The King's Guard

Chapter 82

(Flashback)

The rain fell heavier that night over the citadel. Lightning rippled behind the palace spires, a pulse that carried across the valley before fading into silence.

Inside the royal study, candles fought the draft that slipped through the tall windows. Maps covered the long oak table.

A younger Elric, barely twenty, leaned over one of the maps. His hair was shorter, his armour new, untested. Opposite him, Thorian, crown prince of Stormhaven, grinned like someone who had already learned how to win without fighting.

“You draw lines like you mean to keep them,” Thorian said, resting a boot on the chair’s rung.

Elric looked up. “That’s what borders are for.”

“Until someone moves them.”

Elric folded the map, annoyed. “You think war’s a game.”

“It’s always a game,” Thorian said easily. “You just haven’t learned the rules.”

A door opened; a third man entered: Velreth, not yet a High Commander, his uniform simple but posture sharp. “Your father asks for you, Prince Elric. The council’s begun.”

Elric nodded but didn’t move. “Tell him I’ll join him shortly.”

When Velreth left, Thorian laughed softly. “He serves you now?”

“He serves the crown.”

Thorian picked up a carved pawn from the sideboard. “Crowns break faster than people think. My father says yours is held together by tradition and fear.”

“Your father’s never ruled a kingdom that values both.”

Thorian smiled. “Not yet.”

Years later, the same study, but older. The map had changed; the inked lines had shifted slightly west.

Velreth, now wearing a general’s sash, stood near the hearth. “Stormhaven proposes another trade accord. Thorian’s name is on the seal.”

King Elric rubbed at his eyes. “He always said he’d find his way into Veridale’s economy before its armies.”

“That’s what worries me,” Velreth said. “He’s patient. He’ll build trust until he owns it.”

A knock interrupted them. Archon, then still a captain, entered with a report in hand. “Stormhaven caravans have doubled at the border. They say it’s coincidence.”

“Do you believe that?” Velreth asked.

Archon smiled faintly. “No. But it sounds polite enough to repeat.”

Elric looked between them. “You both think Thorian’s laying groundwork for something larger.”

“He’s your friend,” Velreth said carefully, “but he’s also a strategist. Don’t mistake one for the other.”

Archon placed the report on the table. “With permission, Your Majesty, I’d like to assign a covert observation unit along the northern pass.”

Elric raised an eyebrow. “Without alerting Stormhaven?”

“That’s the point.”

Velreth gave Archon a measured look. “You’re ambitious for your rank.”

“Ambition keeps the walls standing,” Archon replied.

Elric hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Do it. Quietly.”

The flashback blurred, years folded into themselves. Stormhaven banners mingled with Veridale’s during festivals. The two kingdoms grew closer, their peace too polished, too fragile.

In one memory, Elric and Thorian walked through the palace gardens at dusk.

“Your people love you,” Thorian said.

Elric smiled tiredly. “They love the idea of me.”

Thorian plucked a leaf from a rose stem. “That’s enough for most kings.”

“I’m not most kings.”

“Then stop pretending you can be both a ruler and a saviour.”

Elric stopped walking. “Is that what you are?”

Thorian’s grin faded. “I’m what Stormhaven needs. If that means being the villain in someone else’s story, so be it.”

Elric studied him. “And if peace dies in the process?”

“Then peace was never strong enough to live.”

Another time: a council meeting, voices raised.

Velreth’s tone was cold. “Stormhaven’s envoys demand access to our trade routes without tariff. That’s not diplomacy, that’s leverage.”

Archon, seated beside him now as commander of internal affairs, said, “Their demands are reasonable. Better to concede a coin than a border.”

Elric’s fist hit the table. “Enough! I’ll decide what’s reasonable.”

The room fell silent.

Velreth inclined his head. “Then decide soon. They’re moving troops near the Frost Pass.”

Archon’s expression didn’t change, but Elric caught the flicker in his eyes: interest, not concern.

After the meeting, Archon approached the King privately.

“Your Majesty,” he said smoothly, “a quiet alliance can be more useful than open friendship.”

Elric frowned. “Explain.”

“Stormhaven’s ambition is inevitable. You can fight it or shape it.”

“You’re suggesting partnership?”

“I’m suggesting preparation,” Archon said. “We strengthen the Corps, refine command. If war comes, Veridale won’t crumble under tradition.”

“And Thorian?”

Archon smiled faintly. “He’ll play his game. We’ll play ours.”

The Rift’s shimmer, Kael’s faint perception in the present overlays the memory for a heartbeat, ghostly and fractured. The past conversation echoes like thunder caught in stone.

“You think you control the game,” Velreth’s older voice murmured in that flicker. “But pieces don’t choose the board.”

Then silence, replaced by rain.

Back in the present, Kael closed the dusty chronicle he’d been reading in the library, the script half-erased. Reyna stood across the table.

“That’s not training material,” she said quietly.

“It’s history,” Kael replied. “Or what’s left of it.”

“About the King?”

He nodded. “And Thorian of Stormhaven. They were close once. Too close.”

Reyna frowned. “That explains the unease between them now. Old debts.”

Kyna joined them, carrying another stack of old reports. “Found something. Dates from when Archon was still Captain. His patrol logs overlap with Thorian’s visits.”

Kael took the page. “He was assigned as liaison, not guard.”

“Meaning he had access to both courts,” Kyna said. “Perfect position for someone planning his own ascent.”

Reyna leaned forward. “So Archon’s rise wasn’t random.”

Kael’s eyes hardened. “No. It was designed.”

The candlelight caught the edge of his profile, throwing half his face into shadow. “He’s been shaping Veridale since before we were born.”

Reyna folded her arms. “Then what now?”

Kael closed the book slowly. “Now we stop being pieces.”