Chapter 1
The morning sun casts long shadows across the throne room of Castle Mirn, its golden light streaming through the tall windows and catching the dust motes that dance in the air. Prince Bellamy stands beside his mother's throne, his hands clasped behind his back as he listens to the messenger who has arrived at dawn with news that will change everything.
"The Barbarian King has crossed the Everitt border, Your Majesty," the scout reports, his voice hoarse from hard riding. "His forces number in the thousands. They've made camp at Felding’s Ridge, less than a day's march from our eastern border."
Queen Amelli's fingers tighten on the carved armrests of her throne, but her voice remains steady. "How many thousands?"
"Two, perhaps three, my lady. Maybe more. The Western clans have joined him—I've never seen so many war banners gathered in one place."
Bellamy feels his stomach clench, though he keeps his expression carefully neutral. In his twenty-two years, Mirn has seen war, but it's been nearly twelve years since the last time it was at their door. There have been border skirmishes, yes, and the occasional dispute with neighboring kingdoms, but nothing like this. Nothing that threatens to sweep across their lands like wildfire.
"Thank you," the Queen says to the messenger. "Rest, eat, then return to your post. I want to know the moment they move."
When the great doors close behind the scout, silence settles over the throne room like a heavy cloak. Bellamy glances at his mother and sees the worry she's hidden from the messenger etched in the lines around her green eyes that are the same shade as his own.
"Mother—"
"I know what you're thinking," Queen Amelli says quietly, rising from her throne. At fifty, she is still a formidable woman, her blonde hair still as vibrant as his own, and her bearing as regal as ever. "And the answer is no."
"You haven't heard what I was going to say."
"You were going to say that you should ride out to meet them." She moves to the window, her silk skirts rustling against the stone floor. "That it's your duty as prince to defend the kingdom."
Bellamy follows her, his boots echoing in the vast chamber. "It is my duty."
"Your duty is to survive and one day rule wisely. Not to throw your life away against a force that could crush us like wheat beneath a stone."
"So we're to simply wait? Let them decide when and how to destroy us?"
Queen Amelli turns to face him, and for a moment he sees not the Queen of Mirn, but the mother who has held him through nightmares and taught him to read by firelight. "Bellamy, my sweet boy. You've trained with the finest swordsmen in the kingdom, yes, but you've never faced real battle. You've never seen what war truly looks like."
"All the more reason—"
"All the more reason to think clearly." She cups his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones. "The BarbarianKing of Everitt isn't called a demon for nothing. They say he stands seven feet tall and can cleave a man in half with a single stroke. They say his axes drink blood and his eyes burn like coals. He's conquered every kingdom he's set his sights on."
Bellamy gently catches her wrists, removing her hands but holding them in his. "And yet you raised me to believe that our people's safety comes before our own. That a true ruler stands between their kingdom and danger, not behind castle walls."
The Queen's eyes fill with tears she is too proud to shed. "Your father said the same thing before he rode out to face those bandits on the western border. I never saw him alive again."
The mention of his father hits him like ice water, but Bellamy doesn't flinch. King Eldin died when Bellamy was ten, struck down by a poisoned arrow while defending a village from raiders. Bellamy remembers him, remembers the grief that nearly broke his mother, and he remembers making a vow at his father's funeral that he would be worthy of the crown that will one day be his.
"Then you know why I can't cower here while our people face slaughter," he says gently. "Father died protecting the innocent. If I'm to follow in his footsteps—"
"You'll follow in his footsteps by living long enough to wear his crown."
A knock at the door interrupts them. "Come," Queen Amelli calls, quickly composing herself.
General Harwick enters, his weathered face grim. The man has served the crown for thirty years, first under King Eldin and now under the Queen. He is tall and broad-shouldered despite his fifty-eight years, his graying hair still thick, his sword arm still strong. ToBellamy, he's been more than a general—he's been the closest thing to a father the young prince has known since Eldin's death.
"Your Majesty," Harwick says with a bow. "I've gathered the captains. We're assembling every able-bodied soldier we can spare without leaving the castle defenseless."
"How many?" Bellamy asks.
Harwick's gray eyes meet his. "Eight hundred. Maybe a thousand if we call in the reserves from the outer villages."
A thousand against two or three thousand. The odds are grim, but not impossible. Bellamy has studied enough military histories to know that smaller forces have triumphed through superior tactics, knowledge of the terrain, and sheer determination.
"I'll need an hour to prepare," Bellamy says, already turning toward the door.
