Chapter 4 - Idynn

The great hall was in a frenzy. Chieftains shouted and minor nobles called out in alarm. The cacophony of noise seemed to shake the very foundations of the hall.

Mirea held her hand against her mouth again, her eyes wide as she stared at the prince. The guard behind us tensed, but I ignored them. I fisted my skirts, pulling the material so tight I feared it would tear.

Prince Adenos had come to us, and Sonera had declared war on Navhëlm.

He stood there now, quiet and composed while everyone else was busy being quite the opposite. I stared at him.

Brown skin, black hair swept away from a handsome face, a straight nose, and dark eyebrows that gave the Prince a perpetually severe gaze. Despite that, he appeared relatively young, at most a year older than me. The dreaded Prince was undoubtedly breathtaking—the way an iceberg was; beautiful from afar but to be steered clear of.

He stood almost as tall as the King with broad shoulders could be seen even through the heavy layers he wore.

Prince Adenos cleared his throat and, with an impassive expression, said, 'Sonera requests a complete and total surrender from Navhëlm. Concede to—'

One of the chieftains, a man with red hair and a wild beard, bellowed above the din, 'Go home, Soneran bastard!'

The Winter Prince didn't so much as blink at the insult. 'Concede to these demands, and your court' —he inclined his head at the rabble— 'will be given protection. You know of my kingdom's reputation, Your Majesty. I suggest you take what I am offering your kingdom.'

Mirea made an angry-sounding squeak behind her hand. Her brows were furrowed and I could feel the anger radiating off her in waves. I reached for her other hand, and she took it, squeezing my fingers.

The chieftains exploded in renewed ire. One of them stepped forth, putting herself between the Prince and the King. I recognised her as Skadja, one of King Odern's most trusted council.

She was the same height as the Prince, with brown hair kept tightly in a braid and the sides of her head shaved close to the skull. She was as muscled and scarred as any proud Navhëlm warrior, and she was clad in fine battle armour that had seen battle. With casual strength, she drew her weapon, a battleaxe, and levelled it at Prince Adenos.

The blade had a pattern hammered into it. Frost edged the metal in rippling patterns—Ice magic, and combat magic at that, at work. I gaped. That battleaxe was priceless.

The guard behind us moved, growing agitated. Sensing this, I twisted around to find them staring at the scene below with a frantic urgency in their eyes. Their breathing grew laboured through the mask, and their hand reached for the sword at their belt.

Maybe everyone was just waiting for the cue to kill the Prince.

Skadja said, 'We have heard enough, princeling. Navhëlm will not throw down our weapons because a mere child demands it.'

The Prince stared at her, his mouth set in a thin line, clearly unimpressed. 'If I am injured within the borders of Navhëlm, my father will kill every last one of you. If I am slain, he will destroy your homes and your ships, and raze your country to the ground. No one will remember your people.'

The battleaxe did not waver. The frost on it curled up the handle.

'Skadja.' King Odern's voice rang out.

'My King.' Skadja said, unmoving.

King Odern said, 'Enough. I have a suggestion that would benefit us both.'

Slowly, Skadja lowered her weapon and stepped back. The ice on the blade evaporated. The Prince's eyes never left her till she returned to the crowd.

The buzz of tension that I'd felt from the guard instantly relaxed. I exhaled, relieved.

King Odern cleared his throat. 'What is it that you want from us, exactly?'

'Your wealth,' intoned the Prince.

'Not our silver mines, surely. Sonera's coffers are overflowing, last I heard. No, Prince Adenos. You want something Sonera doesn't already have: our ships.'

The Prince's silence spoke volumes.

'You know of our bluntness, Prince Adenos. Do you also know of our spirit? You had to traverse mountains to reach here, and it is the peak of winter. You were lucky to arrive unscathed. Your army will not be.'

The Winter Prince. It was only natural that the harsh winter would recognise kin and be kind to him.

The King continued, 'And you will have to face a number of furious Navhëlm warriors along the way. You may outnumber us, but we will not go down without a fight. Sonera is already waging a war with Vlaraskivat, and I think you need our ships to turn the tide. Instead of asking for a surrender—which we will never give, even at the cost of all our lives—I propose this: an alliance.'

The Prince scoffed. A few chieftains bristled at the disrespect. 'Your Majesty, what do you have that I cannot take from you?'

King Odern smiled and said, 'Even if you take our ships, you will need Navhëlmen to sail them. Ally with us, share your wealth, and you will have the strength of our fleet and our finest warriors at your service.'

The Prince was silent again. He seemed to do that a lot. He challenged, 'What use do you have for wealth? Have your silver mines run dry?'

'There are other riches Sonera possesses. We may discuss this further.'

The Prince shook his head, unconvinced. 'I'm afraid it is not good enough. What else can you offer me, Your Majesty? My father will need proof that you can fulfil such offers, and I require more than just your word alone.'

'If it is sincerity you want, Prince, you shall have it.' King Odern's deep voice thundered through the grand hall. 'I give you what is most precious to me. You can have my dearest daughter's hand in marriage.'

At this bold offer, the crowd drew a collective gasp. Mirea's fingers tightened around mine. I held my breath, praying for a rejection.

If the Prince was taken aback by the proposition, he didn't show it. After what seemed like an eternity of consideration, he said, 'Very well.'

Those two words were like a death sentence. Mirea jerked. Still holding my hand, she scrambled back from the hole in the wall and bumped against the guard. 'No,' she whispered, eyes wide with horror, 'no, no, no.'

'It's okay,' I wanted to say, though I did not believe it. The hollow words died in my throat.

There was a commotion in the hall again.

I caught the tail end: Prince Adenos had asked King Odern for something and the King had granted it. Now the Prince paced the hall, calling out to the crowd, 'The man who called me a 'Soneran bastard''. Who are you?'

The red-bearded chieftain who had said it pushed his way to the front and jabbed a thumb at his chest. He was a giant of a man, easily one of the biggest warriors I'd ever seen, and he strode up with arrogance in each step. Even his shadow was enough to easily envelope the Prince. 'I did, you Soneran bastard. What else have you got to—'

The Prince moved. One moment, the chieftain was looking down at him, jeering, and the next, the chieftain was staggering back, moaning in pain. He pawed at his own face, blood streamed between his fingers. His nose was broken.

Still, the Prince was not quite finished. He grabbed the chieftain's unruly beard and yanked down hard while bringing his knee up and slamming it forcefully into the man's chin before stepping back and watching the burly chieftain drop to the floor.

Above the chieftain's groans of pain, the Prince said, 'Thank you, Your Majesty. My diplomats and I look forward to discussing the treaty.'

At this point, Mirea was sitting slumped to the ground, back against the stone wall and head tucked between her knees, refusing to look up.

So, I saw what she did not. Through it all—the declaration, the beating, the departure—the Prince's expression had not changed. His face was stony, his gaze cold.

This was the boy that my friend, my Princess, would have to spend the rest of her life with.