The feast in Cliffland did not slow down. If anything, it grew louder with each passing hour.
What began as celebration turned into something else entirely. Barrels were dragged into the open, cracked open without ceremony. Wine spilled over cups, over tables, over hands that no longer cared about waste. Meat roasted over open fires, the scent thick in the air, mixing with sweat, smoke, and something sharper that came after battle.
Victory had a smell. And they wore it like armor.
Men who had stood on the edge of death days ago now laughed like nothing could touch them. They slammed cups together, shouted names, told stories that grew bigger each time they were repeated. Someone climbed onto a table and began to sing. Others joined, off-key, too loud, but no one cared.
"King Drexo Dragarian!" the chant rose again. It came from one corner first, then spread, catching like fire in dry grass.
"King Drexo Dragarian!"
Drexo sat at the center of it all, a cup in his hand he barely drank from. He smiled when they looked at him. Nodded when they raised their cups. Played the part they needed him to play.
But his eyes always moved. Watching, and measuring. The victory was real. No one could deny that. They had broken Robert's forces, held Cliffland, and turned back Edmond the undefeated warlord himself.
Still, something in him refused to settle. Maybe it was the way the battle had almost slipped. Maybe it was the look in Edmond's eyes before he turned away.
Or maybe it was Maria. Because she did not celebrate the way the others did.
On the second night, when the fires burned lower and the noise softened just enough, she was already gone.
Drexo found her where he expected. The forest. It stood just beyond the edge of Cliffland, quiet in a way the city no longer was. The air felt cooler there, untouched by wine and shouting. Leaves shifted softly above, the sound almost like whispers.
Maria stood with her back to him. Still, as if she had been there for hours. "You left early," Drexo said.
She did not turn immediately. "I do not enjoy noise after war," she replied. Her voice was steady. Too steady.
Drexo stepped closer, brushing past low branches, the faint crunch of leaves under his boots the only sound between them.
"They are celebrating you."
"They are celebrating victory."
She paused.
"Those are not the same thing."
He studied her for a moment. Then exhaled. "What next now?" he asked. "Are we just going to bask in this victory?"
That got a reaction. She turned slightly, just enough for him to catch the edge of her expression.
"No."
Simple, and direct. "I would advise you take advantage of this victory and attack Dorne."
Drexo let out a quiet chuckle. Not mocking. More impressed. "They will either bow," she continued, "or get slaughtered."
There was no hesitation in her tone. No doubt. Just certainty. And that, more than anything, was what drew him to her.
He had seen commanders hesitate. Lords debate. Men dress fear up as caution. Maria did not do that.
"I hope you have a plan for this attack," he said, tilting his head slightly. "But please, let the rest of us know your full plan so we can adequately prepare."
For a brief moment, something shifted in her face. Not much. Just enough. Then she shook her head. "There is a traitor within your council."
The words landed hard. Too hard.
Drexo straightened. "What are you talking about?" His tone sharpened without him meaning it to. "You cannot just make allegations of that nature."
Silence followed. Not uncomfortable, but heavy.
Maria held his gaze without blinking. "They countered our plan because someone informed them."
Drexo's jaw tightened.
"That does not prove anything. It could be a coincidence."
Even as he said it, it sounded weaker than he wanted. Maria did not argue immediately. She just watched him. "I know what I am saying," she said finally.
There was no force behind it. No raised voice. That made it worse. "Edmond knows almost everything that happens here," she continued. "Including the day I brought you here."
Drexo looked away. Just for a second. Then back. "That is not possible." But the words lacked weight. Because something in him recognized the truth in what she was saying.
He turned, pacing a few steps before stopping again. "Who could be betraying us?" It came out lower this time. Less defiant. More uncertain.
Maria shook her head. "I do not know." That, at least, was honest. "But you have to hide the most crucial information from your council for now."
Drexo stood still. The sounds of celebration drifted faintly from the city behind them.
Distant, and unreal. He nodded slowly. The next morning, the celebration did not stop. But something beneath it had changed. Word spread faster than fire ever could.
Robert's defeat at Cliffland traveled across Astarous, carried by merchants, by sailors, by whispers that grew louder with each retelling.
By the fourth day, it brought visitors. A ship appeared on the horizon, its sails pale against the sky.
White.
A flag raised high above it. No one moved to attack. They watched instead.
Measured.
Then allowed it through. The soldiers of Cliffland guided it in, weapons still in hand but lowered just enough to signal acceptance.
Lord Megan of Westmore stepped onto the shore with deliberate calm. He did not rush. He did not hesitate. He walked through the city as though he had already made his decision long before arriving.
When he reached Drexo, he bowed.
Deep.
"I heard about your conquest," he said. "You have proven leadership strength. This is why I have come to swear fealty to you."
A murmur moved through the gathered crowd. Drexo did not react immediately. He studied him.
Measured him the way he had begun to measure everything lately.
Then he nodded. Megan dropped to his knees. "By the name of Osonobruwhe, God of the Seiks, I, Megan Cardo, Warden of Westmoor, swear myself, my sword, and the entire Westmoor onto your cause."
The words echoed. Clear, and Blbinding. Drexo held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then spoke. "Arise, Megan Cardo, ally of the throne."
Megan stood. And just like that, the balance shifted again. Another feast followed.
Larger this time, and at the same time louder.
Westmoor soldiers joined the celebration, blending into the noise, raising their voices alongside Cliffland's men.
But even then, when night fell, Drexo returned to the forest. And Maria. He found her where he always did. Like she belonged more to the quiet than to the throne he was building.
He did not speak immediately. Just stood beside her. Let the silence stretch. "What next now?" he asked again, though the answer had not changed.
It never did.
The next day, Drexo made his move. The declaration came without hesitation.
War.
Not just against one. But against all six kingdoms loyal to Robert.
The words spread quickly, carried through the city, through the camps, through every man who would soon be asked to fight again.
Commander Gregory moved first. Orders snapped into place. Men gathered. Weapons were checked, sharpened, lifted once more. The rhythm of war returned almost instantly.
Drexo watched it all unfold. And felt it again. That same unease. "If there is an informant among us," he muttered to himself, "then I have to discover him."
He did not wait. He went straight to his aunt. She looked up as he entered, her expression shifting the moment she saw his face. "You look disturbed, nephew," she said. "What is going on?"
Drexo did not sit. He did not soften it. "There seems to be an informant around us," he said. "Someone very close to the throne."
Havana went completely still. "That is a huge allegation," she said carefully. "Are you sure about this?"
Drexo nodded. "Maria told me that every step we take here gets to Edmond before twenty four hours."
Havana exhaled slowly. Her eyes drifted for a moment, thinking.
Calculating.
Then she looked back at him. "Then declare a battle against the North to the council," she said. "Instruct them to keep it from the public for now."
A pause.
"My spies will watch every council member and general," she continued, "to see who will send a raven away."
Drexo nodded. It was simple.
Direct, and dangerous.
The next day, the council was summoned. They gathered as they always did.
Lords, qnd Generals. Men who had stood with him from the beginning. Or claimed to.
Drexo looked at them differently now. Not as allies. But as possible traitors. "I declare a battle against the North," he said. "We will take it down first."
The room shifted. Surprise flickered across some faces. "The North has never been defeated for years.
Approval across others. Questions rose, but he did not give them space. Plans were laid out. Strategies discussed.
Each man offers input, adjusting, refining. And through it all, Drexo watched.
Carefully, and quietly.
"I need you to keep this a secret for now," he said at the end. "Your men must not be aware of this plan."
He let his gaze move across each of them. One by one. Slow, and deliberate. "Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Grace." The response came as one. Clean, and perfect.
Drexo nodded. But something in him remained still.
Waiting.
Because now, it was no longer about war. It was about who would betray him first.