Location: Oslo Keep, Barracks Courtyard
Time: Evening, Day 365 After Alec's Arrival
The sky over Oslo was bleeding red.
Captain Meren Vale stood at the far edge of the barracks courtyard, hands behind his back, watching the guards cycle through basic spear drills. Their forms were sloppy. Their movements too slow. But at least they were moving.
He didn't bark corrections.
Didn't pace.
Didn't speak.
His silence was known. Expected. Feared, by some. But today it wasn't silence that made the men nervous.
It was the way he kept glancing at the keep.
The tall, fortified structure that cast its long shadow across the training field. The one that now housed the most disruptive man Oslo had ever seen.
Lord Alec Alenia.
The name wasn't even noble.
Meren rolled it on his tongue silently, frowning.
It sounded like a blacksmith who'd read too many war manuals.
Except this one didn't just read them.
He wrote new ones.
He stepped into the council chamber and rewrote the balance without drawing a sword. Without lifting his voice. Without asking permission.
And Elira had stood beside him.
Not opposite. Not above.
Beside.
Meren flexed one hand behind his back. Old calluses cracked slightly. He remembered when she'd first stood beside him. A decade ago. No crown. Just a swordbelt and fury.
They'd held the ridge together.
Now?
He was being asked to "flank" this outsider.
He hadn't refused.
Because he wasn't a fool.
Alec Alenia was dangerous. Not like a blade. Not like poison.
He was dangerous like a map that redrew itself while you were still walking across it.
And Elira liked maps.
She liked plans. Structure. Power held by quiet hands and unspoken understanding.
That was what hurt the most.
Not that Alec had her attention.
But that he fit.
Too well.
Meren turned from the field and walked into the weapon shed. He didn't light a lantern. Just stood in the dark, staring at the rack of polearms.
He could still see her, years ago, laughing in the rain as she dismounted with a bleeding shoulder and asked for a report before bandages.
He hadn't loved her then.
He'd respected her.
The love came later. Quietly. Without permission.
He had buried it beneath duty. That was the oath.
Now?
Now there was a man who didn't have to bury it. Who didn't even understand what he had.
Alec looked at her like she was a strategic asset. An anchor point in a larger plan.
He respected her.
But he hadn't bled for her.
Not yet.
Meren exhaled.
He wouldn't sabotage him.
He wouldn't challenge the order.
He would watch.
Because Alec might be brilliant. He might be right. He might even be what Oslo needed.
But if he failed her—
If he hurt her.
Meren wouldn't hesitate.
He would make Oslo's ghost a widowmaker.
And that would be the last entry in Lord Alenia's perfect little ledgers.