Location: Oslo Keep – Map Chamber → Outer Courtyard
Time: Day 366 After Alec's Arrival
Strategy and Silence
The morning sun had burned off the fog over the Oslo hills by the time Alec entered the upper map chamber. Elira was already there, seated at the edge of the central table — not in a gown, but in fitted riding leathers, dark charcoal, sleeves rolled. Her hair was pinned loosely, a few strands slipping to frame her cheekbones.
He paused in the doorway.
Not because she startled him.
But because she looked at ease. In control. In her skin.
That made her dangerous.
And beautiful.
"We'll need to reroute three of the grain caravans by week's end," she said without turning. "Braan's roads are still choked. If we delay, we lose half the northern market share."
Alec stepped in beside her, laying out the updated draft schematic.
"I've already sent riders to Varensholt. They'll trade route rights in exchange for iron smelting templates."
She glanced at him.
"You assume they'll agree?"
"They will," he said. "Because I didn't offer it as a negotiation. I offered it as a reality."
Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same scroll.
A flicker of contact. Brief.
But she stilled.
So did he.
And for the first time since arriving in Oslo, Alec noticed her not as the countess. Not as a political entity. Not as a threat or alliance.
But as a woman.
His gaze slid, slowly — involuntarily — from her hands to the line of her forearm, to the slope of her shoulder, to the curve where her collar loosened at the throat.
He said nothing.
But she felt it.
Her lips parted. Her eyes didn't move.
She'd seen this kind of tension before.
But never in him.
And then came the interruption.
A sharp knock. The door creaked open.
Captain Meren.
Stone-faced. Tense.
"My lady," he said, tone clipped. "There's a visitor in the outer courtyard. Refused proper entry. Claims blood and title."
Alec raised a brow.
Elira's entire posture shifted.
She stood.
"Dain."
The Entitled Specter
Dain Brenven looked exactly like a man who hadn't earned anything he wanted but believed he deserved it anyway.
He stood in the sunlit courtyard with six retainers behind him, cloak open, boots muddied from the ride, expression cocked somewhere between smugness and grievance.
He bowed only halfway when Elira approached.
"Sister," he said.
"You're not invited," she replied.
"I don't need invitation to stand where I was born."
Alec watched the entire thing unfold in a single moment. Not just the words. But the spine beneath them. Dain's smirk. Elira's clenched jaw. The castle staff who stood nearby, caught in sudden silence.
Alec stepped forward. Slowly. Not threatening.
"Lord Dain," he said. "Your presence disrupts established internal security. You'll be escorted to a guest room or turned back. You may choose."
Dain blinked. His eyes flicked over Alec like a hawk sizing up an unfamiliar weapon.
"And you are?"
"Elira's strategic advisor."
Dain's lip curled.
"So you're the man they say sleeps in my brother's chair."
A beat.
Elira spoke then. Voice smooth.
"He doesn't sleep in it. He built a new one."
The words landed like a knife.
Dain didn't shout.
But his voice dipped.
"I came to see my niece."
"No," Elira said flatly.
"I have rights—"
"You have no guardianship. No title. No claim. You've never even sent her a gift."
"She's family."
"She's mine," Elira said. "Leave. Or be removed."
Dain's eyes cut to Alec again.
And Alec saw it — the real thing beneath the pride.
This wasn't about politics.
This was about her.
The way she stood. The way she didn't flinch. The fact that she had never looked at him the way she'd looked at Alec — even once, even by accident.
He was losing something he never had.
And that made him dangerous.
But Dain didn't mount.
Not yet.
He paced the courtyard slowly, hands clasped behind his back, then turned.
"Perhaps I'm owed more than just dismissal. A bed. A place at the table. A proper welcome from my own kin."
"You forfeited kinship the moment you tried to claim it by force," Elira said. "You lost the right to a place here."
Dain gave her a crooked smile.
"And yet here I am."
He turned to Alec.
"Tell me, Lord Alenia. You build. But do you defend? Do you bleed? When the frost sets and enemies come over the ridge, will she turn to you... or to those who already burned for her?"
Alec met his eyes, unflinching.
"If I bleed, it will be with purpose. If I fight, it will be to end the war — not to prove I belong."
Dain's jaw tightened.
He finally stepped toward his horse. Mounting slowly. Reluctantly.
But before leaving, he called back.
"This isn't over. Not yet. I think I might stay a while next time. Speak with some of the old captains. Perhaps even walk the grounds where I grew up."
He looked at Elira.
"You can throw me out, sister. But memory lives longer than your garrison. And blood has a way of calling home."
Then to Alec, softer, but sharper:
"She's not made for builders. She needs men with flame. We'll see if you hold her when the winds rise."
And then he rode.
The Storm Settles
That evening, Elira stood alone in her chamber.
Alec didn't intrude.
But she knew he was thinking.
And she? She was shaking.
Not from fear.
From fury.
From memory.
From the reminder that men like Dain always expected to take, and men like Alec... didn't.
And maybe that difference was what made one dangerous.
And the other...
Tempting.