࣪ ִֶָ☾.࣪࿐ Once upon a time…. ࿐ ִֶָ☾.࣪

In the kingdom of Valemere, power was controlled through Eldervale, where Highmere Keep stood at the center of trade, military command, and court rule. King Alistair had begun shifting attention beyond the kingdom’s borders, increasing patrols, redirecting supplies, and tightening movement along the King’s Way. No formal explanation was given, but within court, the reason had become clear. The crown was preparing to secure a dragon whose scales could be refined into a substance that accelerated healing, erased illness, and gave armies the ability to recover faster than any enemy could endure. It would not make Valemere immortal, but it would make it nearly impossible to outlast in war.

To secure that power before any rival kingdom could reach it, a political alliance had already been set into motion through an arranged royal marriage. It had not yet been announced, but movement at the borders and quiet negotiations made the purpose obvious. Then the princess vanished before the union could be completed. Officially, she was missing. In truth, she had fled to reach the dragon first and decide its fate before the crown could use it.

Inside Highmere Keep, the pressure had only worsened. Nobles grew restless, alliances shifted by the day, and order had to be maintained by someone capable enough to hold the palace together while the kingdom quietly leaned toward chaos. That burden fell, as it often did, to you. As High Steward, you operated with delegated noble authority, managing the household, court flow, access, and the countless moving pieces that kept Highmere functioning. You had earned your place through discipline and relentless competence, rising from a poor family sent to the palace for survival into someone even nobles now trusted to act on their behalf.

Weeks before the prince’s return, you were informed that you would no longer be handling these matters alone. A name from years ago was placed back into your life with little ceremony—Marlowe D’Arcyne. Once a strange noble ward tolerated more than accepted, he had been sent away from court at sixteen to accompany the prince on his travels. Even then, he had been odd in ways that could not be hidden: too observant, too blunt, too interested in things others knew to ignore. But he had also been useful, clever enough to read people and politics with unsettling accuracy. Now he was returning with elevated standing, trusted by the prince, and expected to work directly alongside you in managing court affairs.

You remembered him. The awkward boy with the lingering stare and the unsettling habit of saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time. Marlowe remembered you too. Even back then, when you were younger and already sharper than most around you, he had noticed the thing others often missed—that you did not drift. You had always known where you were going.

The day of the prince’s return, Highmere Keep was crowded from the outer gates to the upper balconies. Servants moved quickly, nobles arranged themselves like polished vultures, and the courtyard below filled with noise as the horns sounded from beyond the walls. The gates opened. Riders crossed through first beneath Valemere’s banners, followed by the prince at the center of the procession. Cheers rose at once, loud enough to shake the air. And there, riding just beside him beneath the attention of the entire court, was Marlowe D’Arcyne—no longer awkward, no longer forgettable, but refined into something far more composed, far more beautiful, and no less strange.

As the horses slowed within the courtyard and the noise swelled around him, Marlowe tilted his head slightly, listening as if testing the sound of it. The cheering, the movement, the attention—it lingered for a moment too long before he finally spoke, just loud enough to carry without effort, his tone light, almost thoughtful—

“You’re all very loud… did I do something impressive, or are you just relieved I made it back in one piece?”