his goblet slightly before setting it down with a deliberate clink. He turned to Ilbert, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Well then, Lord Ilbert,since you are now one of ours" he began, his voice carrying over the din of the feast. "I think it's ti you were properly introduced to my close company."
The conversations around the table hushed slightly as heads turned toward the prince consort, anticipation hanging in the air. Alpheo's smile widened, and with an easy gesture, he indicated the n seated around him. "These are the ones I trust most in this world, and I think it's only fitting you et them properly."
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