The midday sun cast a harsh light over the valley, its golden rays glinting off the jagged edges of broken spears and shattered shields. Flames roared through thatched roofs, devouring homes and sending pillars of smoke into the sky from the smoldering ruins of what had once been a bustling village.
The air was thick with ash and the cries of the defeated. Bodies lay where they had fallen—some rebel fighters, others villagers who had been caught in the chaos.
Alexander stood in the center of it all, his dark armor streaked with soot and blood. Around him, rebel leaders knelt. They were battered, faces bruised, and clothes torn, their weapons cast aside in the dirt. His eyes swept over them, cold and unrelenting, the faint glint of his father’s sigil catching the firelight on his chest plate.
“You’ve fought well,” Alexander said, his voice cutting through the crackle of burning wood. “But your fight is over. Swear your loyalty to me, and I’ll make you stronger than you’ve ever been. Defy me…” He gestured toward the ruins around them. “And this will be your legacy.”
The rebel leader closest to him hesitated, his jaw tightening. Behind him, his people shifted uneasily, their eyes darting to the destruction. They had once pledged loyalty to the Aldric Kingdom but turned when whispers of the king’s failing health reached their ears. With no clear successor, they had thought rebellion was their path to freedom.
Before the leader could respond, a rebel from the rear shouted, “Never!” He surged forward, clutching a battered spear. His face was a mask of rage and desperation, and his steps were unsteady but determined. The other rebels gasped and recoiled, and the soldier’s defiance seemed to hang in the air like a spark.
Alexander’s expression didn’t change as he calmly drew his sword, the blade flashing like a shard of lightning. The rebel lunged, but Alexander sidestepped with fluid precision, striking in one swift, calculated motion. The spear clattered to the ground as the rebel crumpled at his feet, lifeless. Blood pooled in the dirt, a stark contrast to the golden light of the sun.
The remaining rebels looked away, some swallowing back bile, others visibly trembling. Alexander flicked the blood from his blade with a practiced motion before sheathing it. His cold gaze settled back on the rebel leaders. “Now, as I was saying…”
Finally, the leader lowered his head. “We’ll follow you.”
“Good.” Alexander’s lips curled into a faint smile, though it held no warmth. “Then rise and prove your worth.”
The rebel leaders stood, their movements stiff and reluctant. Around them, their fighters stepped forward one by one, their faces hard with resignation. Tattered banners bearing the Aldric Kingdom’s symbol were retrieved from the ground and held high once again—not in rebellion but in submission. The flag of the kingdom now flew above them, reclaimed and repurposed, its presence casting a somber shadow over the scene.
Meanwhile, at the tree line, a cloaked figure observed the carnage, their face obscured by shadows. They stood still as stone, their stance betraying neither approval nor dismay. A faint breeze tugged at the edges of their cloak as they watched Alexander’s forces regroup and the defeated rebels submit.
One of Alexander’s commanders approached, wiping blood from his blade. “The survivors are scattering to the neutral lands.”
“Let them,” Alexander said flatly. “Let them spread the story.”
Just as the commander turned to leave, another soldier hurried toward them from the smoldering ruins, clutching something in his hands. “My lord,” he said, breathless, “we found this.”
He held out a scorched leather satchel. Inside were parchments, maps, and coded messages—plans detailing rebel strongholds in the kingdom and hints of a larger network of resistance. Alexander’s eyes scanned the documents, his expression remaining impassive though his jaw tightened slightly.
“They were more organized than I thought,” he murmured, handing the satchel to his commander and looking at the rebel leader. “Have it decoded. If there’s a next target, I want to know.”
In the treeline, villagers who had escaped the slaughter crouched low, their faces pale with terror. They watched as the army marched out, their heavy boots trampling what little was left. The fires raged behind them, and the standard of the Aldric Kingdom raised high over the devastation—a grim reminder that the king’s firstborn son was not waiting for his father’s crown to take control.
Meanwhile, Linus's satisfied smirk played on his lips at the Mayor's residence as he admired his handiwork. Eliza lay sprawled on the table, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Her disheveled state—the wild cascade of her hair, the flushed hue painting her cheeks, the faint tremor in her limbs—stirred something primal within him. He reached out, his fingertips grazing her jaw and trailing down her neck to linger on her collarbone. She shivered at his touch, her eyes fluttering open.
Her gaze met his, brimming with fear and reluctant acceptance.
"You were wonderful," he murmured, his voice a low, possessive growl. His words hung in the air, both a twisted reassurance and an unspoken reminder of her place in his world now. His power over her was intoxicating, and Linus planned to savor every moment.
When he finally left her, Eliza's fragile breaths followed him like a shadow. He refreshed himself and made his way to Mara, his footsteps deliberate as he braced for her reaction. He understood that Mara would never raise her voice; her anger was a frigid, methodical force, far more lethal than any fiery outburst. Yet, despite that chilling awareness, he found a strange thrill in their intricate game, savoring their tension.
When he entered the room, Mara stood by the window, her profile outlined by the fading sunlight. She didn’t turn to greet him, but her voice broke through the silence. "Where were you?"
Linus leaned casually against the doorframe, affecting an air of nonchalance. "Just taking care of business," he said, his lips curling into a smile. "Making the most of the situation."
Mara finally turned to face him, her countenance composed, but her clenched fists betrayed her irritation. "Did you find anything useful?"
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
"Not really," Linus shrugged. It's the same old story—tax fraud, land grabs, and other dubious dealings. The usual Nobel ways. Nothing groundbreaking." Mara’s lips pressed into a thin line as she remained calm and assessed him.
Linus tilted his head, curiosity etched on his face. "And what about the ruins?"
"A waste of time," she shot back with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It’s just an old temple. Everyone in town seems to know about it; there are no secrets left to uncover there."
Linus rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the stubble scratching against his fingers as he pondered her words. "And the inn?"
"Empty," Mara replied curtly, her voice edging toward frustration as if the very memory of the place irritated her. "Just some old clothes. They’ve hidden their real base well."
With a resigned sigh, Linus stepped closer, his expression showing the gravity of the situation. "Looks like we’ll have a tough time rooting out the spies," he said, his tone thick with contemplation and concern.
Mara nodded, her eyes narrowing with intensity as a newfound resolve washed over her. "I’ve already got men scouring the streets for them. I’ve also instructed the city guards to investigate other places of interest to be safe."
Linus gave a slight, approving nod before adding, "Princess, you know it won’t be long before we have visitors. The drop in production will raise flags. We’ve got days, maybe weeks, before someone comes sniffing around."
Mara’s stare intensified. "I know. What’s your plan?"
"We temporarily increase the number of miners," Linus suggested. "Boost production just enough to keep suspicions at bay. As for the losses, we pawn some of the mayor’s property. That’ll cover the gap without raising taxes."
Mara tilted her head, considering his proposal. After a moment, she nodded. "Do it."
Linus hesitated, his next words lingering on the tip of his tongue. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured. "There’s something else, Princess. With the mayor gone, we need a new figurehead. Someone strong enough to keep things under control."
Her eyes narrowed. "And who do you have in mind?"
"You," he said. "Who else could do it?"
Mara’s brow wrinkled, suspicion flickering across her face. "And the mayor in the cell? What happens to him?"
Linus’s smile turned grim. "We make his crimes public. Let the capital handle his punishment. It’ll almost certainly be a death sentence. As for his assets, we make Eliza the beneficiary."
Mara arched an eyebrow. "Eliza? The mayor’s wife? Why?"
"She’s a farmer’s daughter," Linus explained. "She’s not a threat, and she’s never been anyone’s favorite. But making her the beneficiary sends a message—help us, and we’ll reward you. It’ll make the powerful families paranoid, wondering who among them might betray them for similar rewards."
Mara crossed her arms, her gaze piercing as she considered his words. Finally, she gave a curt nod. "Fine. But it’ll put Eliza in the crosshairs."
Linus’s thoughts churned as he nodded in agreement. That was exactly the point. With Eliza under pressure from all sides, she would have no choice but to lean on him for protection, growing more dependent with each passing day. She would be easier to manipulate and more pliable in every aspect—including the bedroom. With her as the public face of the mayor’s assets, Linus could influence everything behind the scenes, using her as a convenient puppet while maintaining his grip on the town’s resources.
"She can handle it," Linus replied smoothly. "She’s already been ostracized. This will buy us time while the families scramble to protect themselves."
Mara regarded him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face, but she said nothing as she turned back to the window. "Then let’s move forward with the plan."
Linus inclined his head, his smirk returning, his satisfaction hidden beneath the surface. "As you wish, Princess."
As she turned to leave, she paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "There's an update on Alexander’s campaign," she said, her tone shifting to a more formal, businesslike manner. "It’s going well in some areas—he’s consolidated several rebel factions under his banner. But he's leaving a trail of destruction. Villages are being razed to the ground. While it's effective in quelling dissent, it's stirring unrest among neutral territories."
Linus listened intently, his countenance neutral, though a spark of calculation lit his eyes. The longer Alexander’s campaign dragged on, the more chaos it sowed, and chaos had a way of presenting opportunities. Every razed village, every displaced territory, was a crack in the foundation that could be exploited.
"On another front," Mara continued, "the Rudhirans have been holding their ground against Alexander’s commander, George Ashford. Their resilience is swaying some of the tribes in the region. They're starting to pledge allegiance to the Rudhirans, forcing Alexander to consolidate his forces rather than continue his advance."
Linus furrowed his brow just enough to feign concern, though inwardly, he saw the beginnings of a useful quagmire. The Rudhirans’ resistance bogged down Alexander’s forces and planted discord among his alliances. The longer this dragged out, the more vulnerable Alexander would become. And the more tangled Mara would find herself in his web. He’d have to make sure it stayed that way.
"That’s a complication," he said quietly, careful not to let his true thoughts betray him. "It sounds like Alexander’s campaign is hitting a critical point. We’ll need to keep a close watch on how this develops."
Mara nodded, oblivious to the layers of meaning behind Linus’s words. "I’ll keep you updated. For now, let’s focus on stabilizing things here before the battlefield situation affects us directly."
"Agreed," Linus replied smoothly. "One thing at a time."
He turned and left the room, his mind already moving three steps ahead. With every step Alexander took, Mara was drawn deeper into the storm, and Linus knew he had to ensure she stayed tethered to it. The mess Alexander created could destroy them or elevate Linus—if he played his cards right.
Linus strode briskly through the manor's corridors, his mind racing with the complex details of his plan. As he neared his quarters, he spotted Marcus waiting for him.
"Master Linus," Marcus greeted with a respectful bow.
"Marcus," Linus began, his tone calm yet commanding, "I need you to reinstate some of the mayor’s workers and servants. But make sure to mix in a few of our men—those loyal to us. I want them in place to keep a close eye on everything."
Marcus nodded, his sharp mind already considering how best to execute the task. "Consider it done, Master Linus. I’ll ensure our men blend in without raising suspicion and report any unusual activities immediately."
Linus nodded, satisfied. "Good. We need to maintain the appearance of normalcy while quietly ensuring control. This transition must be flawless."
Marcus bowed again and turned on his heel, disappearing into the shadows to carry out his orders. Alone once more, Linus’s focus shifted to the delicate task of solidifying Mara’s role as the temporary mayor. Her appointment would raise eyebrows among the powerful families, but the common folk—those left shaken and distrustful after today’s disaster—posed the real challenge. Winning their acceptance would be essential to maintaining order, but Linus knew that wasn’t the entire goal.
He thought resistance wasn’t a problem—it was an opportunity. A measure of dissent would only force Mara to lean more heavily on him, her capable but calculated adviser. Every new challenge, every fresh threat, would tighten the strings of her dependence. She was a fierce warrior, but her inexperience in governance left her vulnerable. Vulnerable and malleable.
He needs to introduce just enough controlled disorder to prevent Mara from becoming too confident in her new role. Pressure was the crucible, and Linus intended to forge her reliance on him in its heat.
His plans were aligning neatly. Now came the execution. With a quiet exhale, Linus pushed open the door to his quarters, his mind already figuring out the next move in this intricate game of power.