It was the signs of war. Not with bold and open declarations, but hidden, until you laid them all out onto a map. The devastation was plain and simple. Though, I knew a creeping war was no less lethal than one announced by a trumpet.
My fingers traced the map’s curve, lingering along each border I had secured and closed in the last several years.
Lycanthyr sat to the southeast. Vast forests containing wild magic, the wolves had never formerly broken their peace even though the relationship had frayed into non-existence.
My finger reaches around to the south. The human slums. I barely pause to think of the place. Once perhaps it had borne a noble name. Now it survived by selling its people into servitude. Surrounded by ruin and desperation.
In the west lay endless waters and just beyond the coast lay Dobhar. The Siren Queen’s stronghold. No envoy had everreached its shores and returned, it was a cold unknowable place I had never once desired to visit or claim.
The North is where my finger stopped. Pyrhador. The cavernous region of the dragons rose from the map, jagged and immense. Their numbers had dwindled in recent years, but they were not yet defenceless. The harpies and Valkyries that clouded their skies, were not to be messed with. Even if the dragons had become lazy in their years on this earth, there were still beings willing to protect the kingdom.
Once upon a time, each of these places had been our allies. I would have even gone as far as to call the kings of the werewolves and dragons’ friends. Now I did not hear from them. Not since my brother's death, since betrayal had cleaved my world in two.
However, my kingdom could not stand alone. I had known this, battled with the realisation for months. Despite this, I still recoiled at the thought of reaching out to another ruler, bowing to them, and asking for help.
“Youneedallies,” Averan’s voice murmured in memory. He always believed alliances would make us strong, shared feasts, aligned futures. He had worked hard to maintain such relationships, he had died for that belief, and in the span of seven years I had destroyed it all.
I clenched my jaw fighting the nausea that turned to bile in my throat. The memory of his body, laying there lifeless and bloodied, on this very stonefloor filled my mind as if I was standing there even after all this time.
His throat had been ripped out, discarded beside him as if no part of him was worth taking. We had been betrayed by someone I had once thought a friend, perhaps even more than that. But they had sold our secrets in exchange for power, and nothing had ever been the same since.
When I found him that day, I was ashamed to say I vomited. The contents of my stomach mixed with my brother's blood as I cried tears, begging for someone to heal him.
One moment he was King. The next, he was in pieces on the floor and I was King. As though he were nothing but a piece to be replaced. I never forgot him, and I swore I would never forgive.
To protect Vaetharyn I had dismantled every single alliance Averan had forged. I sent dragons into battles without promised reinforcements, withdrew ships meant to meet with envoys from Dobhar. I had even ordered the nymphs to deepen the river, dividing us from Lycanthyr, until it became a near impassable chasm.
The message was clear to all. Stay out of Vaetharyn, you are no longer welcome.
I did not regret keeping my people safe by any means necessary. But I also recognised what I had lost, friendship, support. Never once had I needed them until now.
My fingers lingered over the border of Pyrhador. The Dragon King had called me a butcher when his warriors fell. I knewif I had gone to him first, he would have demanded recompense. Blood for blood.
In my rational mind I dropped my gaze southward towards Lycanthyr. I had spilled blood there as well. A hunting party had trespassed in my kingdom, so I had torn them apart, without a second thought. Their King had sworn vengeance upon me. It had not come yet, but that did not mean it would not. Wolves do not forget.
I pressed both hands flat against the map and drew in a steadying breath. Noctharis grew bold as they used secrets they had taken from me seven years ago. I needed to act.
Elara's voice threaded through my thoughts again, persistent and unwelcome. The way she looked at me, the challenge in her voice. She acted as if I was not a King, but as a man who wakes each morning and chooses what kind of monster he will be. I do not know what to do with her. However, war… That I understood.
Lycanthyr was the most sensible path. Pyrhador would require grovelling apologies, and sacrifices I could not spare. Dobhar would be worse.
Magnus Varg is many things, but he is not false. His hatred would be honest and if he agreed to fight beside me, I knew he would do so until his last breath. Their border touched Noctharis just as mine did. They very well may have felt the same creeping claws at their throats.
With a settling breath I nodded my head. My first journey would be to Magnus Varg, King of Lycanthyr.
“Majesty?” A quiet voice sounded from the doorway. It did not startle me, but my magic flared for a moment before I leashed it. Lioren, my elven steward, bows low. His pale, immaculate hands knotted tight before him.
“I did not summon you” I frowned, returning my eyes to the map. Silently plotting.
“I know, sire. But the eastern scouts have returned. I thought you would want to see their reports” he stammered. I didn’t respond. I simply held out my hand for the envelope he had in his hands.
Lioren hurried forward and placed the sealed parchment into my palm. I broke the seal without looking up, scanning the documents.
It confirmed everything the red markers already told me. The Vampires pushed deeper into my territory. The King of Noctharis showed exactly how little he cared for boundaries, even when they could lead to war. Now instead of markers on a map, I held it in my hands, black ink on parchment.
“Send words to the stables,” I said cooly, placing the parchment aside “I will depart in one week,”
“Where, Sire?” Lioren asked. His tone was one I was familiar with. Most of the stewards and advisors would approach me with caution. It was a preference of mine. A fearful court is a compliant one.
