The prison cell was quiet, save for the occasional drip of water from the moss-darkened ceiling. Calen Storm sat motionless on the bench, his wrists bound in iron cuffs. He had not moved for hours, except to glance out through the narrow slit of a window carved high into the stone wall. Faint rays of dying sunlight bled through, casting a dull glow across his battered face.“A father would be proud... or maybe disappointed,” Calen murmured to the sky, voice barely audible. “I tried. Maybe not hard enough. I’m sorry this is as far as I got.”The silence held—until footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond.He stood as the heavy door groaned open. The torchlight from the hallway threw a tall shadow across the stone floor before the figure of General Thaddeus Ironheart stepped in—broad, armored, his helm tucked under one arm.Calen immediately dropped to one knee, head bowed low.“General,” he said hoarsely. “I failed. I will not ask for mercy.”Ironheart closed the door behind him, boots

Royal Prison Chambers, Aerondale – Late NightThe torchlight flickered dimly in the corridor as Calen sat alone in his cell, back resting against the cold stone wall. The chains around his wrists had long grown heavy, but he bore them with the same grim patience he bore everything else now—quiet, still, and resolved.Then—footsteps. Soft. Hesitant. Not the sharp rhythm of guards or the commanding stride of a general.He looked up.A cloaked figure appeared at the iron bars. The hood slowly fell back to reveal a familiar face—porcelain skin, delicate brows, and eyes that held both sorrow and fire.“Lila,” Calen said, his voice low. “What are you doing here?”“I had to see you,” she whispered, stepping closer. “Before they decide what to do with you.”“There’s nothing to be done,” he replied. “It’s already over.”“Don’t say that.” Her hands gripped the bars tightly. “I’ve heard the whispers. Some want your execution, others... exile. I won’t let them end you like this.”He shook his hea

That night, Lila wept silently into her pillow, biting down hard to muffle the sobs that shook her slender frame.The realization hit her harder than any blow Evan could deliver — she was no longer safe. Not even under her own roof. Evan had crossed a line tonight, a line he would not hesitate to cross again. And there would be no one to save her.If her parents ever found out, they would not come to her defense. No, they would order her to grovel at Evan’s feet, to apologize, to endure whatever punishment he deemed fit. To them, marriage was a duty — and her duty was to uphold the alliance between Frost and Drake, no matter the cost to her body or soul.She was alone.Trapped.Broken by her own choices.Why did I ever choose Evan over Calen?The thought sliced through her like a blade.Once, long ago, Calen had been hers — her husband, her protector, her quiet strength. And she had thrown him away. For power. For ambition. For a place at the side of a man she thought would elevate he

King Theron sat still for a long, agonizing moment, his eyes shadowed in thought. Everyone in the grand court watched, too afraid to even breathe too loudly.Finally, with a sharp exhale, the King rose to his feet."Very well," he declared, his voice slicing through the heavy silence. "Calen Storm shall live… but not as a man. As a weapon."His gaze hardened like steel."He will win me a kingdom, and when his usefulness ends..."The King’s lips curled into a cruel smirk."I will break him with my own hands."A wave of tension rippled through the room. Some faces showed relief; others masked barely contained disappointment.Among those displeased was Evan Drake.He gritted his teeth silently.This was not what he wanted.He wanted Calen dead now—erased, humiliated, forgotten. Yet worse than the King's decision was the fleeting expression Evan caught when he glanced sideways:Lila Frost—his wife—suppressing a small, unconscious flicker of relief in her eyes.Rage simmered in Evan's ches

The following morning, the atmosphere in the war room was heavy, filled with the tense energy of the impending campaign. The room, though grand with its high stone walls and flickering torchlight, felt stifling under the weight of the decisions to be made.At the center of the room stood General Thaddeus Ironheart, tall and resolute as always. Beside him stood the other generals, including Cedric and Roderic, the two men who had once mocked Calen, their expressions now serious, their faces drawn with the fatigue of endless strategic discussions. The only figure out of place was Calen Storm, who stood silently, his hands bound loosely, his posture rigid. He knew the gravity of what was happening, and his steely gaze revealed his acceptance, albeit not without a touch of defiance.As the room settled into an uneasy silence, the king, King Theron, entered. His heavy cloak swished as he strode to the head of the table, his regal presence commanding attention. The royal seal of the kingdom