Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 585

Chapter 585: Catching up(1)
The White Army had finally returned to the city not as mere men, but as living legends.

Through every crooked alley and bustling market square, soldiers of the royal host strutted like peacocks, armor half-unbuckled, cloaks thrown over shoulders with careless pride. Taverns overflowed with drunken laughter and the clatter of mugs, each establishment vying to host as many veterans as its walls could hold.

Drinks were pushed into calloused hands with cheers; tankards of ale foamed over in wild toasts to the prince, to the White Army, to victory, and sometimes just to whoever could shout the loudest.

Whorehouses hastily nailed new signs to their doors — “Victory Discount!” — and opened their arms and legs alike to those who had marched for the prince. Soldiers found themselves beloved like long-lost brothers and prized like heroes of old tales, with offers of wine, women, and coin flowing with reckless abandon.

Around crowded fires and cracked tavern tables, the soldiers sang and spun their yarns, each tale grander, bloodier, and more impossible than the last. Battles were recounted where one man held a bridge against an army; duels where a common spearman bested a knight three times his size,. The common folk, starved of firsthand knowledge and drunk on patriotism, swallowed every word with wide, gleaming eyes.

In truth, much of the detail was wrapped in the colorful exaggerations born from too many victories and too much wine — but no one cared. All the people knew was this: their prince had marched against three enemies, left the capital surrounded by threats on every side, and now he returned not just victorious but glorious, his foes crushed, his banners flying high.

The soldiers’ pockets, heavy with plundered coin, were emptied as fast as they had been filled. They spent their spoils like men who thought the world owed them pleasure — and for a time, the city agreed.

For in those wild, golden days, the White Army were gods walking among men — and none dared remind them otherwise.

As the city outside bathed itself in drunken euphoria and careless celebration, the prince, too, took his share of solace.

Alpheo lay sprawled in the great bed of the royal chambers, his head resting against Jasmine’s shoulder. His freshly shaven face, free from the roughness of campaign life, had returned him to that younger, almost boyish look for which he had been so famed.

Jasmine’s fingers wove lazily through his hair, combing it back with the slow, absent-minded tenderness of one who was savoring a rare, quiet moment. They said nothing for a long while, only the sound of each other’s breathing filling the dimly lit chamber.

At last, Jasmine broke the silence, her voice little more than a whisper above his head.”I missed this,” she admitted, almost despite herself.

Alpheo lifted his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.”Is that so?” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin.

Without hesitation, Jasmine pinched his ear sharply.He shrieked — a short, undignified sound that echoed off the canopy bed’s silk-draped posts.”You fool,” she said, laughing. “You’re supposed to say you missed me too.”

He chuckled as he rubbed his reddened ear, the same boyish smirk still playing on his lips.

Jasmine sighed and, with a gentler hand now, drew him closer once more.”It’s tiring, you know,” she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of months spent ruling alone. “Tiring to be alone, to deal with my duties, to balance court and council without your counsel. Without your help.”

Her fingers paused in his hair, resting atop his crown as if she could will her thoughts into him.

In that moment, with his head on her shoulder and the city roaring somewhere beyond the walls, she was not the Princess of Yarzat and he was not her consort returned in triumph.

They were simply two people — husband and wife — trying to patch the space that months of war and distance had left between them.

Alpheo said nothing for a while, but he slipped his hand to hers and squeezed gently, as if to tell her without words that he had heard her — and that he had missed her too.

After some silent moment he stirred against her, lifting his head with a little grin that already hinted at mischief.”I have something,” he said, his voice low and promising, “something that will cheer you up.”

Before she could ask, he slid from the bed. The silk sheets whispered off his nakedness, but more importantly revealing his back — a canvas of scars crisscrossed over the muscles stretched taut beneath. Jasmine’s eyes followed the marks, those old, brutal souvenirs of some punishment he had never explained. More than once she had wanted to ask, to press, but something about the way he guarded that part of himself — like a wolf guarding a deep wound — had kept her silent.

He crossed the chamber with unhurried steps and knelt at a tall nightstand carved from dark mahogany. He opened a small hidden drawer with a press of his fingers and retrieved a slim, velvet-lined box. Turning back to her, he flicked the lid open to reveal a necklace — and Jasmine’s breath caught.

It was a magnificent thing: a delicate, intricate arrangement of white gold threads twined together like woven vines, with a single teardrop emerald suspended at its heart. The green of it was so vivid it seemed almost alive, burning bright even in the dim candlelight of the chamber.

“You know,” he said casually, his voice teasing, “when we broke the Oizenian host outside Aracina, I had the pleasure of laying hands on the royal treasure. A pitiful lot compared to what its name… but among the usual trinkets and baubles,” he added with a smirk, “I found a few worthy pieces.”

As he spoke, he circled behind her, the box clicking shut in his hand. Jasmine, catching on, gathered her hair and swept it forward over her shoulder, baring her neck to him with a slight tilt of her head.

Alpheo leaned close, the warmth of him brushing against her back, and with slow, careful fingers, he hung the necklace around her neck. The cold kiss of the metal made her shiver.

“I chose the best piece for you,” he murmured into her ear, fastening the clasp with a quiet, final snap.

The emerald rested perfectly against her throat, its green fire catching the light with every movement. Jasmine smiled — a real smile, one that reached her eyes — and reached up to touch the pendant.

Jasmine turned her head slightly, fingers brushing the necklace where it lay cool and heavy against her skin. “You have good taste” she said, the soft praise slipping from her lips with a teasing smile.

Alpheo, who was in the act of tossing the velvet box back onto the nightstand with all the grace of a man discarding a glove, turned with a mock bow. “Naturally,” he said. “And, fear not, I have not forgotten our Basil either.”

Jasmine arched a delicate eyebrow. “Oh? Pray tell, did you plunder something else from your vanquished foes?”

Alpheo chuckled, shaking his head as he returned to her side. “No, no. For him, I paid — and dearly, I might add. Had it built by our best woodworkers and artiasans. No gift for Basil would be secondhand, no matter how many treasures the Oizenians left strewn at my feet.”

Jasmine let out a pleased little hum, laying her back against the pile of silken pillows once more and opening her naked arms in silent summons. Alpheo took the invitation, diving back into the bed and landing beside her with a soft thud that jostled the mattress.

For a long moment, they simply lay there, the distant echo of festivities humming outside like the sea beyond a cliff. Then Alpheo, voice slightly muffled as he leaned into her warmth, muttered, “Speaking of the Oizenians… seems we’re hosting rather a lot of them these days.”

Jasmine shifted, threading her fingers through his hair lazily. “Indeed,” she said. “It seems half their noble blood is cooling in our dungeons or lounging in our guest towers.The others are envoy”

Alpheo lifted his head, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “And what is it they want?”

Jasmine sighed, her tone turning dry with amusement. “Well, losing a prince and two armies tends to cause a bit of… disarray. Many of their noble families have sent letters, desperate to ransom their kin back ”

Alpheo snorted a laugh against her skin.

Jasmine traced idle patterns against Alpheo’s chest, feeling the quiet thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. She spoke softly, as if weighing each word.”Than there is the new prince’s envoy.

He sent a diplomat — a clever one — to broker a peace between us and their new rule. And…” She hesitated, a slight smirk forming on her lips, “he extended a proposal.”

Alpheo tilted his head, regarding her with the faintest narrowing of his sharp eyes. “What kind of proposal?” he asked, suspicion already curling in his voice.

“A marriage one,” Jasmine replied, almost enjoying the way his body stiffened under her hand. “He requests the hand of my sister. They want us to become kins.”

Alpheo was already sitting up before she finished, the sheets pooling at his waist. His face, so newly shaven, was a mask of disdain.”Refuse,” he said simply, coldly, like the snap of a sword drawn in anger.

Jasmine blinked, caught for a heartbeat in surprise. She studied his face carefully, searching for any trace of doubt and finding none. “Are you certain?” she asked, sitting up beside him. “You yourself heard my grandfather — he told us plainly. Our greatest weakness is our isolation. Few allies, no strong ties to neighboring rulers. This marriage—”

“—is a secondary problem,” Alpheo cut her off, his voice growing hard, like iron cooling into its shape. His eyes burned with a dark certainty.”In none of the futures where we are to thrive do the Oizenians survive alongside us,” he said, each word falling like a hammer blow. “The only way we rise is if they fall. And fall utterly. No oaths, no silken promises. Their princedom must become ashes, their name a curse spat into the dust.”

He stood from the bed, his bare feet silent against the floor as he began to pace, the old scars on his back catching the soft candlelight. His voice deepened, steady and remorseless.”Do you forget?” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. “For the first years of our reign, who troubled us most ? It was the Oizenians — always pressing, always undermining, refusing any offer of peace that we had offered.”

He turned fully now, his hand slicing the air in emphasis.”And not just them. The Herculeians too. These two snakes slithered closest to our heels — but no longer.” His eyes gleamed with a hunger that was almost beautiful to behold. “The Herculeians are already broken. Their fields burn. Their sons rot in shallow graves. And by the time I am finished, the Oizenians will join them. Their towers will crumble. Their songs will be sung only by ghosts. Their banners will be good only for kindling.”

He came back to the bed, sitting beside Jasmine once more, but there was still a fire in him, a blaze she had seen before — the fire of a man who would not, could not be stopped.”This war is not truly over, Jasmine,” he said, softer now but no less fierce. “Not until we stand alone among the ruins, the only power left that matters.”

Jasmine stared at him, She saw, as she had seen many times before, not just her consort, not just her husband, but the unyielding force that had carried them from the brink of defeat to the edge of dominion.

And she knew then, with a certainty as deep as her bones: whatever lay ahead, Alpheo would either carve a world fit for them to rule — or burn everything trying.