Ogren chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled up from his chest.

“Only way to make real soldiers out of them, Princess.”

But the brief lightness in his eyes faded as he turned his attention to Ren, who was stepping out of the car with a casual ease that seemed to grate against Ogren’s rigid sense of discipline. His mouth settled back into a hard line, and the tension between them was palpable. There was respect, but no camaraderie.

“King Ren,” Ogren said, his voice stiffening. “Forgive me for saying this, but it’s reckless to travel without a proper royal procession—especially with the princess accompanying you. We are not in peaceful times.”

Ren’s expression remained indifferent, almost amused. “And draw more attention than necessary? ” he replied coolly.

Ogren’s eyes narrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw tightening. He folded his arms across his chest, glancing at the car as if he found it both fascinating and infuriating.

“You’re too careless, King,” he said bluntly, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice. “And you take too many risks—risks that endanger the princess.”

Hazel, sensing the tension, stepped forward and placed a calming hand on Ogren’s arm. “I was perfectly safe, Ogren,” she said softly, her voice soothing. “Besides, this was a good opportunity for me to see how Ren’s new inventions are changing Aropia. He also mentioned a celebration.”

Ogren’s gaze flicked down to her hand, and the hardness in his expression eased, just a little. He gave a reluctant nod, his shoulders relaxing. “Yes, Princess,” he murmured.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

Ogren led the way through the factory, his stride purposeful and unhurried.

They moved toward a secondary hall, where the noise of machinery gave way to a quieter space. Here, the walls were lined with iron supports, and the air was warm with the scent of freshly cooked food.

A long table stood at the center, laden with Aropia’s finest dishes—roasted meats glazed with honey, spiced vegetables, dark breads still steaming from the oven, and pitchers of sweet, amber-colored ale. Workers were already gathering, wiping grease-stained hands and talking in low, excited murmurs.

Ren followed at a casual pace, his expression calm and calculating. He scanned the faces of the workers, nodding slightly in acknowledgment as they stepped aside to let him and Ogren pass.

Unlike Ogren, whose presence demanded respect, Ren's authority came from the quiet confidence in his gaze, the way he carried himself with effortless command. He didn't need to project strength—he simply was the strongest man in the room, and everyone knew it.

As they approached the table, Ogren paused and gestured for Ren to take a seat, but Ren remained standing, looking over the spread without a hint of hunger in his eyes.

Instead, he turned to Ogren, his voice low and direct. “Are you ready for what’s coming, Ogren?” he asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and challenge. “The Drakonians won’t go down easily.”

Ogren’s face broke into a wide, almost feral grin, the scars twisting with the movement. His eyes glinted with a dangerous light, the look of a man who lived for the clash of steel and the thrill of battle. “Ready?” he echoed, his voice a deep rumble of anticipation. “ There's nothing I want more than to be on that battlefield. I’ve trained the men, forged their will, and we’ll bring them hell.”

Ren’s lips curved into a faint smile, his expression cold and almost detached, as if weighing Ogren’s words and finding them... adequate. “Good,” he said simply, his tone unnervingly calm in the face of Ogren’s raw eagerness. “Because when the time comes, there will be no turning back.”

Ogren’s grin widened, “Suits me just fine,” he said, his voice low and challenging.