Chapter 2

 The morning sun barely kissed the horizon when the army began its march back to the kingdom. The general, a man of few indulgences, had no patience for lingering in the shadow of battle. The cloying scent of death, even carried on a faint breeze, was a reminder of lives lost—a burden he carried silently. Days stretched on, the journey marked by a solemn rhythm of boots against the earth, until at last, the Citadel of Eldora rose into view like a beacon of hope. The towering capital of the kingdom stood regal against the dusk, its golden spires piercing the heavens.

This was the land he had sworn to protect, the land that had carved his destiny with merciless hands. As he strode through the cobbled streets of Eldora, memories assaulted him like ghosts from a long-forgotten war. His youth, forged in fire and hardship, whispered its scars into his mind. Yet, his expression remained impassive, unreadable—a mask of iron that only those closest to him dared to glimpse behind. 

 The cheers erupted as soon as his silhouette broke through the crowded streets. Men, women, and children lined the streets, their voices rising in a chorus of admiration. "Long Live The General!" they called, their words laced with awe and gratitude. The general did not wave or smile; he walked with the quiet confidence of one who knew his worth. His piercing gaze swept over the crowd, and wherever his eyes landed, silence rippled in its wake, as though even the air dared not intrude on his presence.

 The castle loomed closer, its magnificence fully revealed as the sun dipped lower, casting the gilded walls and balconies in a resplendent glow of gold and silver. The sight seemed almost ethereal, as if the very kingdom itself welcomed him home. By the time he reached the gates, the bustling streets behind him had fallen into an anticipatory hush, leaving only the steady cadence of his soldiers' armor echoing in the air. 

 Inside, the throne room awaited. The moment he crossed its threshold, an almost tangible chill greeted him, as though the vast hall itself acknowledged his authority. Torches flickered along the walls, their light casting shifting shadows that danced across the ornate tapestries. The guards on duty stood straighter at his arrival, their salutes sharp and reverent. He acknowledged them with a curt nod, his presence enough to stiffen their spines and remind them of their duty.

 The vast chamber seemed deserted at first, the stillness broken only by the soft clink of his boots against the polished stone floor. He suspected the king and queen had not come for their evening meals. Yet, as he advanced, a lone figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the room. The king stood waiting, his royal robes catching the torchlight, but it was the general who commanded the space. 

 For a moment, the two men locked eyes, and the weight of unspoken words filled the silence.

"General Kaelion," the king finally says a bit too enthusiastically warmly, walking to greet him. "You're already back. That must have been a quick battle. Just how you do it, eh?" He clapped a hand on Kaelion's armored shoulder, his pride unmistakable.

Kaelion gave a small bow. "Your Majesty." His expression was unreadable, his stoic demeanor unbroken even in the face of the king's enthusiasm.

The king gestured toward the doors leading to the dining hall. "Come, join us for supper. We must celebrate your triumph!"

"The meal can wait," Kaelion replied, his tone even but edged with urgency. "We have much to discuss. I worry the enemy's retreat may have been calculated. They might be planning something."

The king waved a dismissive hand, his joviality unwavering. "Since we've won, I'm sure it's nothing. The kingdom of Eryndoria may be cunning, but their armies are small. Surely they're no match for us, Kaelion."

Kaelion's brow furrowed slightly. "Don't be a fool," he said, his voice low but firm. "You know as well as I do not to underestimate them. There are rumors they've acquired a weapon—something capable of mass destruction. If those rumors are true—"

"All right, all right," the king interrupted, raising both hands in mock surrender. "We'll discuss this tomorrow. Tonight, let us enjoy the fruits of victory." He grinned broadly. "I've already instructed the servants to prepare a feast in your honor. You'll join us, won't you?"

Knowing it was pointless to argue further, Kaelion gave a curt nod. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

The grand dining hall of the castle was alive with soft candlelight and the clinking of fine silverware. A lavish spread of roasted meats, golden breads, and jeweled fruits adorned the table, their tantalizing aromas filling the space. Yet, despite the feast before him, General Kaelion sat stiffly, his back as straight as an arrow, and his plate remained barely touched.

 The king leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying his wine as he attempted to draw the general into conversation. "So, Kaelion," he began jovially, swirling the ruby liquid in his goblet, "tell me, what's your secret? How do you win these battles so quickly? It's as if you know their every move before they make it."

 Kaelion didn't even glance up from his plate. "Preparation," he said simply, cutting into his food with mechanical precision.

 The king chuckled nervously, glancing at his wife and daughter for support. "Ah, yes, preparation. Truly, a man after my own heart." He turned to the queen. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

 Queen Evalyn, seated regally at the other end of the table, raised a single eyebrow. "Indeed," she said dryly, though her eyes betrayed her growing irritation at the general's lack of enthusiasm.

 Meanwhile, Princess Sharlise sat beside her father, her delicate hands folded primly in her lap, though her eyes were anything but composed. She had spent the better part of the meal sneaking glances at the general, trying to catch his attention. First, she pretended to drop her napkin, hoping he might notice her graceful movement as she retrieved it. He did not. Then, she lightly coughed, just loud enough to be heard across the table. Still, his focus remained solely on his plate.

 Frustration bloomed across her porcelain features as she turned to her father with a pleading look. The king, catching her expression, seemed to take pity on her. "Kaelion," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin, "you know, it's been a long time since the royal family hosted a wedding."

 Kaelion paused mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. "Hmm," he replied noncommittally before taking another bite of roasted pheasant.

 Undeterred, the king pressed on. "Don't you think it's about time? A man of your stature—so revered by the people, so… capable—would make an excellent addition to the royal family. Imagine, General Kaelion, King of Eldora."

 The general finally set down his utensils, his gaze lifting to meet the king's. For a brief moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. "Your Majesty," he said evenly, "I believe I serve the kingdom best on the battlefield, not on a throne."

 Princess Sharlise's face fell, and she glanced helplessly at her mother, who was now gripping her wine goblet so tightly it looked as if it might shatter. The queen's lips pressed into a thin line as she struggled to contain her fury at what she clearly saw as an insult to her daughter.

 The king, however, let out a hearty laugh, waving away the tension like smoke. "Nonsense, Kaelion! A man can do both. But perhaps we'll revisit the subject later. For now, let us toast to your victory!" He raised his goblet high, and the others reluctantly followed suit.

 Kaelion, with a polite nod, lifted his own glass but barely sipped before setting it back down. "Thank you for the meal, Your Majesty," he said, rising from his chair. "But if you'll excuse me, it's been a long journey. I'll retire to my quarters for the evening."

 Before anyone could respond, he gave a sharp bow and strode out of the hall, his cloak billowing behind him.

 As the heavy doors closed, the queen slammed her goblet onto the table, the wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "The nerve of that man!" she hissed. "To dismiss the king's generous offer so casually! And to ignore Sharlise entirely—our daughter! What arrogance!"

 The king shrugged, his expression annoyingly serene. "Oh, let him be, Evalyn. That's just Kaelion. He doesn't mince words or waste time on pleasantries. Besides, he saved our kingdom again, didn't he?" He took another sip of his wine, clearly unbothered.

 The queen's glare could have melted steel, but she bit her tongue, knowing there was no reasoning with her husband when he was in one of his unshakable moods.

 Sharlise, meanwhile, stared forlornly at the doorway through which the general had disappeared. Despite her father's nonchalance and her mother's fury, she couldn't help but feel a pang of admiration for Kaelion. His stoic demeanor, his unshakable resolve—it only made her want his attention more.

 For the moment, she let out a sigh and prodded her untouched dessert, feeling a twinge of disappointment. Yet, deep down, she was certain that eventually, she would win him over—after all, who in the entire kingdom was more worthy than she? A smirk crossed her face as she resumed eating.