Three hundred leagues away, the rain had stopped over the Capital, but the atmosphere inside the Royal Council Chamber was colder than any mountain storm.
A massive, circular table carved from weirwood occupied the center of the room. Prince Kenneth sat at the right hand of the empty throne, his heavy gold armor gleaming under the crystal chandeliers. Across from him sat Prince Kian, casually spinning a silver quill between his fingers, though his eyes were completely devoid of their usual warmth.
"The border garrisons have reported nothing," Kenneth growled, slamming his fist onto the table, causing the tactical maps to jump. "A prince of the blood doesn't simply vanish into thin air. Reinhardt is hiding something at the Iron-Garrison. I should march the First Legion down there and tear that fortress apart brick by brick."
"Do keep your voice down, Kenneth, the servants are gossiping enough as it is," Kian said smoothly, though his jaw tightened. His silk robes were new—the wine-stained ones from three weeks ago had been burned. "Marching a legion to the border would signal weakness to our neighbors. Besides, Kaelen didn't get kidnapped."
Kenneth narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"He left his signet ring on his balcony. He left his royal daggers. He took a commoner's rucksack and a rusted iron stick," Kian said, leaning back, his expression darkening as he recalled the blue lightning that had shattered his glass. "Our little brother didn't run from danger. He ran from us. He’s playing soldier somewhere."
"A fool's errand," Kenneth sneered. "He has no tactical training, no army, and no political backing. If he enters the wild lands, the tribes will have his head on a pike within a week."
Before Kian could respond, the heavy iron doors of the council chamber burst open.
A breathless royal messenger stumbled into the room, his uniform covered in dust from a hard ride, holding a sealed leather cylinder. He bypassed the ministers and dropped directly to his knees before the two princes.
"Your Highnesses! An urgent report from the Eastern border intelligence!" the messenger gasped out.
Kenneth snatched the cylinder, tearing it open and pulling out a single sheet of rough parchment. As his eyes scanned the lines, the arrogant smirk on his face slowly froze. His fingers tightened around the paper until the thick parchment began to tear.
"What is it?" Kian asked, his eyes narrowing as he watched his brother's reaction. "Did a border tribe raid a village?"
"No," Kenneth whispered, his voice suddenly sounding hollow. He looked up, staring blankly at the empty throne. "A new independent rogue unit has emerged past the wall. They’ve successfully crossed into the Ash-Wastes."
Kian let out a soft, mocking laugh. "A bunch of criminals and deserters. Why do we care?"
Kenneth threw the paper onto the weirwood table, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and a sudden, creeping terror.
"Because according to the scouts, two days ago, that unit encountered the Iron-Scale Drake of the Black Peaks. The monster that slaughtered our entire Third Vanguard Vanguard ten years ago." Kenneth pointed a shaking finger at the report. "The drake is dead. And the scouts report the unit is now led by a teenage boy who fights with azure lightning... and he’s currently marching deeper into the unconquered lands."
Kian’s silver quill snapped perfectly in half between his fingers. He stared at the report, the color slowly draining from his face as the image of Kaelen's cocky, rebellious smile flashed in his mind.
The fourth prince wasn't playing soldier. He was building an army.