The Outlaws

The Two lovers

The grand hall of the royal palace was filled with the glow of chandeliers and the murmur of hushed conversations. Noblewomen from the wealthiest families across the kingdom lined the room, dressed in their finest gowns, their eyes occasionally darting toward the young prince seated at the head of the table. But Prince Valen, better known now as Nightingale, felt as though he were somewhere else entirely.

He was barely eighteen, and yet here he was, trapped in a never-ending parade of potential brides, each one more eager than the last. His dark hair, once messy and untamed from training in the barracks, had been slicked back, and his formal attire felt constricting—like a cage. His parents, the King and Queen, sat beside him, smiling and nodding politely at each young woman who curtsied before them.

"She's from the House of Alvoria," his mother whispered, motioning toward the girl standing before them. "A perfect match, don't you think?"

Valen gave the girl a fleeting glance and forced a smile, but his heart wasn't in it. He didn't care about her lineage, her beauty, or her charm. All he wanted was to be free—to be out on the battlefield, serving his kingdom as a soldier, not paraded around like some prize to be won.

"She's lovely, Mother," Valen said politely, before turning his attention back to the goblet of wine in his hand.

His father, King Alaric, leaned in. "You've barely spoken to her, Valen. You must engage more. A prince must make an effort with those of importance."

Valen gripped the stem of the goblet tightly, resisting the urge to sigh. "I would, Father. If I had any say in this."

The Queen shot him a warning look. "You do have a say, my son. That's why we are introducing you to the finest women of the realm. Your choice is important for the future of the kingdom."

Valen's chest tightened. "My choice?" he repeated quietly, almost incredulous. "I don't even want this."

"Not this again," the King muttered under his breath, his tone laced with frustration.

Valen stood abruptly, pushing his chair back. The sudden movement drew the attention of the room, but he didn't care. "I don't want to be here," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I want to serve my kingdom—on the battlefield. Not at some ball, deciding which noble family is the best match for me."

His mother stood and gently grabbed his arm, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "This is not the time for your defiance, Valen. We are trying to secure the future of this kingdom."

"I am the future of this kingdom," he replied through gritted teeth. "And I'll secure it with a sword, not by marrying someone I barely know."

The Queen's eyes softened, but her grip on his arm remained firm. "You have a duty to your people. We all make sacrifices."

Valen looked at his parents, the weight of their expectations crushing him. His entire life had been built around their vision of him—a future king who would marry the perfect queen and lead with grace and power. But none of it felt right. None of it felt like him.

He took a step back, slipping free of his mother's grasp. "If you'll excuse me," he said, bowing slightly. Without waiting for their response, he turned and strode out of the hall, ignoring the whispers that followed in his wake.

He walked through the palace corridors, his boots echoing against the marble floors. His steps quickened as he made his way toward the barracks, where the soldiers trained day and night. That's where he belonged. That's where he felt alive. The clang of swords, the sweat of battle, the honor of protecting the realm—that was what he wanted.

When he reached the barracks, he found a familiar figure waiting for him—his captain, a grizzled veteran named Commander Jorik. The older man raised an eyebrow as Valen approached, still dressed in his princely attire.