Princess Amaya stood on her balcony, gazing over the stone parapet at the procession making its way through the gates of Silverveil. The moonlight bathed the warriors in silver, their armor reflecting the soft glow. She recognized the banner of the Hades Pack, the sacred order of Silverveil, reserved for the royal family, their trusted guards, and the royal council. At the forefront rode her father, Alpha Lucian, his broad frame unmistakable even from a distance.
At first, Amaya felt only relief. The battle had ended. Her father had returned victorious. Yet, as her eyes trailed to the back of the formation, the calm on her face began to fade. Strangers followed behind the warriors, men with rugged, unkempt appearances. They were neither of Silverveil nor of the Hades Pack. Her brows furrowed. Who were they?
Turning on her heel, she strode into her chambers, where her handmaiden, Selene, was adjusting the drapes.
"Come see this" Amaya called, her voice laced with unease.
"Who are these men?"
Selene joined her at the balcony, narrowing her eyes at the unfamiliar figures.
"I do not know, my lady," she admitted. "They seem to be… rogues."
"Rogues?" Amaya scoffed, her brows knitting together. "Since when did my father start to show mercy on the battlefield?"
Selene hesitated before answering. "It seems his grace began today."
Amaya folded her arms, watching as the gates of the grand palace swung open. The procession poured inside, disappearing beneath the stone archway.
The streets erupted in cheers, but the unease in Amaya's chest refused to settle.
The great doors of the palace were thrown open for Alpha Lucian's return. The throne hall, adorned with high banners and candle lit chandeliers, hummed with murmurs as courtiers and officials gathered in expectation.
At the far end of the passageway, Luna Jamayah stood with her ladies-in-waiting, her emerald gown pooling around her feet. As her husband stepped inside, the announcer's voice rang through the hall.
"The Alpha has returned!"
Everyone in attendance bowed in reverence. Jamayah, breaking protocol, strode forward and embraced her husband. "Welcome home," she murmured against his shoulder.
Lucian kissed her forehead,
"Thank you, my beloved." He whispered back.
They walked together into the royal courtroom, where the thrones awaited them. The council members were already seated in their respective places, their faces watchful.
The heavy doors opened once more, and Philus, the Alpha's right hand, entered. He moved with the discipline of a soldier, his dark eyes sharp as he approached the thrones. Lowering himself to one knee, he bowed his head.
"Your Grace" he began,
"The rogues have settled in at the barracks, they're adjusting to their new surroundings"
Lucian nodded, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes,
"Good" he said,
"Their training begins tomorrow. I want them tested, conditioned, and worthy of Silverveil"
Jamayah, who was sitting next to her husband, spoke up,
"What if, following a week of training, we have a tournament? An occasion between the rogues and the men of Silverveil. Let it be a demonstration of solidarity as well as strength"
Alpha Lucian nodded seriously as he pondered about what she had said,
"What a great idea. See it done, Philus" he said in a strong, booming voice,
"Get our troops ready for the competition, no differences, let all men realize that they are equal in our kingdom, whether they are rogues or not"
Philus bowed once more, his face displaying a mix of conviction and pride,
"It will be as you command, Your Grace"
Dismissing himself, he turned on his heel and left the courtroom. His path took him through the winding halls of the palace, down toward the barracks where the rogues had been settled.
As he entered the dimly lit main hall of the soldiers' quarters, his gaze fell on a lone figure. Zurix.
His second in command tood in the shadows, arms crossed, his back against the stone wall. The flickering torchlight cast uneven patterns across his sharp, angular features.
Philus followed Zurix's gaze, his own eyes narrowing as he spotted the scene unfolding before them. A Silverveil soldier had cornered one of the rogues near the armory doors. The young rogue was lean, wiry, his posture rigid with unease. The soldier loomed over him, his polished armor glinting as he smirked.
Philus moved to step forward, but Zurix's hand shot out, gripping his wrist.
"Just a little longer," Zurix murmured, his voice smooth as silk. "Differentiate the wood from the irons."
Philus frowned but hesitated, watching as the rogue took a steady breath. His brow furrowed as he looked down at the table,
"I didn't make this mess" he whispered, but the soldier only smirked and folded his arms.
"Did I ask whose mess it was?" the soldier replied.
"Clean it… and with your shirt"
The hall became silent as everyone turned to see the exchange, and the rogue's cheeks tuned red with embarrassment.
The soldier's smirk expanded as he paused, his hand quivering a little,
"I said, clean it"
The bully soldier was about to shove or strike him when another rogue got up from his seat, grabbed his arm, and pushed him back,
"Enough" the second rogue said firmly.
The soldier stumbled and immediately got back on his feet. As he mopped up the soup that had spilled across his clothes, his face contorted in anger. A strong voice sliced through the tension like a dagger as he wanted to charge,
"That's enough" Philus called out from the doorway,
"What is this madness?"
The men grew silent and stood still as Philus walked down the hall, staring at the soldier with a stern, unwavering glare.
"A soldier of Silverveil, bickering over chairs and crumbs, shame on you" he said and turned to everyone else,
"You're all soldiers, bound by duty and sword to serve Silverveil, all of you"
With a fresh sense of anxiety, the men nodded and scattered to their seats.