Blood of the Wolf

The King’s House

The messenger from Borislav reached Slovia before noon. 

He had ridden through the night without stopping, exhausting two horses along the southern king's road. Mud caked his woolen cloak, and a trail of dried blood ran down his temple from a flying stone. The guards at the iron gate took one look at the wax seal on his parchment and threw the gates wide.

He was brought straight into the high hall.

King Askold was in council when the double doors opened. He sat at the head of a long table, Queen Yeva at his right hand, while Prince Aleksandr hovered over a leather map spread across the board. Several boyars and garrison commanders occupied the surrounding chairs.

The messenger dropped to his knees, his breath ragged. "My King."

Askold raised a hand, his dark eyes narrowing. "You bear Lord Egor’s seal. Speak."

"Borislav was attacked at dawn, Your Majesty," the rider panted.

The room went completely still. Aleksandr stood up, leaning over the table. "By whom? Nomads from the east?"

"No, my Lord. Vikings. Hundreds of them."

One of the commanders cursed under his breath, while Askold remained impassive. "And Egor? Did he keep them at the river?"

"Lord Egor met them on the plain before the gates," the messenger swallowed hard, glancing up nervously. "The northern line held. Then... they broke our center."

Aleksandr’s jaw clenched. "Egor lost the field?"

"Our forces were forced to retreat behind the walls," the messenger admitted. "The Vikings hold the river valley."

Aleksandr slammed his flat palm onto the table, making the goblets ring. "Who commands them? Is it some renegade sea-rover looking for silver?"

The messenger looked toward the King. "It is Erik, son of Halfdan."

The name hung in the vaulted chamber like a draft of cold air. Askold leaned back in his carved chair, his expression hardening. "Halfdan is dead."

"Yes, Your Majesty. It appears so, since he's not sailed with them."

Queen Yeva remained silent, but her sharp gaze fixed on the messenger.

Aleksandr stepped around the table. "And why are they lingering at the river? If they wanted plunder, they would have burnt the outer villages and turned back to sea."

The messenger bowed his head. "Lord Egor believes the boy does not want plunder. He intends to take Borislav."

Aleksandr looked at his father. Borislav was the key to the southern provinces. If the North held the river, every trade route leading into Slovia was exposed to black sails.

A cold, bitter smile touched Aleksandr’s lips. "Take this man to the quarters. See that he is fed and his wounds tended."

As the guards escorted the messenger out, Askold turned to his council. "Erik wants a foothold in the South. We must reinforce Egor before the boy finds a way past those gates."

"I will take two thousand men and march at dawn," Aleksandr said immediately. "I’ll crush his shield-wall against the riverbank."

Askold looked at his son, measuring his eagerness. "You can take less. Egor holds the walls—he does not need an army to sit behind stone, he needs fresh steel to secure the supply lines."

Yeva finally spoke, her voice smooth and cold as glass. "Do not rush into the valley out of pride, Aleksandr. You are marching against the blood of Halfdan."

Aleksandr shot his mother a dark look. "Halfdan was an old wolf. His son is an untested boy playing at war."

"An untested boy who took the field against Egor in his first battle," Yeva countered quietly. "Do not underestimate him."

Aleksandr rolled up his map with a snap of leather. "Egor will hold the gates. When I arrive, Erik son of Halfdan will find himself trapped between the walls and my cavalry." He turned on his heel and strode out of the chamber.

As the doors closed, Askold looked at queen Yeva.

"Where is Ameliya?" the King asked softly.

Ameliya was far from the council chamber.

She was in her private quarters at the eastern wing of the palace, the door bolted from the inside.

Shura stood behind her, her fingers trailing gently through Ameliya’s thick red hair as she unfastened the leather strap holding it back.

"You disappeared again," Shura murmured into her ear.

Ameliya tilted her head back with a faint, sly smile. "I went riding."

"For half the day? The stablemaster said you took the stallion at first light."

"I lost track of the horizon," Ameliya replied, turning to face her. "I usually do when I don't want to be found."

Shura’s hand slid from her hair down to the small of her back, pulling her closer. "And yet I always find you."

"That's because I let you."

The distance between them dissolved. The kiss was warm, familiar, and unhurried—a quiet sanctuary far removed from the cold politics of the court. Shura’s hand rested against Ameliya's back while Ameliya leaned into her, her fingers tracing the seam of Shura's tunic.

Shura pulled back just enough to breathe, a soft smile on her lips. "Your mother sent for you an hour ago."

"Let her send send for me again," Ameliya whispered, leaning back in.

"She will," Shura laughed softly against her lips. "You know how the Queen is when a council is called."

Footsteps echoed down the stone corridor outside, followed by a sharp knock on the wooden frame.

"Ameliya?"

The voice belonged to Ira, her younger sister.

Ameliya closed her eyes, exhaling a quiet sigh, before straightening her clothes and stepping back from Shura. "Come in, Ira."

The door swung open, and Ira stepped inside, taking in the scene with a quick, knowing smirk. "I see I’m interrupting."

Ameliya shot her a warning look. "What does Mother want?"

Ira’s playful expression vanished. "A rider arrived from the border. Borislav has been attacked."

Ameliya’s hand paused on her cloak. "Borislav? By whom?"

"Vikings," Ira said softly. "A fleet came up the river at dawn. Lord Egor fought them on the plain and lost the field. He's locked behind the gates."

Ameliya grabbed her dark wool cloak from the chair, throwing it over her shoulders. "Who leads them?"

Ira replied. "Erik. Son of Halfdan."

Ameliya paused, The name was unfamiliar, but the lineage was not. Halfdan of Gutagard was a legendary figure in the court—a ruthless northern lord who had spent thirty years defying southern demands and breaking every army sent to his coast.

Now his son had taken his place, crossed the sea, and defeated a Kievan commander on his very first day in the South.

"How many ships?" Shura asked, stepping up beside Ameliya.

"Enough to make Egor hide behind his walls," Ira said. "Aleksandr is already gathering the garrison to march."

Ameliya’s lips curved into a cold, intrigued smile. "Then we had better hear what my brother intends to do."

She swung open the door and stepped out into the stone corridor, Shura and Ira falling into step behind her.

The soft warmth of her private room was gone, replaced by the sharp focus of a warrior. A northern Jarl had crossed the border, shaken the court without firing an arrow at Slovia, and put her brother’s pride to the test.

She had never met Erik son of Halfdan. But as she walked toward the high hall, Ameliya knew one thing for certain: the South was no longer safe, and the war had only just begun.