Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 666: The road forward(2)

Alpheo reclined into the broad, cushioned chair that served more as a throne than simple seating. One leg draped lazily over the other, his elbow rested on the carved wooden arm, chin nestled in his palm, gaze fixed with mild curiosity on the boy standing before him.

Fifteen, maybe sixteen? he mused silently, brow arching. Should I be offering him milk instead of wine?

He hid his amusement behind a neutral expression, but the thought lingered. The boy was slight of frame, far too young to wear the weight of a city on his shoulders, and yet here he was—alone, outside the gates of a dying stronghold, surrounded by men who would gut him without pause if ordered.

What in the world is Cretio thinking? he wondered. Sending this... boy... as an envoy? Did they really run out of men? Are the walls held by babies?

If the city meant to surrender, any old officer or even a frightened clerk would’ve sufficed

Alpheo’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying him now with more intent.

The boy, Thalien, he’d heard the name mentioned among the reports, a younger son of the old prince, third in line and supposedly more suited to taverns than thrones.

He stood with surprising composure, straight-backed and smiling faintly. If he was nervous, he wore the mask of courtly manners well.

The prince was quite surprised by how calm he appeared, as he knew very well the sort of fame that surrounded his name.

Brave little bastard, Alpheo thought. Or stupid. Possibly both.

Thalien gave a small, formal bow.

"I thank you for receiving me, Your Grace," he said, voice smooth and just soft enough to perk years. "My name is Thalien, son of His Grace Lechlian, Prince of Herculia, Lord of Casionanum, and bearer of more titles than I care to waste your time listing." 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"If you would be so kind," Thalien continued with a gentle, almost innocent tone, "as to offer me a cup of wine, I find my throat rather dry after the walk."

Smart enough to ask guest rights...

Alpheo’s smile twitched, bemused. The boy knew the rules of courtesy well. A clever way to secure protection. Cleverer still to make it seem like a casual request so as not to make it appear as an insult to the host.

So this is Thalien... Alpheo leaned back further in his chair. He hadn’t had much reason to pay the third-born any mind before. Too far down the line of succession to matter. Or so he’d thought.

"I must apologize for the... less-than-royal welcome," Alpheo replied smoothly, as though he hadn’t been hurling stone and fire into the boy’s home for a month straight. "We were not expecting to greet someone of such noble standing today."

He turned slightly and gave a casual wave to one of the guards. "See to our guest’s request. Let him be treated with the respect due to his blood, no matter if that is of the enemy’s."

The guard gave a short nod and stepped out.

As the order was given, Alpheo caught the subtle shift in Thalien’s posture—the way his shoulders eased, the way the faint line of tension around his mouth softened. It was a brief, unguarded moment, and it amused Alpheo more than he’d expected.

Scared I was going to throw you in chains, were you? he thought, his inner laugh cruel and fond at once.

"You’re braver than you look," Alpheo said aloud, his tone calm and measured as he lifted his goblet, eyeing the boy over the rim. "Considering they sent you into the hands of the enemy. Did Lord Cretio truly lack men, or does he hope for me to held you in captivity? Forgive me—I mean no offence. It’s just that I didn’t expect someone so young to play envoy."

Thalien offered a slight smile, composed and poised, the flicker of confidence dancing in his eyes."No offence taken, Your Grace," he replied smoothly. "Though, weren’t you about my age when you married your wife and took the throne beside her?You, better than anyone, should know that age is not all that matters"

Alpheo paused, the wine halfway to his lips, and gave a short chuckle."Gods, I always forget about that." He leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him. "Feels like a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then—too much, if you ask me."

He was about to shift the conversation toward the boy’s father when the tent’s entrance flapped open and a servant slipped inside, silent as a shadow. The man placed a carved carafe and two silver cups on the table between them. With the ease of ritual, he poured the dark red wine into both, bowed, and disappeared just as quickly.

"I thank you for the wine," Thalien said, reaching without hesitation for his cup. He downed it in a long, steady pull, as if he’d been waiting all day for it, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now, if I recall, you were asking me something?"

Alpheo raised a brow, more amused than anything."Yes," he said, slowly swirling the wine in his goblet. "I was wondering why Lord Cretio saw fit to send you of all people. A young of royal blood stepping into the jaws of a siege feels... unconventional."

Thalien set the empty cup down with care."Ah. Then I suppose you’ve not yet received the news. A relief, in a way—it means our walls still hold against your spies, even if only barely." He looked straight into Alpheo’s eyes, tone suddenly heavier. "Lord Cretio has been called to a better life."

The words landed with the weight of a dropped blade.

Alpheo’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around the stem of his goblet.

Not by my hand, he noted silently. At least not directly. Assassination?Infighting? Poison? Or did he finally drop from sheer exhaustion and disappointment for his liege?

"May he rest in peace," Alpheo said after a beat. His voice was polite, but there was little true reverence in it. "And in the chaos that follows such a loss... who commands the city’s defense?"

Thalien gave a short, courteous bow."That would be me, Your Grace."

Alpheo blinked.

He hadn’t expected the enemy commander to be the envoy.

Still, it appeared too strange for that to be the truth.

He has the blood, certainly. But command? At his age? No doubt someone else pulls the strings behind him—some old general or scheming noble. The boy’s the mask they put on the face of order.

After a small moment he continued.

"Well, that would make your presence here all the more surprising," Alpheo said, his smile faintly edged with irony. "Are you not worried I’ll seize the opportunity and detain you? Might end the siege without another drop of blood."

Thalien widened his eyes in mock surprise as if the idea never crossed his mind ."Your Grace," he said, tone light and full of exaggerated decorum, "such an act would be beneath the code of nobility, I am but your guest....also detaining me would be a poor play regardless.

My loss would serve you little, you are holding all the cards right now, you truly think the city has much stomach to continue the siege? The loss of face you would have to incur would outweigh the gain several times over." He reached for the newly-filled cup the servant had refilled without a word. "Besides, I came bearing compliments."

"Oh?Not accusations?" Alpheo said, amused again. "Let’s hear them, then."

"I must commend you, Your Grace, on the masterful way you played my father the fool. Truly—he never saw it coming. I found that the rumor about your ploys is true.

Never have I seen such a joke at the expense of the enemy."

Alpheo tilted his goblet in mock salute."I may have laughed once or twice. And you? You don’t seem so offended by my little performance."

He, of course, knew of the father-son relationship.

Thalien gave a slow, sardonic shrug."I enjoy a good joke. Especially when the punchline’s at my father’s expense. Besides,his lordship final days were grim enough. Your... trickery at least broke the monotony. For that, I suppose I should thank you."

He drank again, slower this time."Which brings me to the purpose of my visit."

Alpheo straightened, setting his cup down. The air shifted.

"Go on."

"I came to gauge your appetite, Your Grace—for surrender." The words were plain, but delivered with deliberate weight. "We both know the end of this siege is written. I would rather it come without more corpses to count. The city is tired. I am tired. And I suspect, by now, even your soldiers are dulled by this endless battering. Shall we talk terms like men, or do we keep feeding the pyres for pride’s sake?"

The tent was quiet for a moment, save for the wind flapping softly against the canvas walls.

Alpheo tapped a finger against the goblet, expression unreadable.

"You’re well-spoken for a boy born in silk," Alpheo said, setting his goblet down with a soft clink. His voice was steady, casual—even amused—but there was a steel edge beneath it. "And either very brave... or very stupid. Still, let’s be clear: the only pyre that would burn now is yours, my troops are as well preserved as they were when they arrived. No sickness and no hunger took hold of them."

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "That said, I’ve no great love for dragging this siege any longer than I must. So, tell me, young princeling —do you come bearing terms, or just pleasantries?"

The tone was one of forced indifference, but beneath that calm mask, Alpheo’s mind was a furnace of anticipation.

This was it. The final crack in the wall he had so desired.

He had spent efforts, food and coin and weeks battering the city’s gates without ram—and now, at last, they were bending.

Victory was within reach.

The beauty of it was that Lechlian, the proud old fool, had gathered his last strength into one neat, brittle army.

All that remained between Alpheo and the spoils of Herculia, after that small army hiding behind the crumbling wall of a city surrendered to him, was just an old craven.

And once that too fell?

Herculia would be his. All of it.

From the hills of Casionanum to the Loutum river, every grain of wheat and men . The first jewel in the crown he meant to forge with fire and broken laurels.

He hid the excitement with a sip of wine, his lips curling faintly.

The first of many.