Aldrin felt his composure slipping away, little by little, like sand leaking from a cracked hourglass. Each passing minute chipped at the mask he had worn so carefully. His hands twitched behind his back. His jaw clenched until his teeth hurt. He had tried to hold it together—to look like a commander, a king, a man in control—but now even pretending felt pointless.

Had his plan really failed? Was there truly no reinforcement coming? How had Duke Arzan done it?

The questions spun in his head with no answers, and each one scraped a little more at his calm. Around him, the nobles whispered in tight circles, their words a blur of fear and blame. He could barely hear them. It was as though the world itself had dulled; sound reached him as if from underwater, muted and meaningless.

His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. If he just looked long enough, he told himself, maybe—just maybe—he’d see a figure appear from the clouds. He desperately wanted a sign that told him that Caelond’s Mages were on their way.

But the sky was empty.

Only a few birds drifted lazily across the light, free and unbothered by the chaos on the ground. No Caelond banners. No reinforcements. No salvation.

If Duke Arzan’s words were true—and Aldrin feared they were—the Caelond royal Mages were already occupied, desperately trying to contain whatever he had unleashed on their country. It would need to be something big for all the Council Mages to be busy with it.

Their hands were probably too tied to send aid.

And even if someone did come, it wouldn’t be a group as he expected. It would be one Mage, perhaps two. Not nearly enough against Duke Arzan—the man who had torn through Veridia’s spells and defeated even his cousin without any major harm on him.

The realization settled in fully now, cold and suffocating. His pulse thudded behind his temples. The weight of it pressed down on his chest until it hurt to breathe.

On top of it, he wasn’t just standing before Arzan’s army—he was surrounded by enemies on both sides. The Alparcan soldiers standing on the walls, allies for now, exchanged looks that made his skin crawl. He could feel their stares, wanting him to do something.

Rather than the enemy outside the ward, it was the ones inside of it that made Aldrin’s pulse quicken. The Alparcan Knights and soldiers, the uneasy allies, had only sworn to follow his cousin—all of them now watched him with eyes that measured, not trusted. He had planned for the Caelond Mages to handle them too, to keep both his enemies and his “friends” in check. But if those Mages weren’t coming, then he was truly in trouble.

Every one of them had seen the prince—their prince—die.

They hadn’t heard the words exchanged between Aldrin and Arzan; they were standing on the far left. But that didn’t matter. If he didn’t act—if he hesitated, even for a breath—they’d turn on him as quickly as they turned their spears on any foe.

The thought burned bitterly in his throat.

He could already feel it—the tension crackling in the air, soldiers’ eyes darting toward him between whispers, hands gripping weapons a little too tightly. Waiting. Testing. Each second stretched thinner than the last, the silence pressing like a blade against his neck.

Then, for what felt like the tenth time, Lady Seraphine’s voice cut through it. Sharp, trembling, and desperate.

“Prince Aldrin,” she said, “what are we going to do now? We can’t let Prince Vhailor’s death be in vain.”

Aldrin turned to her slowly. His mind was a storm—anger roiling with guilt, exhaustion knotted with fear. The weight of command had never felt so heavy. He met her eyes and asked quietly, voice edged with weary restraint,

“Then tell me, Lady Seraphine, what do you want to do? Do you have a Mage who can stand against Duke Arzan?”

The question hung in the air and no one spoke.

Then Count Blackbough stepped forward, his voice hesitant but hopeful. “He’s weakened right now, Prince Aldrin. We might still have a chance.”

Aldrin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He can fly,” he said flatly. “He could leave before we even draw our arrows.” He swept his gaze across the gathered nobles, eyes cold. “The wards will only hold for so long, and when they fall, what then? Do we let him slaughter all of us?”

The words hung in the air like smoke—thick, heavy, impossible to breathe through. No one dared to speak after that. The silence spread, curling around the gathered nobles like a noose.

Their eyes shifted past Aldrin, drawn toward the figure beyond the ward.

Duke Arzan stood there, motionless, watching them with that unnerving stillness. He didn’t shout, didn’t gloat, didn’t even move. He simply watched, as if he already knew how this would end. Aldrin didn’t need to meet his gaze to feel it. That calm, cold stare, it pressed against his skin, mocking him without a single word.

He hated it.

He forced himself to inhale, slow and deep, willing his heartbeat to steady. He needed to think, to breathe, to stay in control. But the truth sat in his chest like an immovable stone. He had already thought about this—days ago, weeks even—but he had never wanted to face it. Not this way. Not before all of them.

His hands trembled. He clenched them tight until the shaking stopped, until his nails bit into his palms. The weight of command bore down harder than ever before.

And when he finally spoke, the words came out like a confession torn from his throat.

“I need to surrender.”

No one moved.

Then, quietly, almost to himself, he added, “We need to surrender.”

The reaction was instant. Gasps cut through the air. The chamber filled with frantic and overlapping voices.

“Prince, please reconsider!” Count Blackbough’s voice cracked with disbelief.

“What you’re saying will get us all killed!” Lady Seraphine cried, her face pale under the ward light.

Aldrin turned toward them, his expression hard but weary. His voice carried no anger, only exhaustion, the sound of a man who had run out of illusions.

“No,” he said. “If we keep fighting when we’ve already lost, that’s what will get us killed.”

He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the stunned nobles. “At best, we might wound Duke Arzan. And what then? My brothers will swoop in like vultures, take advantage of the chaos, and claim everything for themselves. I won’t hand them that. Do you want to?”

No one answered.

The silence that followed was heavier than any argument could have been. Even the soldiers and Knights around them seemed to have gone still, the faint sound of armor shifting the only sign of life.

Aldrin could feel their eyes on him—fearful, uncertain, pleading. But he saw no other path left.

He had lost the game long before the battle began. And now, all that remained was to end it before it consumed them all.

Duke Ashford stepped forward, stiff-backed and steady. He had stood by Aldrin through every hard hour since the day he had decided to contest for the throne. But when Aldrin turned to him, he saw no betrayal in the Duke’s face. Only worry.

“If we hold a little longer,” Ashford said, “maybe Caelond will send help. If we just wait—”

Aldrin cut him off with a shake of his head. “No.” The word was small but it silenced the Duke. “Arzan guessed our plan the moment we set it in motion. If he can cause enough chaos to pull Caelond’s hands away, waiting will only hand him more advantage.” He looked at Duke Ashford and the other nobles, and for a moment his voice softened. “We have misread him.”

He let out a long breath and let his gaze find Arzan across the ward. The man stood like a cliff, listening as if every word were a bell toll. Aldrin did not care whether Arzan heard. He had run the scenarios until they had worn thin. Miracles were rare. If Caelond’s Mages did come, he suspected Arzan had counted on that too, and had a reply ready.

Aldrin straightened, pushing the tremor from his voice. He looked each noble in the eye as if laying down a debt. “Do not worry,” he said. “Even if we have lost here, I will not let harm come to you or to our forces without bargaining for it. We still hold Fort Valemount. I will work for the best terms I can.”

Lady Seraphine stepped forward, her hands trembling. “Prince Aldrin… What are you going to do? It will cost you your life.”

Aldrin’s jaw tightened. The choice scraped at him like a blade. He could feel the soldiers watching, the nobles waiting for the weight of his decision to fall. He curled his hands into fists at his sides until the pain steadied him. “So be it,” he said, each syllable like a stone dropped into a silent well. “I have lost. There is nothing more to be done here. But I will keep my word. If my life is the price to save those I commanded, then I will pay it.”

He looked at each noble once more. Their faces were a map of disappointment and fear, but he held the one thing that still had weight in this moment: the ward itself. If he gave that away, he could buy the men under his command a chance to live.

He took a step forward. The decision settled into him with a cold clarity. Around him, the nobles murmured—some in disbelief, some in grief—but he did not hear them. His eyes stayed on Arzan and the silent line of his soldiers and Mages beyond the ward.

Arzan glided closer until he hovered at the edge of the barrier, just beyond reach. Up close, his calm was a kind of pressure. He smiled as if already certain of how this would end.

“I see you’ve come to a decision,” Arzan said.

Aldrin met him head on. “I have,” he answered. “But it won’t be a total surrender. You can have my forces disbanded and the fort under your control, but I demand terms for my men.”

Arzan’s smile thinned. “You lost. I will not accept unreasonable terms.”

Aldrin let out a long breath. “Hear me out. Decide after.”

War negotiations were not something he’d trained for, but he had no option at this point. “I want what’s fair for my men,” he said simply.

Arzan’s eyes flicked over him. “What if I want your head?”

The question landed like a blade. Aldrin felt fear like ice through his veins. For a beat he did not answer. The thought of death made his chest tight, but behind that fear sat duty—duty to those who had trusted him. He straightened his shoulders and found his voice.

“That depends on what you can give in return,” he said.

Arzan studied him. After a moment he nodded. “Very well. But I cannot negotiate while I’m floating here.”

“We’ll meet outside the ward,” Aldrin said.

“Good. Come out in two hours and we can discuss. I promise I won't harm you or anyone that comes with you.”

Arzan began to drift back, the meeting set, when Aldrin called after him. “Wait.”

Arzan stopped and turned. “What now?”

Aldrin swallowed. The words burned at the back of his throat.

“I need the body of Prince Vhailor, and the bodies of his Mages. I can't let them stay on the ground for vultures to feed on them,” he said.

***

Kai wanted to end it then and there. The thought sat in his chest like a hot coal—finish Aldrin, cut the head off the beast, and focus on the other princes. He liked the ease of it.

But Duke Blackwood had been blunt and practical. Kill the prince now and you did not end a problem, you multiplied it. It was like killing the head of a hydra, the other heads would move to take revenge. If he killed him, there would be resentment among the nobles that would be under him, especially when Aldrin had surrendered.

They would feel for their life too and Kai couldn’t finish all of them since he didn’t have enough men to take over their territory in a single stroke.

There was also the issue of the remaining soldiers and the Alparcan forces that he needed to contend with. Winning without even breaking the ward might have sounded like a good thing, but there were many logistics to deal with. Hence, when Aldrin arrived for negotiations with Duke Ashford and Lady Seraphina at his side, Kai calmly listened to what they wanted—which was laughable, to say the least.

They wanted him to let their territories and positions remain untouched in exchange for a vow of support for his claim as the next king. They were even willing to provide troops, but before Kai could shut them down, Duke Blackwood did so first. For the next hour, Blackwood went against Duke Ashford and Aldrin in a heated verbal exchange, reminding them that they were the losers in this war and had no right to negotiate unreasonable terms. His words were, of course, much harsher, but his tone made it clear who held control. Slowly, they began to put forward their own terms.

In Kai’s mind, they weren’t unreasonable, and he had to admit, not even the worst he had heard. The first condition was that all the territories of each noble would be placed under Kai’s control. Only after the civil war ended would he decide what to do with them. This ensured the nobles wouldn’t get any “funny ideas.”

The second condition was that all the nobles would be confined until the war ended—even Aldrin, which clearly surprised the prince, who had probably thought he was going to die. The third was that all of their resources—swords, aethum stones, and rations—would be confiscated. Anything that could be used to instigate rebellion would be taken, leaving only the minimum amount of food necessary to sustain their forces.

There were smaller terms as well, such as Aldrin publicly denouncing his claim to the throne, though that was expected since he had surrendered. The soldiers were also given the option to either remain in the fort until the war’s conclusion or join Kai’s army. Both Aldrin and the nobles likely anticipated the last two terms, but they were vehemently opposed to the first one.

They believed it meant their noble titles would be stripped away and rejected it repeatedly.

And after hours and hours of discussion, they finally accepted the condition when Kai clarified that their titles would remain intact, but their territories would be redivided after the war—a completely standard practice.

They spent the entire night finalizing the terms, and once everything was agreed upon, Kai made Aldrin swear a mana oath and sign an official document detailing every clause, both major and minor.

With that, Kai had the whole north under his rule. One prince was down; only two remained, and Kai planned to finish them as quickly as he had Aldrin.

***

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