THE CROWN OF ASH

Chapter 4 : Winds of Change

The grand doors of Redcastle's council chamber groaned as they swung open, releasing Prince Aiden Silveryn and the murmuring councilors into the dimly lit corridor. Their hushed voices carried fragments of disbelief and cautious curiosity. "A bold plan, but risky," muttered Marshal Gasper, while Treasurer Mavos whispered, "If it works, it'll be nothing short of a miracle." 

Aiden's expression remained unreadable, his strides purposeful as the councilors slowly dispersed, leaving him to his thoughts. But as he turned the corner, he froze. 

Queen Maeryn stood at the end of the hall, flanked by her daughters, Princess Bella and Princess Sofia, and the ever-watchful Ser Braun Bayne. The Silverguards stood behind them, their armor gleaming faintly in the torchlight. 

Bella's frustration was evident as she crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line. Beside her, Sofia's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her face a portrait of quiet sorrow. The queen, regal as ever despite the strain of her recent journey, fixed her son with a piercing gaze. 

"Aiden," Queen Maeryn began, her tone firm but not unkind. "The council meeting. What was discussed?" 

Aiden inclined his head respectfully but replied with calm defiance, "Only council members are privy to such matters, Your Grace." 

The queen's brows arched, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. "And you are not a member, my son. You are not the king." 

"No," Aiden said, his voice steady and full of conviction. "But a king is not defined by a crown. It is the will to lead, the strength to act, and the wisdom to guide that makes a king." 

For a moment, silence filled the corridor. Then, Queen Maeryn's expression softened, pride glinting in her eyes. "Perhaps you are right." She turned to her daughters. "Come, we've had a long journey. Let's allow the prince to contemplate his next move." 

The queen and her daughters swept past him, Bella muttering under her breath, "I still don't see why we bother." Sofia offered her brother a small, sad smile as they disappeared down the hall. 

Left alone with Ser Braun, Aiden exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. 

"You already know, don't you?" Ser Braun asked, his voice gravelly but tinged with a grudging respect. 

Aiden nodded. "It seems Weldor didn't welcome them. Their anger and desperation are written on my mother and sisters faces." 

Ser Braun's hand rested briefly on the hilt of his sword. "The people are tired, Prince Aiden. I just hope whatever you have in mind succeed, because I feel it in my bones—war is coming. And with war comes blood." 

Aiden's jaw tightened. "Then we must be ready, Ser Braun." 

And with that, they walked on, the echoes of their footsteps lingering like a prelude to the storm. 

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The rain fell steadily over Soryn, drenching the crooked streets of the Pisspit in a relentless downpour. The dark skies hung low as if mourning the island's plight. Ray and his companions—Klaus, Gunther, and Meleys—trudged through the muddy alleys, their eyes scanning the ruins and decay around them. 

Klaus, the sharpest of the group, broke the silence. "Why do the Ironjaws and Bluebeard's crew even bother with Soryn? We're the poorest place among all places. What gold could they hope to find here?" 

Ray nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "I've wondered the same. Maybe they're after more than gold. Maybe they have other agendas." 

Gunther, his towering frame hunching slightly under the rain, grumbled, "Whatever it is, we're always the ones who pay the price. If only we had swords..." 

The group paused as a figure emerged from the shadows ahead—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a flowing white beard and a blade at his hip. Joras the Fierce. His presence was as commanding as his reputation, a lowborn man who had earned his sword by defeating a noble in combat—a rare feat that defied the law. 

The law, an old decree by King Halric the Stern, forbade lowborn men from owning swords after their uprisings shook the throne decades ago. Swords, the king declared, were symbols of power, too dangerous for those who might rebel. The lowborn were left to fight with sticks, stones, and bare hands.

"Still trying to stir up rebellion, boy?" Joras called, his laughter deep and mocking. "You've got heart, Ray, I'll give you that. But no swords. Just words. Tell me, how far do you think that'll get you?" 

Gunther clenched his fists. "If we had swords, we'd have done more than riot!" 

Meleys, the calm voice of reason, shook her head. "We don't need to win battles, Gunther. We just need to deliver a message." 

Joras chuckled again, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Messages, eh? And what good are messages when they go unheard? Just like this rain. When it stops, what's left but silence?" 

Ray stepped forward, the rain streaming down his face as he met Joras's gaze. "Even when the rain stops, Joras, and silence takes over, it leaves something behind. The flowers flourish. The trees grow. And so will we." 

For a moment, there was no sound but the rain. Then, to everyone's surprise, Joras nodded, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "Well said, boy. Well said. I hope you're right." 

The rain began to ease, but Ray's words lingered like a promise in the air. 

———————————————————————————

The following morning, whispers spread through Silhaven. People paused in their tasks, craning their necks to watch as Prince Aiden Silveryn and Marshal Gasper rode out of Redcastle, their horses' hooves kicking up damp earth. Behind them followed fifty soldiers of the Soryn army, their formation precise and disciplined. 

Wagons trailed at the rear, their contents concealed beneath heavy rugs. The soldiers' faces were stoic, their movements purposeful. Whatever the prince's plan was, it was in motion now. 

As they passed through the city gates, Marshal Gasper leaned toward the prince. "I hope you're right about this, My prince. If you're wrong..." He trailed off, his tone dark with unspoken consequences. 

Prince Aiden's gaze remained fixed ahead, his voice calm but carrying the weight of uncertainty. "So do I." 

As the caravan disappeared into the distance, the people of Silhaven were left with a single, burning question: 

What price would they pay for Aiden Silveryn's gamble?