The braziers burned low in the council chamber, smoke coiling toward the vaulted ceiling. Shadows clung to the stone walls, heavy with banners bearing the falcon of Itachiyama. Outside, snow drifted against the mountain windows, muffling the world in silence. Inside, the silence broke beneath the ragged breath of a messenger on his knees.

His armor was dented, his cloak scorched by fire. Blood stained the edge of his cheek as he bowed low, voice hoarse. “Your Graces… Shiratorizawa’s banners fly on our plains. Villages burn. Their cavalry pushes deeper each day. The people flee toward the mountains.”

A murmur swept through the chamber. General Morita slammed his gauntleted fist against the oak table. “They mean to cut off our harvests. If we lose the plains, the winter will starve us before Shiratorizawa even breaches our walls!”

“The coffers cannot support another campaign,” Lord Riku, the treasurer, interjected smoothly. His jeweled fingers tapped against the table. “Steel and fire cost silver we no longer possess.”

From the far end of the chamber, Lady Hanabira’s voice chimed like silver bells. “Then we must look to alliance. Inarizaki’s ships can carry grain; their fox banners can block Shiratorizawa’s supply lines. It is the only way.”

The King sat at the head of the council, his expression carved from stone. “And we have a means of alliance already at hand.” His gaze slid to the prince at his right. Sakusa Kiyoomi did not move.

“You will wed the Omega prince of Inarizaki,” the King declared. “The matter is decided.”

Every gaze turned toward him. The council watched with bated breath — some curious, some eager to see the proud heir bend.

Sakusa’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained composed. He had long since mastered the art of showing nothing. Still, his voice cut through the chamber, low and edged with disdain. “So this is what it comes to,” he said. “I am to chain myself to an Omega’s scent because the council failed to hold the border.”

The High Priest lifted his hands, eyes burning with fervor. “This union is not mere politics, Your Highness. It is destiny. The gods themselves decree balance between falcon and fox.”

Sakusa’s lip curled ever so slightly — not enough to break courtly decorum, but enough that those watching closely could see the disdain. “I’ll leave divinity to the priests,” he said coolly. “What you call balance, I call necessity. And necessity reeks.”

The chamber fell quiet. No one dared contradict him, not openly. But the King’s voice broke the silence with finality. “You will do your duty, Kiyoomi. The war leaves us no choice.”

On the table before them lay a sealed parchment, stamped with the sigil of a fox in red wax. The message from Inarizaki had arrived that morning — a summons of peace, a promise of marriage.