The war had taken much from all sides.
Sethlend, a resilient kingdom surrounded by bodies of water that connected to the sea, never expected its neighbor, Esterlend, a smaller kingdom often considered volatile, would start a war over disputed
borderlands and trade routes. Nevertheless, Sethlend endured, showing its might and strategic superiority to its audacious neighbor. The battles waged across diverse landscapes and harsh seas, continuing for two grueling years. All ended with the Esterlend prince, the heir to their throne and a renowned military strategist in his own right, falling at the hands of the Sethlend’s capable commander, the second prince, Adam. With their primary heir defeated and their military forces crippled, Esterlend had no choice but to surrender unconditionally.
Days of weary but joyous celebrations ended abruptly for Adam when he was summoned to his father's magnificent, wood-paneled office to witness the final peace negotiations. The room was a display of the royal colors of red and gold with Sethlend’s royal crest, the Phoenix crest, hanging above.
To Sethlend, the Phoenix crest represented strength, honor, and compassion, values that Sethlend royalty encompassed in their daily lives. Adam could recall being told of his heritage and the men that came
before him, each reinforcing what the firebird crest stood for.
Adam’s wise father, King Theron, understood the importance of not just winning the war, but also considering the lasting implications and the need for a stable, long-term peace with the defeated side.
Whatever the king decided, both sides would win in some form.
An Esterlend messenger, cloaked in the somber colors of his nation, bowed deeply as Adam entered the royal offices. The King was sitting at a long cedar desk, meticulously carved and polished to a deep sheen. Behind him stood his steady and trusted advisor, Lord Tervive, his expression unreadable.
The silence in the office was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic scratching of a quill against parchment. Adam felt out of place; his hands, calloused from the hilt of his sword and stained by the dust of the front lines, seemed clumsy in the presence of such delicate diplomacy. He stood tall, his armor still bearing the faint scuffs of his final encounter with the Esterlend prince.
“You wished to see me, father?” Adam asked, his tone measured, a flicker of confusion in his eyes as to why his presence, a warrior's presence, was needed in the formal setting of peace talks. He would
much rather spend his days in the barracks with his men, overseeing the demobilization and enjoying the most sought-after peace.
“The negotiations have concluded.” King Theron inscribed his name with a flourish on the final parchment, a document detailing the terms of surrender and future relations. He then handed it to the Esterlend messenger. “We will anticipate the arrival.”
The messenger bowed again, then quickly left the room, the heavy oak door closing with a soft thud, leaving father and son alone in the quiet, echoing office.
“Adam, my boy.” The King rose from his desk to stand in front of his second child, a young man with tanned skin from years spent campaigning outdoors and a sharp, calculating mind that belied his
warrior's appearance. Adam had always embraced the warrior's lifestyle, and King Theron had wisely allowed him to pursue it, which had now paid off in the kingdom's victory. “Your country owes you a great deal for your bravery and leadership, my son.”
“I did what was needed, nothing more, father,” Adam replied, his broad shoulders squared, dismissing the praise with a simple sincerity.
“That you did, and you will be given a reward worthy of your service and sacrifice.” King Theron placed a proud, firm hand on Adam's broad shoulder. “We've much to prepare. Come a few weeks' time,
you shall be married.”
“Married? I care not for such things!” Adam scoffed, a deep furrow appearing on his brow, the idea of a political marriage utterly unappealing.
“Be that as it may, your marriage is a crucial part of the negotiations that secured our favorable peace. You will be marrying the Esterlend's princess, Princess Penelope, the last remaining child of their ruling line.”
Adam raised a skeptical eyebrow, his blue eyes analyzing the sudden, weighty announcement, but he remained silent, processing the political necessity.
“You deserve this, my boy, far more than anyone.” The King's stern expression softened into a genuine smile. “With your marriage to the Princess, our two kingdoms will be bound together, ensuring a lasting and unbreakable peace.”
Understanding the immense implications and the stability this union would bring to Sethlend’s war-weary populace, Adam nodded slowly, the warrior giving way to the prince.
“I will do what you ask of me, Father. For it is for the good of our people and the security of the kingdom.”
“Good.” The King slapped the back of his son with a mixture of affection and pride. “I have heard tell of Esterlend women, that they are beauties beyond compare, so I have been told by the envoys. Only the best bride for my valiant son.”
Adam walked out of his father's office with a scowl on his face, the mahogany door clicking shut behind him like the final nail in a coffin.
Marriage was not on his list of life accomplishments, a concept he had always viewed as a gilded cage for powerful men. He imagined this so-called prize, the hand of a foreign princess, was his father's carefully orchestrated punishment for allowing the prince of a distant, proud land the rights of heroes, thus granting him the title of blood brother. Adam closed his eyes, reliving the visceral intensity of the battle to end all battles. He and the Esterlend prince, two titans clad in dented steel, fought tooth and nail, bleeding and bruised for two days under a relentless sun, barely pausing for rest or a sip of water. His heart quickened, remembering the metallic tang of the air, the rhythmic clang of their swords clashing, the intense, unwavering killing stares exchanged between opponents. It was a battle every true warrior would remember. No other being, Adam firmly believed, could have been worthy enough to be his blood brother than that man who had stared him down with eyes the turbulent color of a dusk storm. Adam's father was predictably furious, but Adam couldn't care less. The ancient, unwritten warrior code demanded recognition for such a beautiful, brutal battle.
Adam had only known his opponent through reputation and title until their legendary clash, and thus, knowing he had a sister brought about a flicker of genuine interest. The two had fought for the honor of their families and the survival of their lands, so of course, his blood brother would have familial ties.
Still, though, the very thought of marriage sent a sour, bitter note to what had been a perfect battle memory. Women of high prestige, Adam knew from long observation, were often subservient in nature, soft, gentle, and utterly tedious beings whose sole interests included frivolous gossip during elaborate tea ceremonies. Such was the ingrained nature of higher-bred women, and Adam's disdain for them was as legendary as his frequent, discreet visits to the brothels when the carnal need arose. He was no stranger to sexual relations, often enjoying the company of willing women after a hard-won battle, as most battle-weary warriors do. However, because of his position within the royal family, the second in line, he required extra caution should an inconvenient bastard child appear years later and attempt to demand a claim to the kingdom. That meticulous caution did not impede enjoyment between him and his former partners.
“Adam!” A bounding mass of unbridled energy rushed down the long, ornate hallway, the sounds of his quick footsteps echoing off the marble floor before the figure finally skidded to a halt directly before Adam. The quickly moving feet belonged to Adam’s younger brother, a child barely kissed by fifteen summers.
“And what sort of magnificent trouble have you designed this time, Ardie?” Adam asked, a wry smile finally touching his lips.
Ardie pouted, crossing his arms dramatically over his chest. “When are you going to stop it with that ridiculous nickname? It's Arden!”
“When you manage to stop it with your troublemaking, scandal-chasing tendencies,” Adam chuckled, running a hand through Arden’s perpetually messy brown hair.
Arden rolled his eyes, a gesture honed by years of practice, and then leaned in conspiratorially. “So, is it true? Is the rumor real? Are you actually getting married!?”
Adam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, his little brother would know such a closely guarded secret before it had even been officially announced by the Royal Herald. The little scoundrel had ways to acquire information and slip past palace security that even Adam, a seasoned warrior and commander, thought impressive and vaguely terrifying.
“Yes, Ardie. I am to marry the Esterlend princess,” Adam groaned, the weight of the arrangement settling heavily on his shoulders once more. “Though I assure you, I am none too pleased with this political mess myself.”
“I'm sure she's nothing at all like Esmeralde,” Ardie said, and the two brothers involuntarily shuddered, a wave of cold dread passing between them. Esmeralde was the wife of their elder brother, the crown prince of Sethlend. She was the absolute epitome of arrogant royalty and, much worse, the daughter of their father's most trusted advisor. Everyone in the kingdom knew the marriage was a political sham, a crude and transparent way for the powerful Tervive family to, one day, gain a dangerous amount of influence over the throne. Rumors swelled about her cloistered upbringing, years of stern belief that she was born simply to be the wife of the crown prince, a belief that showed clearly through her permanently upturned nose and condescending gaze. In the public eye of polite society, she maintained a flawless façade: soft-spoken and kind, but those who actually lived and worked within the cold stone walls of the castle knew the terrifying truth better. She was nothing more than a gossiper of sorts; when not attending royal events, she was within her salon, mingling with ladies of court.
“One can only hope,” Adam huffed, running a hand through his dark, close-cropped hair.
“You think she knows you killed her brother?” Arden fiddled with the gold ring on his finger, the Phoenix Crest sparkling under the afternoon light. Each heir was required to wield one, as proof of their lineage. Adam’s own war-torn fingers held many such rings over the years, as his rings became worn from battle.
“A princess would be raised to know that her feelings are a moot point in matters of state,” Adam replied. He leaned against the cool wall of the hallway. “Our joining will provide lasting peace between our warring nations. That is the only thing that truly matters now.”
Arden frowned, kicking lightly at a loose piece of dust on the polished floor. “I wish it didn't have to be this way, Adam.”
“The world is a cruel place, Ardie, you know this,” Adam said, his gaze distant. “It is our job as royalty to see that our people experience as little of that cruelty as possible. If that requires us to ignore our own desires, our own hearts, then so be it. That is the true meaning of being born into the royal line.”
Arden sighed, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I know. It just seems cold.”
Seeing the deep disappointment in his younger sibling's eyes, Adam softened his expression. “Who knows, Ardie? Our parents were joined for political reasons, and they grew to genuinely love one another. What is there to say that such happiness would not happen in my situation, or even Alex's?”
Arden's ringing laughter bounced off the walls. “The day Alex starts to feel anything remotely resembling love for that harpy Esmeralde would be the day the world officially ends in fire and chaos!”
Glad for the genuine, momentary smile on his brother's face, Adam nodded and allowed a brief grin to cross his own lips.
“I guess I should start mentally preparing then,” Arden said, wiping a stray tear of laughter from his eye. “Brother, truly, I pray on our family’s crest your bride isn't an Esmeralde copy in temperament.”
Adam merely grunted in response, the smile fading as the reality of his duty settled over him once more.
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