The road east wound through rolling hills, scarred by years of war and neglect. Villages lay abandoned, fields untended, their soil hard with weeds. Every mile carried the weight of Varrow’s reign, a kingdom rotting from its core.
Cael rode at the head of the small company, Elira beside him, the knights following in weary silence. Their armor bore dents from the last battle, their cloaks ragged, yet they rode with the pride of men who had not broken.
“We are walking into a nest of vipers,” Sir Branor muttered, riding on Cael’s other side. His eyes scanned the hills with suspicion. “The free lords are not allies, my prince. They are jackals circling the corpse of Elandor, feeding off its decay. Each wants a crown for himself.”
Cael nodded. “And yet they fear Varrow as much as they hate e
