RONEVAL – WAR COUNCIL HALL
The morning sun filtered through narrow stained-glass windows of the war council chamber, casting long streaks of red and gold across the stone floor. Maps were laid open like open wounds on the central table. Around them stood the iron-blooded warlords of Roneval, broad men with thunder in their eyes and steel in their voices.
At the head of the table stood Duke Kael of Roneval, eyes like winter's edge, studying the chessboard of war.
Then the doors creaked open.
In she came.
Lysandra, Princess of Ellira. Draped in silks, every pin in her hair slightly crooked, a smile on her face like a mischievous moonbeam that had snuck in through the wrong window.
The room went quiet.
LYSANDRA (cheerfully):
"Oh, don't stop plotting just because I entered! I love a good bit of conspiracy with breakfast."
A few generals coughed.
One snorted.
General Aldren, a grizzled bear of a man, leaned toward Kael and whispered,
"She's mad."
Kael, without looking away from the map, replied,
"She's brilliant. You're just not used to it."
LYSANDRA sauntered up to the table and squinted at the war map.
"What's this? Is that your army? It looks like ants crawling toward jam."
GENERAL ERWIN (dryly):
"The jam is a fortress, Your Highness."
LYSANDRA:
"Then I suggest more bread."
They blinked at her.
She smiled wider.
KAEL (coolly):
"Lysandra, this is not a court of jesters."
LYSANDRA (sweetly):
"Then I shall be your first."
He turned to her slowly. Their eyes met.
KAEL:
"Do not mistake these halls for safety."
LYSANDRA (quietly):
"And do not mistake silk for weakness."
For a heartbeat, the chamber held its breath.
Then Kael—stone of Roneval, breaker of kings—gave the faintest, flickering smile.
RONEVAL – DUKE'S PRIVATE BALCONY, NIGHT
Later that evening, the hallways of the fortress were empty. The moon rose slow and pale over Roneval. Kael stood alone on his private balcony, wind tousling his dark hair, eyes fixed on the northern stars.
In his hand was the daisy she once gave him. Dried now. Fragile.
He whispered to the wind:
She dances in the dark and calls it light,
A fire hidden beneath foolish delight.
She speaks in riddles, wrapped in grace,
Yet sees the truth behind every face.
She was mine before she knew her name.
And she is mine still, though time may blame.
He closed his eyes.
KAEL (softly):
"You do not remember me, little star. But I remember every syllable you gave me."
Behind him, the fortress slept. But his heart did not.
RONEVAL – GREAT HALL, NEXT DAY
The next morning, Lysandra found herself seated awkwardly at the massive dining table. The table could seat two hundred; only twenty sat today. Most of them soldiers, cold-eyed men with scars for names.
A servant leaned close and whispered, "Do not touch the red fruit. It's for the hawks."
LYSANDRA (smiling): "And what if I like danger?"
Before the servant could warn her further, she had already bitten into the red fruit.
Moments later, her face puckered like a frog.
LYSANDRA (gagging):
"Poison! Or betrayal in berry form!"
A few guards chuckled. Some looked horrified.
Kael, seated across from her, raised one brow.
KAEL:
"I told them not to serve that."
LYSANDRA (dramatically):
"Too late. My noble sacrifice shall be remembered in song."
She fell sideways into her chair with a theatrical sigh.
Everyone stared.
Then—
Kael laughed.
Not much. Not loud.
But enough.
The generals nearly dropped their forks.
He had not laughed in ten years.
Preview – Chapter 4: The Masked Letter
While Lysandra sneaks into the Duke's library searching for clues about his past, Kael's spies intercept a coded message from the capital that could unravel a plot against both him and her. Secrets begin to bloom like thorns—some sharp enough to bleed.