Princess Celandine knew something was wrong the moment her father dismissed the musicians.
It was a small thing. So small that nobody else at the table seemed to notice.
One moment, the banquet hall had been filled with the soft hum of violins and the occasional burst of laughter from the nobles gathered beneath the enormous crystal chandeliers. The next, King Aldric lifted two fingers, and the musicians stopped.
The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
Celandine looked across the table at her father.
He wasn’t looking at anyone.
He was staring at the letter in his hand.
Her older brother, Caelan, leaned toward her.
“That’s never a good sign.”
Celandine kept her eyes on their father. “What?”
“Father doesn’t read letters like that unless someone’s died.”
She glanced at him.
Caelan’s mouth twitched.
“I’m joking.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
“I know.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
At the head of the table, King Aldric finally folded the letter and placed it beside his plate.
Their mother noticed.
“What is it?”
The king looked at her.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he turned to the royal steward.
“Clear the hall.”
The room immediately went still.
Several nobles exchanged glances.
“Your Majesty?” the steward asked.
“Everyone.”
There was no anger in his voice. Somehow, that made it worse.
Chairs scraped against the marble floor. Conversations broke into whispers as the nobles rose. Celandine watched them leave, one by one, their expressions ranging from confused to frightened.
Her father waited until the great doors closed behind the last person.
Only then did he look at his family.
“King Theron has sent an ultimatum.”
Caelan leaned back.
“Theron?”
Their mother frowned. “What does he want?”
“Us.”
Celandine felt something cold settle in her stomach.
Her father picked up the letter again.
“He wants an alliance.”
Caelan gave a short laugh. “That’s hardly unusual.”
“It’s not an alliance in the traditional sense.”
Their father handed the letter across the table.
Caelan read it first.
His expression changed.
He passed it to their mother.
She read it in silence.
Celandine watched her mother’s face carefully.
Their mother was rarely unsettled. She had spent twenty-two years beside their father, through wars, droughts, rebellions and two attempted coups. Celandine had seen her stand before angry generals without trembling.
Now, her fingers tightened around the paper.
“What exactly is he asking?” she said.
King Aldric answered.
“He wants our army.”
Celandine frowned.
“For what?”
“To expand his borders.”
Caelan’s expression hardened.
“He wants us to fight his wars.”
“Yes.”
“And if Father refuses?”
The king looked at his son.
“He has made it clear that refusal will be considered an act of hostility.”
Silence.
Celandine looked down at her hands.
There were four rings on her fingers, gifts from different birthdays and different stages of her life. One from her mother when she turned thirteen. One from Caelan when he returned from his first military campaign. One from her father when she became old enough to attend council meetings.
She suddenly became aware of how childish they looked.
“Why would he need our army?” she asked.
Her father looked at her.
“Because his own people are tired.”
“Then he should listen to them,” Celandine said.
Caelan smiled faintly.
Their father didn’t.
“Theron doesn’t listen.”
Celandine knew that.
Everyone did.
King Theron of Valedon had spent the last five years turning a prosperous kingdom into a military power. He had taken three neighboring territories, absorbed smaller kingdoms through marriage and intimidation, and placed soldiers along nearly every border.
He called it unification.
Everyone else called it expansion.
And now he wanted them.
“What did you tell him?” their mother asked.
“I haven’t answered.”
Caelan stared at him.
“You called us here before answering?”
“I wanted you to hear it from me.”
His wife reached across the table and touched his hand.
“You already know what you’re going to say.”
King Aldric looked at her.
“Yes.”
Celandine swallowed.
“What?”
Her father’s eyes moved between his children.
“No.”
The word landed heavily.
Caelan exhaled through his nose.
“Father—”
“No.”
“But if we refuse—”
“I know what happens if we refuse.”
“You could at least negotiate.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“Theron doesn’t want an ally.”
Her father leaned back in his chair.
“He wants a subordinate.”
Nobody spoke.
Celandine looked toward the windows.
Beyond them, the gardens were dark. The palace grounds stretched toward the mountains, where the last traces of sunset had disappeared.
She had always thought the palace was safe.
It was the place where she had grown up.
Where she had learned to ride horses.
Where her mother had taught her embroidery even though she hated it.
Where Caelan had once pushed her into a fountain because she had stolen his favorite book.
Where her father had carried her home after she fell asleep during a council meeting.
The palace was home.
And suddenly, for the first time, Celandine wondered if home could be taken away.
“You’re going to refuse him,” she said.
Her father nodded.
“Yes.”
Her mother closed her eyes briefly.
Caelan stood.
“You can’t.”
Their father looked at him.
“I can.”
“Father.”
“I will not send our soldiers to die so another king can satisfy his appetite for land.”
Caelan paced away from the table.
“You know what he’s capable of.”
“I do.”
“You know he won’t let this go.”
“I do.”
“Then why?”
King Aldric stood.
“Because if I teach my people that their lives can be bought and sold by another king, I am no longer their king.”
Caelan stared at him.
Celandine felt her chest tighten.
There was something about the way her father said it.
Not bravado.
Not pride.
Something final.
Their mother rose slowly.
“Then we should prepare.”
King Aldric nodded.
“For what?”
She looked at him.
“For whatever comes next.”
⸻
The letter was sent before midnight.
Celandine watched from the balcony as the royal messenger rode through the gates.
The moon was high.
The palace below her was quiet.
She hugged herself against the cold.
“You’ll catch a fever.”
She turned.
Caelan stood behind her.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.”
“Clearly not.”
He walked toward her and leaned against the stone railing.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then he said, “Do you think he’ll attack us?”
Celandine looked at him.
Her brother wasn’t smiling.
“I don’t know.”
“You always know.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
She shook her head.
“You’re the one who always knows what to do.”
“That’s because I’m older.”
“By three years.”
“Three very important years.”
She laughed softly.
He smiled.
Then his expression disappeared again.
“I’ve heard things.”
Celandine’s smile faded.
“What things?”
“About Theron.”
“Everyone has heard things about Theron.”
“Not like this.”
He looked over his shoulder before lowering his voice.
“There are soldiers being moved toward the eastern border.”
Celandine’s stomach twisted.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“How close?”
“Close enough.”
She stared at the darkness beyond the palace walls.
“Father knows?”
“He knows.”
“Then why isn’t he doing anything?”
“He is.”
Caelan looked at her.
“He’s preparing.”
“For war?”
“For survival.”
A breeze swept across the balcony.
Celandine shivered.
Caelan noticed and removed his cloak, placing it around her shoulders.
“Go inside.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Celandine.”
She looked at him.
“You’re frightened.”
It wasn’t a question.
She looked away.
“A little.”
Caelan was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, “Don’t be.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“I know.”
He rested his arms on the railing.
“I’ve been trained for this my entire life.”
“You think that makes you less afraid?”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“It just means I know what to do when I am.”
Celandine smiled faintly.
“You sound like Father.”
“I’ve been told that’s a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
He laughed.
For a moment, everything felt normal again.
Just the two of them.
Brother and sister.
A quiet night.
A palace that still felt like home.
Neither of them noticed the man standing on the opposite hill.
He had been there for nearly an hour.
Watching.
Waiting.
The palace guards did not see him.
The darkness swallowed him easily.
He lowered the spyglass from his eye and looked toward the road leading east.
A rider was already approaching.
The messenger had left the palace less than an hour ago.
The man waited until the rider disappeared beyond the trees.
Then he turned and walked into the forest.
By dawn, he would deliver his report.
King Aldric had refused.
And King Theron had never been a man who accepted refusal.
Not when kingdoms were involved.
Not when power was at stake.
And certainly not when someone stood between him and what he wanted.
That night, while the royal family slept beneath the protection of their walls, the first order was written.
It contained only six words.
Leave none of them alive.