Wicked Reign

Smell of Second War

The night was supposed to be peaceful.

The people of the Monakre Kingdom's border villages had just settled into their homes, warm fires flickering in the hearths, children drifting into dreams under thick woolen blankets. But as the midnight hour crept in, the first screams shattered the stillness.

The Golden King Ryzen of Altera had struck.

Fire swallowed thatched roofs, turning entire homes into towering pyres that cracked and split under the heat.

Horses neighed in panic, their riders yanked from saddles as enemy blades met flesh. Villagers fled into the darkened forest, their sobs and cries blending with the roars of invading Altera soldiers, who moved with calculated precision.

Steel clashed against steel. Monakre's border guards, outnumbered and unprepared, barely had time to draw their weapons before they were cut down. In one night, four villages fell. Bodies littered the cobbled streets, their blood seeping into the soil of the land they had called home.

At dawn, when the smoke had yet to clear, the banner of the Golden King was already flying above the smoldering ruins.

...

Within the grand halls of the hotel provided by the Eckrett Empire for the imperial family of the Kingdom of Monakre, King Edric sat frozen on his chair, the scroll containing the dire news trembling in his hands. His advisors murmured in horror as the weight of the situation settled upon them.

"This... this is impossible," Edric whispered, his eyes scanning the parchment again as if the words would change. "We had time—at least until the negotiations with Eckrett concluded."

"Your Majesty," one of his senior advisors spoke, his voice lined with urgency, "we no longer have time. The Kingdom of Altera has made their move. And unless we act now, they will continue pushing inward."

Edric swallowed hard. He had hoped to avoid throwing himself at the mercy of the Eckrett Empire so soon. A political alliance through marriage had been the initial goal, a carefully crafted diplomatic bridge to ensure their survival. But now, with Altera's forces clawing at their lands, that plan seemed laughably slow.

"We have no choice," the king finally said, his voice strained. "We must beg for the Empire's aid."

...

Meanwhile, within the heavily fortified halls of the Eckrett Empire, Queen Victoria Rozenreff Eckrett pressed her lips together, her hands clenched into tight fists as she listened to the report from her loyal aide, Prince Alice.

"I volunteer to fight in this war."

Victoria's head snapped up, her ruby-red eyes flashing with disbelief. "Alice... don't be ridiculous."

The young prince, always the picture of charm and grace, now stood before her in complete solemnity. His eyes were unwavering, filled with quiet resolve. He had been her ally before she ever wore the crown, one of the few who had seen the woman beneath the throne. And now, he was offering himself to a war that had already claimed many lives and will continue to do so.

"You don't understand, Tori," Alice said softly. "I will not be forced into a marriage I do not want. I refuse to be used as a mere pawn while my people suffer. If I must choose my fate, I would rather meet it on the battlefield than in a loveless union."

Victoria's throat tightened. The thought of losing Alice to this brutal conflict gnawed at her insides. She had witnessed war before when she was at the North—blood, betrayal, and death were woven into the very fabric of her existence. And she knew, with sickening certainty, that the path Alice sought would be paved with agony.