CHAPTER 528: THE WEIGHT OF THE IMPERIAL CROWN

The southern wind carried the scent of dawn — cool, sharp, and laced with the faint sweetness of fallen leaves. Autumn had begun its quiet conquest over summer.

From the high balcony of Hevenfort, Prince Alaric stood in stillness, his gaze cast toward the training grounds beyond the palace gardens below.

The banners of Azurverda rippled against the morning light — a crimson firebird on obsidian silk, wings unfurled as if to defy the wind itself. They whispered of a new legacy, of a birth of a new empire, of future glory that would be forged and reforged through generations of conquest and sacrifice.

Alaric’s eyes followed the young recruits below. On the left, boys scarcely old enough to wield steel were drilling in swordplay and spear technique, their movements raw but eager. On the right, older soldiers grappled in hand-to-hand combat, their grunts and strikes rising in rhythmic cadence. Farther out, archers tested their precision, loosing arrows from foot and horseback alike. Their laughter carried faintly through the air, a fragile echo of youth amid the discipline of war.

Behind him, the great chamber doors creaked open with soft restraint. Lara stepped into the morning light — silent but unmistakable. Her riding cloak flowed behind her, brushing against the marble floor like a whisper in the breeze.

Alaric turned, his expression carved from composure, yet the tension in his eyes eased when he saw her.

"You’re up early," he said, his voice low and deep, which made Lara’s skin tingle.

"You know I always wake before sunrise," she replied lightly. "I decided to practice my horsemanship," she said, glancing at him with a quiet smile. "But Chestnut had her own ideas. She brought me here instead."

That drew a chuckle from him — quiet, genuine. "That mare always had good instincts."

"She remembers her first master."

A rare and genuine smile touched Alaric’s lips. Chestnut, the dark brown filly that grew into a beautiful mare which he had tamed himself. It had been his gift to Lara on her last birthday. That the creature still found her way back to Hevenfort was no coincidence — loyalty, after all, was bred into her.

Lara joined him at the edge of the balcony. From their height, the palace gardens stretched below — a tapestry of order and illusion, so perfectly arranged it seemed as though peace itself could be cultivated from symmetry.

Yet beyond the hedges and the colorful blooms, the training ground broke the illusion — a reminder that kingdoms built on beauty were sustained by blood.

The wind shifted, bringing with it a faint chill. Lara drew her cloak tighter, her gaze falling upon the smallest of the recruits. "There are so many young boys on this new batch of trainees," she murmured. "That one there —" she pointed to a frail figure on the right, struggling to parry against a larger opponent — "I doubt he’s even twelve."

Alaric followed her gaze. "Cornelius," he said quietly. "He is thirteen. He lost his parents to a bandit raid on the Westalis border. They died shielding him and his younger siblings. He trains now so he can feed them."

Lara’s expression softened, sorrow flickering across her face. She watched as Cornelius fell again, then rose once more, his small hands trembling around the wooden blade. She could see the boy’s determination despite his frail body.

"When the lad learned that he could get free accommodation and food allowance if he trained as a soldier, he grabbed the opportunity." Alaric paused and studied the young Cornelius. He could see the determination in his stance. No matter how many times he fell, he did not give up, but would stand again. "He is a good boy, and he really loves his siblings.

Lara exhaled slowly. "When you give the desperate even a thread of hope, they cling to it as if it were life itself. You’re not just giving them purpose, Alaric — you’re giving them something to believe in. They’ll be your most loyal soldiers one day."

He looked at her then — truly looked — and for a fleeting instant, the prince vanished, replaced by the man beneath the crown. "You speak as if you’ve experienced desperation yourself."

Her lips curved faintly. "Perhaps I have."

He chuckled softly, easing the gravity between them. "I sometimes forgot that you had been trafficked once, and you lived among the mountains and battled with the wild animals."

"I learned quickly," she said. Her voice lowered, the words edged with memory. "Those who didn’t... didn’t last long."

If you only knew what I have been through

, perhaps you would pity. I hoped that in my past life, I had someone like you who could give me a sliver of hope. Lara thought to herself.

Silence followed, filled only by the distant cries of the hawks circling above and the rhythmic beat of practice swords below.

After a moment, Alaric spoke again. "Reuben had shared the news that he might walk again — because you told him so."

Lara glanced at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. "Did he tell you that? How did you know?"

"Father told me," Alaric replied, his tone unreadable. "You’ve given him hope."

"I only repeated what the healers said. There are new treatments — new techniques. His condition isn’t hopeless."

Alaric’s gaze darkened. "Hope is a dangerous thing to give a man who’s lost everything."

She faced him squarely. "I don’t think he lost everything. I think that he gained more when he lost his mobility." Lara rested her hand on the railing and looked at him. "Would you rather I leave him without it?"

His jaw tightened. For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Then, quietly: "No. I’d rather you hadn’t made him indebted to you."

There it was — the edge behind the warmth. The strategist behind the prince.

Lara sighed. "I haven’t done anything yet — other than the initial treatment I did to him when we were in Savadra. You think I’m playing him?"

"I think," he said slowly, "you understand the power of your kindness. And I don’t fault you for it. We all fight with what weapons we have. Yours are simply... softer than mine."

She didn’t deny it. Instead, she took a single step closer — close enough for her voice to brush the space between them. "And what weapon do you wield, my prince?"

Alaric’s eyes met hers, dark and unfathomable. "The one that keeps even those I love at arm’s length."

Something tightened in her chest. She could see it then — the loneliness behind the prince’s mask, the way his heart built walls even as it ached to reach beyond them. And for a brief, aching moment, she wondered if she would ever find the cracks in those walls.

Lara stepped closer to him. "Is that so? Do you also keep me at arm’s length, or is that only for your father and siblings?"

Alaric released a long sigh, then he gathered Lara into his arms.

"I would never keep you away from me," he whispered hoarsely, then he gently kissed the top of her head. "If it is only me, I don’t want you to return to Helias Manor."

She wanted to say something, but the words would not come. She looked up and she found him looking down at her, their faces close enough that her lips nearly brushed his.

Almost.

Below them, the soldiers shouted, the drill before breakfast was done. The trainees walked in a disciplined manner to the mess hall.

Somewhere in the distance, the sea murmured against the cliffs.

...

A little later, after breakfast, the bells of the northern tower tolled thrice — the signal of an important announcement after the royal council convened. The sound broke the fragile stillness like a blade through silk.

Alaric straightened, his posture exuding authority as his voice returned to its customary resonance. "It begins," he whispered with an air of inevitability, the words hanging in the charged atmosphere like a promise waiting to unfold.

Lara stood still, her gaze fixed on him as he disappeared into the distance, the soft morning light glimmering off the intricate seams of his cloak like delicate threads of gold. Each step he took seemed to stir the air around him, creating a mesmerizing dance of shadows and light that lingered in her mind long after he had vanished.

He did not look back. But she felt that he wanted to. As his footsteps faded, she stood alone on the balcony, the scent of autumn lingering in the air.

The pact with Northem had been signed. And soon, the emperor of Azurverda would be named. But Lara’s thoughts were far from politics. They were with the man who hid behind his crown — and the unspoken things that passed between them like the wind.

Would his court pressure him to have an empress? And when that time comes, would she be ready? She felt that she was still too young to marry. However, in an era when women married as early as fifteen, wouldn’t she be considered an old maid?

Lara looked at the beautiful garden below. She sighed and turned to leave. It was time for her to return to her manor. She needed to take Pamela to her master’s home so she could introduce her to the twins and Sandoz.