Sylra set a mug of steaming tea on the worn table in her room and sat across from Caspian. The air between them was heavy with unspoken questions. She watched him with those piercing amber eyes, her arms crossed as if bracing for what he might say.


    "You owe me an explanation," she said softly but firmly. "Why does your father want you back so desperately? And don’t give me any noble nonsense about duties and titles. This is bigger than that, isn’t it?"


    Caspian ran a hand through his tousled hair, leaning back in his chair. For a moment, he didn’t speak, his gaze fixed on the tea as if it held answers to problems he didn’t want to face. Then he sighed and looked up at her.


    “It’s about control,” he began. “And a throne that’s more precarious than my father would ever admit.”


    Sylra raised an eyebrow. “Control? You’ll have to do better than that.”


    Caspian chuckled bitterly. “Fine. The truth, then. My father’s reign hasn’t been as stable as he pretends. There’s been unrest—rebellions in the outer territories, dissent among the nobles. Rivenhold’s allies are dwindling, and the people are beginning to question his decisions. They see him as a tyrant, and they’re not wrong.”


    “And where do you fit into this?” Sylra asked, leaning forward.


    Caspian hesitated. “I’m the heir. The perfect tool to shore up his power. If I marry the right person, make the right alliances, it could bring the stability he craves. But it’s not just about politics. It’s personal. My father wants to break me, Sylra. To mold me into his image—a king who rules with fear and iron, not compassion. And I can’t do that. I won’t.”


    Sylra’s expression softened, but her voice remained steady. “So he sent Brask to drag you back, to force you into whatever plan he’s concocted.”


    “Exactly,” Caspian said. “And Brask isn’t just any soldier. He’s a master manipulator, a hunter trained to track and corner his prey. He’ll use anything—and anyone—to get what he wants.” His voice faltered, and he looked away. “That’s why I need to leave, Sylra. If I stay here, he’ll target you. He’ll burn this place to the ground if it means bringing me back.”


    Sylra reached out, her hand brushing his arm. “And you think running will stop him? Caspian, they’re hunting you because you’re valuable to your father. Leaving won’t change that. They’ll keep coming.”


    Caspian looked at her, his blue eyes filled with a mix of frustration and guilt. “So what am I supposed to do? Go back and let him use me? Sacrifice my life, my freedom, for his ambitions?”


    “No,” Sylra said firmly. “You fight. You stand your ground. Here, with people who care about you. We’re not as powerless as you think, Caspian.”


    Her words struck a chord in him, and for a moment, the weight of his burden felt a little lighter. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table.


    “There’s more,” he admitted. “My father doesn’t just want me to return to secure alliances. He’s trying to cement a dynasty. There’s a marriage planned—a union that would bind Rivenhold to a powerful northern kingdom. The bride is Lady Ellara of Draelthorne. Her family commands armies and wealth my father desperately needs.”


    Sylra’s jaw tightened. “So you’re supposed to sell your soul for an army and a pile of gold?”


    Caspian nodded grimly. “That’s the plan. And Ellara… she’s not cruel, she’s actually nice and kind, but she’s as ambitious as my father. She wouldn’t hesitate to see me chained to the throne, no matter the cost. If push came to shove.”


    Sylra leaned back, her expression unreadable. “And what if you refuse? What if you fight him?”


    “Then I become a liability,” Caspian said quietly. “And liabilities don’t last long in Rivenhold.”Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Sylra’s eyes softened, and she reached across the table, her hand gripping his. “Then you won’t face him alone. We’ll figure this out, Caspian. Together.”


    He looked at her, gratitude and something deeper flickering in his gaze. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for, Sylra. This won’t end cleanly. People could get hurt.”


    She smirked, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “I’ve lived my whole life fighting to survive, Caspian. I’m not afraid of a king—or his goons. Besides, you’re worth the trouble.”


    For the first time in days, Caspian allowed himself a small smile. With Sylra by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope. The path ahead was treacherous, but he wasn’t walking it alone anymore.


    The quiet of the Stumbling Wyvern was a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Sylra’s mind. The tavern had finally emptied, leaving only the two of them in the dim glow of the dying hearth. Caspian sat by the bar, nursing a half-filled mug of ale, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere.


    Sylra leaned against the bar, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She had meant to let it go, to focus on the looming threat of Rivenhold, but the question gnawed at her, refusing to be silenced.


    “So,” she said, her tone deliberately casual, though the edge in her voice betrayed her. “Ellara of Draelthorne. What’s the story there?”


    Caspian looked up, startled by the question. His brows furrowed slightly as if he were trying to decipher her angle. “Ellara?”


    “Yes, Ellara,” Sylra said, a little too sharply. She cleared her throat, softening her tone. “You mentioned her before. Your father’s idea of a perfect match. What’s the history between you two?”


    Caspian set down his mug, his fingers drumming against the wood of the bar. “We were childhood friends,” he said slowly. “Her family and mine were close allies once. We grew up attending the same events, sharing lessons, and, occasionally, getting into trouble together.”


    Sylra tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Sounds… charming. Childhood friends, then. Nothing more?”


    Caspian sighed, sensing the real question behind her words. “For a time, it felt like there could have been something more. When we were younger, there was… a bond. She was clever, ambitious, and unafraid to speak her mind. I admired that about her.”


    “Admired,” Sylra repeated, her tone carefully neutral.


    “Yes,” Caspian admitted. “And, for a while, I think she admired me too. We shared dreams of what the world could be if we ever had the chance to shape it.”


    Sylra leaned closer, her amber eyes glinting. “But?”


    Caspian hesitated, his expression darkening. “But as we grew older, it became clear we were on very different paths. Ellara’s ambition grew sharper, more ruthless. She saw the throne not as a burden, but as a prize. To her, love and loyalty were tools to secure power.”


    “And you weren’t willing to be one of those tools,” Sylra guessed.


    He nodded. “She started to change—or maybe I just started to see her more clearly. I realized that whatever feelings we might have shared were secondary to her hunger for control. My father saw her as the perfect match because she was everything he valued: cunning, calculating, and willing to do whatever it took to secure her position.”


    Sylra frowned, her fingers tapping against the bar. “So, no grand romance. Just two people with a shared history and… different priorities.”


    Caspian met her gaze, his expression softening. “It wasn’t love, Sylra. Not the kind that matters. I cared for her once, but that’s long gone. Whatever connection we had died the moment I saw what she truly wanted.”


    Sylra’s shoulders relaxed, though she didn’t quite let go of the tension in her jaw. “And now she’s part of your father’s plan to bring you back.”


    “Exactly,” Caspian said, his tone bitter. “Ellara wouldn’t hesitate to bind herself to me if it meant securing her place on the throne. To her, it’s not about me—it’s about the crown.”


    Sylra studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she leaned back, her lips curving into a small, wry smile. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about her storming in here with a love letter and a wedding dress.”


    Caspian chuckled, a genuine laugh that eased some of the tension between them. “Trust me, Sylra. The only thing Ellara’s likely to storm in with is a ledger of alliances and a dagger to seal the deal.”


    Sylra’s smile softened, though her eyes still held a trace of doubt. “Good to know. But if she does come knocking, just remember—I’m not afraid to remind her this tavern has plenty of sharp knives of its own.”


    Caspian reached out, covering her hand with his. “You don’t have to worry about Ellara. My heart isn’t in Rivenhold—or with her. It’s here, with you.”


    Sylra’s cheeks flushed, and for a moment, she forgot about Ellara, the looming threat of Brask, and even the danger they were facing. All that mattered was the way Caspian’s words settled into her heart, steady and sure.


    “Good,” she said quietly, her fingers curling around his. “Because I’m not letting you go without a fight, Caspian. Not to her, and not to anyone.”


    The fire in the hearth flickered low, casting their joined hands in a warm, golden glow.