The bells did not ring for the death of a king.
They had rung for victories.
They had rung for coronations, weddings, and the births of royal heirs. They had rung when armies returned home bearing captured banners and when conquered cities bent the knee to the throne of Dinar.
But on this day, as smoke still curled above the distant rooftops of the capital and the cries of wounded men echoed beyond the walls, the bells remained silent.
King Alaric Leventus was dead.
And not a single soul in the kingdom mourned him.
Queen Io stood before the great war table, her hands pressed firmly against its polished surface. A map of the capital lay beneath her fingertips, marked with wooden pieces representing the armies that had spent the last several weeks choking the life from the once-proud city.
Her officers stood around her.
No one spoke.
The silence was eventually broken by the sound of hurried footsteps.
A young attendant entered the command pavilion, bowed deeply, and struggled to catch his breath.
“So it’s true, then?”
Io did not look up.
The attendant swallowed.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The Queen slowly raised her eyes.
The rage on her beautiful countenance was unmistakable.
“The coward murders countless innocents,” she growled, “and when his time comes, he cannot even be a man about it.”
Her fingers curled into fists.
“He chose his own end?”
“Yes, my Queen. The reports have been confirmed by multiple sources within the city.”
Io let out a humorless laugh.
Of course he had.
Even in death, Alaric Leventus had found a way to escape responsibility.
Years of war.
Villages burned.
Families destroyed.
Children left without parents.
Soldiers sent into battles they never had a chance of winning.
And now, when the walls had finally closed around him and the consequences of his crimes stood waiting at his door, the King of Dinar had chosen to leave the burden to everyone else.
Her wife.
His children.
His people.
The Queen’s expression hardened.
“And the remaining royal family?”
The attendant lowered his head.
“We have received an invitation to the castle.”
That finally caught the attention of everyone gathered around the table.
General Atreyu straightened.
“An invitation?”
“They wish to negotiate, Your Majesty.”
Io’s eyes narrowed.
Philant Atreyu had served the Dinar Empire since long before Io had taken the throne upon her uncle’s demise. His hair had long since begun to gray, and the scars on his hands told the story of decades spent serving beneath banners that had changed more times than he cared to remember.
But his mind remained as sharp as ever.
“It could be a trap,” Atreyu warned.
Io turned toward him.
“Lulling you into a false sense of security.”
“Do you believe they are capable of it?”
“I put nothing past anyone, and there’s a period behind that.”
The Queen considered that.
Her gaze drifted back toward the map.
The royal fortress stood at the center of the capital.
Behind it lay the remnants of the Leventus dynasty.
Queen Lisbeth.
Crown Prince Lexander.
Princess Lysandra.
Io closed her eyes for a moment.
Family.
The word had become increasingly complicated throughout the years.
“They have asked for peaceful negotiations,” the attendant continued. “They claim they are willing to meet beneath a white flag.”
Atreyu’s jaw tightened.
“I still advise caution.”
“It very well could be a trap,” Io admitted.
The General nodded.
“But I have more faith in my cousin and her children than that.”
Atreyu said nothing.
That was not agreement.
It was simply the silence of a man who knew when his Queen had made up her mind.
Io straightened.
“I will not enter the fortress.”
Several officers visibly relaxed.
“We meet outside the walls.”
She looked toward the attendant.
“Send word to the castle steward.”
The young man bowed.
“Tell them this: Queen Io of Dinar will meet under a white flag.”
Her expression became cold.
“Provided the King is truly dead.”
The throne room had never felt so large.
Queen Lisbeth sat alone beneath the towering banners of House Leventus.
They hung from the walls in heavy sheets of black and gold, bearing the symbol that had ruled Dinar for generations.
A crown surrounded by wolves.
Once, Lisbeth had thought the banners beautiful.
Now they looked like funeral shrouds.
The doors opened.
A castle steward hurried inside.
“My Lady.”
Lisbeth did not move.
“The Queen of Dinar wishes to meet under the pretense of peace talks.”
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then Lisbeth laughed softly.
It was a terrible sound.
“Peace talks.”
The steward looked uncomfortable.
“Your Majesty—”
“Call it what it is.”
Lisbeth leaned back against the throne.
“Negotiating the terms of an unconditional surrender.”
Her gaze traveled upward toward the massive windows overlooking the capital.
The city was still there.
That was something.
She could see the smoke.
The broken towers.
The camps of the enemy stretching across the horizon.
But the city remained.
Her people remained.
For now.
Had her short-sighted father never agreed to send her here, she wondered, how different might her life have been?
She had been little more than a girl when she arrived at the Dinarian court.
A political offering.
A bride sent across the border in the hopes of keeping their increasingly unstable neighbor under control.
It had not worked.
Nothing had controlled Alaric.
Not diplomacy.
Not family.
Not love.
And certainly not fear.
“Now that rabid mutt took the coward’s way out,” Lisbeth whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “Not even living long enough to answer for his crimes.”
Her hands tightened around the arms of the throne.
“As ever, he leaves the aftermath for myself and his children.”
The steward lowered his head.
Lisbeth inhaled slowly.
“Call Lexander and Lysandra to me.”
She paused.
“Tell them it’s urgent.”
“We are here already, Mother.”
The voice cut through the morbidity of the throne room like sunlight through storm clouds.
Lisbeth turned.
Princess Lysandra stood in the doorway.
At fourteen years old, she possessed an almost unnatural ability to bring warmth into even the darkest places. Her long hair fell across her shoulders, and despite the exhaustion on her face, there was still a spark in her eyes.
Beside her stood her brother.
Lexander.
He looked terrible.
His clothes had been hastily replaced after his release from the dungeon, but no amount of clean fabric could conceal what three weeks of imprisonment had done to him.
His face was thinner.
Dark circles rested beneath his eyes.
Bruises remained visible around his wrists.
Yet he stood straight.
Lysandra moved quickly toward her mother.
“Lex will likely not be himself again for some time,” she said softly, “but he’s here.”
Her voice shifted.
“Refusing to leave you to deal with this alone.”
Lisbeth looked toward her son.
He smiled.
Barely.
But he smiled.
“Mother.”
“Lexander.”
The Crown Prince stepped forward.
“Tell Charles to cease his disobedience.”
Lisbeth blinked.
“What?”
“I have asked him many times to fetch my armor.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I am serious.”
“So am I.”
Lexander exhaled.
“I will not have my mother and sister marched out there like common criminals or women of the night.”
Lysandra’s eyes widened.
“Lex.”
“I mean it.”
He turned toward the windows.
“As it stands, while I have not had my coronation and likely never will, I am King as of that man’s death.”
The words hung heavily in the air.
King.
Lexander Leventus.
He looked sick at the thought.
“I alone will answer for his crimes.”
“No,” Lisbeth immediately said.
“You and Lyssy will take what gold you can carry.”
“No.”
“My own royal guard will protect you.”
“Lexander.”
“I trust no one else.”
His voice grew stronger.
“You will flee this godforsaken kingdom.”
Lysandra stared at him.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Queen Io will likely demand my life in exchange for Father’s.”
Lisbeth stood.
“I forbid you from speaking that way.”
But Lexander continued.
“I gladly offer it so long as the two of you are safe.”
The Queen stared at her son.
Her heart broke a little more.
“I may have been wasting away in the dungeon for the past three weeks,” Lexander said, “but I doubt any of her retinue would like to see me in open combat.”
For the first time, something resembling confidence entered his voice.
“I should be able to secure your lives.”
Both Lisbeth and Lysandra shouted at the same time.
“You’ll do no such thing!”
“I forbid it!”
Lexander stared at them.
For a moment, despite everything, Lysandra almost smiled.
Her brother sighed.
“Wonderful.”
Lisbeth walked toward him.
“There is nowhere to run.”
Lexander’s expression hardened.
“Then we fight our way out.”
“No.”
“Mother—”
“All roads have been won by the enemy.”
She placed both hands on his face.
“Io is far too sharp to let any of us slip through her fingers.”
Lexander looked away.
Lisbeth gently forced him to meet her eyes again.
“Either I go alone.”
“No.”
“Or we go together.”
Lexander’s jaw tightened.
Silence filled the room.
Finally, he lowered his head.
“Mother…”
His voice broke.
Only slightly.
But it broke.
“I could have stopped this long ago.”
Lysandra’s expression fell.
“At least allow my blood to pay our kingdom’s debt.”
Lisbeth’s eyes filled with tears.
Before she could answer, Lysandra stepped forward.
“Brother.”
Lexander looked toward her.
“The very reason you were imprisoned is because you refused to lead your armies against Father’s enemies.”
He said nothing.
“Had you led the Black Sheep into battle…”
Her voice became quieter.
“With you at their head, scores more people would have died.”
Lexander closed his eyes.
“What more could you have done?”
The young Princess moved closer.
“You are much too filial to turn your blade against your own father.”
That was the truth of Lexander’s greatest weakness.
And perhaps his greatest strength.
He had hated what his father had become.
He had despised the wars.
He had refused to command armies sent to slaughter those who had never wronged his kingdom or his people.
But Alaric Leventus was still his father.
And Lexander had never been able to raise his sword against him.
Not even when he knew he should.
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