CHAPTER 472: THE RECKONING

The court was a stark contrast to Astrid’s garden. There, moonlight had draped blossoms in silver, softening the night with warmth and whispers. Here, the air hung heavy with torch smoke and the acrid tang of ink. Long tables stretched beneath the vaulted ceiling, maps of kingdoms unfurled across their surfaces.

Nobles and generals murmured among themselves, voices clipped with impatience. As Alaric entered, the room straightened at once, a ripple of silence falling over them.

At the far end, King Heimdal sat enthroned upon the dais, his presence both commanding and shadowed by weariness. Alaric frowned, wondering what matter was so urgent it dragged the court into session at night.

He advanced to the head of the table, each step deliberate, each gesture a reminder that he was not merely a prince, but a commander. Yet beneath that armor of control, his palm still tingled with the memory of Lara’s hand in his. Her warmth haunted him, even here, where clarity and steel were demanded..

"Your Highness," said General Odin, inclining his head. "We have received reports from the Estalis border. Zuran forces have grown bolder. Skirmishes are escalating, and they are conscripting not only men but boys. If we delay much longer, Estalis would suffer more and the balance will tilt against us."

Others joined in, voices rising like the clash of blades. "They probe for weakness. They sense hesitation. We must strike now—strike first."

"But we are at war with Zura," Malik interjected, his tone sharp. "Why does Estalis enter this picture?"

Alaric shot Malik a fierce stare. .

Alaric’s glare cut to him, sharp enough to silence the chamber. Malik remained, as ever, a thorn—a man bound too tightly to Duval to be trusted. He wondered why his father still kept the man in the court.

"Estalis is already lost," Kasmeri said suddenly. His reappearance startled the court; for two years, since he appeared as the heir of Duke Caspian, he had focused on his business, tending only to his dukedom. "The crown prince dances to Zuran strings. The throne itself belongs to a Zuran princess."

Unease rippled through the assembly. What had drawn Kasmeri into these halls?

Alaric raised a hand. The room quieted, though tension still simmered beneath the surface. He looked down at the maps—lines of borders, clusters of fortresses, the lifeblood of kingdoms reduced to ink.

His mind should have been on strategy, on supply routes and troop numbers. Instead, Lara’s voice whispered in the back of his thoughts: Can an empire be built without bloodshed?

He let silence stretch just long enough for unease to take hold, then spoke. "I will not order a reckless strike that feeds only their fear of us. A war begun in haste will not bring us victory—it will shatter the very foundation I seek to build."

Malik frowned. "With respect, Your Highness, vision alone does not win wars. Sword does."

Alaric’s jaw tightened. "And sword without vision leaves only ruins."

The chamber shifted, murmurs breaking out again. Some approving, others doubtful. He saw the skepticism in their eyes, the impatience of men who wanted conquest, not compromise.

Alaric leaned forward, his hand pressing to the map. "Estalis will fall into our sphere of influence—but not as a carcass divided among vultures. I will not rule over ash. We must show them strength, yes, but also purpose. If their rulers see a place for their sovereignty within ours, they will bend sooner than if we strip them bare."

"An untested gamble," Malik muttered, though softer now.

"Perhaps," Alaric allowed. "But one worth taking."

His gaze swept the chamber, hard and steady, though inside he still felt the echo of Lara’s eyes on him, the way her skepticism had cut sharper than any general’s rebuke. He carried her with him even here, in this hall of power, like a compass he could not ignore.

Alaric’s voice hardened. "Perhaps. But one worth taking. Zura struck Northem at the heart of power—we will do the same. Once their throne falls, no needless blood must follow."

The chamber stilled. Generals exchanged glances, but slowly, reluctantly, they nodded.

"Our enemies expect us to act as tyrants," he said, his voice now rising, steady as steel. "Let us surprise them. Let us build an empire not feared for its cruelty, but respected for its balance. Blood will be spilled—but it will not be our legacy."

Silence followed, deeper this time. No one moved, though Alaric could read the unease still simmering.

Then Malik’s hands slammed against the table. "Empire?" he spat. "You dare speak of empire while the king yet breathes? Ambition has devoured you, boy. This is treason!"

Then, in a blur of movement, Alaric was surrounded by knights, sword pointed at him from a different direction.

Yet he did not move. He did not draw his sword.

"Enough!" King Heimdal thundered. His voice, seldom raised, filled the hall like a storm. "Sheath your swords! How dare you profane my presence?"

Espiyor, Malik’s own son, led the knights back with reluctance.

Then the king’s next words fell like an axe. "We will do as Prince Alaric says. He is my firstborn. My rightful heir."

Gasps rippled through the assembly. Shock widened eyes. When had Heimdal’s favor shifted? Was it because Alaric had saved the palace from Turik’s hands while Reuben was utterly humiliated?

The courtiers’ gazes changed, tilting like the sun breaking cloud—where disdain once lingered, now respect gleamed.

But Alaric felt none of it. As he stood there, the weight of crown and blade heavy on his shoulders, it was not their approval he longed for—but Lara’s. Would she believe in this vision as much as he did? Would she stand at his side when the time came?

He remembered Mount Ourea, the wind sharp, the horizon endless. There, he had told her, on that hill. That is where I will build our palace. And she had smiled, bright as dawn, as though she already knew she would stand beside him. Of course, even if she had not voiced it earlier, he knew that she would walk the same path with him.

Now, his voice carried through the chamber like a blade drawn from its scabbard. "There is someone I want you all to meet." He turned, gaze fixed on the doors.

"Come out."