The Alliance

Chapter 32: Wrath of the King

The gates of Eldermere stood wide open, banners billowing in the wind as Aurora rode through the city on horseback, her presence commanding. Behind her, the thunderous march of English and Mercian soldiers filled the streets, their polished armor gleaming beneath the pale light of the afternoon sun. The people of Eldermere lined the streets, their faces torn between relief and dread—relief that their princess had returned with an army, and dread for the war that loomed on the horizon.

At the castle gates, King Maises and Queen Isolde stood waiting.

Beside them, Princess Astrid watched impatiently, her fingers twitching at her sides. She had barely slept since word arrived that Aurora was returning—so much had changed in the time they had been apart, and she was desperate for answers.

Aurora dismounted her horse swiftly, handing the reins to a waiting squire. She barely had time to breathe before Astrid was upon her, gripping her by the arms.

“You’re finally back.” Astrid’s voice was sharp, but her grip softened. “Tell me, is it true? Mercia has sent their forces?”

Aurora nodded. “Yes they have. Mercia’s army rides with us to battle.”

Astrid exhaled sharply, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. “Then we may stand a chance.”

The sisters barely had time to exchange another word before King Maises stepped forward, his imposing presence casting a shadow over them both.

“You’ve done well,” he said gruffly, but his eyes were sharp, waiting. Judging. “Come inside.”

Aurora turned to her mother—Queen Isolde’s face was drawn and pale, her eyes filled with worry. But she said nothing as she took Aurora’s hand, holding it for a lingering moment before following them into the castle.

A Reckoning in the Throne Room

After hours of rest and settling, Aurora stood before her father in the great hall, her sisters and the noblemen of Eldermere gathered around. Torches flickered, their light casting long shadows across the stone walls.

Aurora inhaled sharply, bracing herself. Then, she spoke.

“Father… Bianca is gone.”

King Maises’s entire body stiffened. “What?”

Aurora held his gaze, forcing herself not to waver. “She never made it to the altar, Father. We found a letter bearing Vynra’s crest. The message claimed that she was taken.”

The hall fell deathly silent.

Astrid looked between them, her brows furrowing. “Then… the woman Prince Phillip wed—”

Aurora’s jaw tightened. “A handmaiden. One of Bianca’s servants took her place under the veil.”

King Maises rose from his throne so abruptly that his goblet toppled to the floor, the wine spilling like blood across the stone. His fury filled the room like a brewing storm.

“You mean to tell me,” he growled, his voice like thunder, “that I gave away my own daughter, a Princess of Eldermere, and in her place stood a servant? That we have deceived England?”

The Eldermen exchanged nervous glances. The consequences of such a deception could be catastrophic.

King Maises turned sharply toward his guards. “The men who were supposed to watch Bianca’s chambers—hang them immediately.”

One of the noblemen, Lord Everard, stepped forward hesitantly. “Your Majesty, please, we cannot be certain of—”

Maises’s fist slammed into the armrest of his throne. “They were charged with protecting my daughter, and now she is in Vynra’s grasp! Do you wish to join them, Lord Everard?”

Everard quickly lowered his gaze.

Aurora stepped forward, her expression carefully composed. “Father, we must be strategic. We cannot make rash decisions—”

“Rash decisions?” Maises laughed bitterly, his voice filled with disgust. “Tell me, Aurora, where was your strategy when you allowed this catastrophe to unfold? I trusted you, and yet you let your sister be taken. You returned to me with armies, yet you failed to protect your own blood.”

Aurora’s stomach twisted.

“I have spent years grooming you to rule after me,” Maises continued, his voice like a blade to her throat. “But now I question if you are even worthy.”

Aurora flinched—but she did not break.

Instead, she lifted her chin and held her father’s gaze. “I did what was best for Eldermere. I brought back a force strong enough to crush Vynra. We will retrieve Bianca—and we will make them pay.”

Maises narrowed his eyes. But before he could speak again, Queen Isolde’s voice rang through the hall.

“My lord.”

Maises turned, his expression still thunderous, but his wife stepped forward, tears glistening in her eyes.

“I beg you, do not let your wrath cloud your judgment. Do everything in your power to find Bianca. Do not let war be the only answer. Send a message to Vynra—threaten them, bargain with them if you must. But bring my daughter home.”

For a long moment, Maises said nothing.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

He turned toward one of his messengers. “Send word to King Erdling of Vynra immediately. Tell him he has one chance to return my daughter unharmed. If he refuses—” Maises’s eyes burned with rage, “then Vynra will burn.”

The messenger bowed swiftly and disappeared through the doors.

Maises turned back to his warriors, his voice unshakable. “At dawn, we march for war.”

And with that, the fate of kingdoms was sealed.