Viper's Gambit

Lysandra's war drums echoed through the Silvercross Pass, a heartbeat of impending carnage. Valencia stood beside Xyrus on the battlements, watching the horizon writhe with emerald banners. At their center rode a figure clad in scales, her helm shaped like a serpent's jaws—Queen Vela of Lysandra, the viper who'd swallowed three kingdoms whole.

"She'll demand parley," Xyrus said, gloved fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword. "To gloat."

Valencia adjusted her silver-forged dagger, its vines biting into her palm. "Let her. I've tasted worse poisons."

The parley tent stank of saffron and deceit. Vela reclined on a divan, her armored tail coiled beneath her. "Princess Valencia," she purred. "How… ordinary you look. I expected Liora's heir to have more… venom."

Xyrus stepped forward, blocking Valencia from Vela's slit-pupiled gaze. "State your terms."

"Terms?" Vela laughed, fangs glinting. "You're already dead. I'm here to collect the corpse." She flicked a claw toward Valencia. "But I'll take her blood first. It's special, isn't it?"

Valencia's dagger was at Vela's throat before the guards stirred. "Try drinking it. See what happens."

Vela's smile widened. "Oh, I will."

Back in Feron's war room, Valencia collapsed into a chair, her bandaged arm throbbing. The vines' whispers had grown louder since the parley, hissing in her dreams. More. Give us more.

Xyrus slammed a goblet of wine onto the table. "She knows about the blood. How?"

"The traitor," Valencia muttered. "The one in your court."

He froze. "You think it's someone close."

"I think you're too trusting."

A knock interrupted them. The rebel leader entered, her crow-feather braids dusted with snow. "The vines are withering again. They need another offering."

Valencia stood, dizziness clawing at her vision. "Take me to them."

The mine's crystalline glow had dimmed to a sickly gray. Valencia knelt, pressing her palm to the largest root. The vines lashed, piercing her skin. Blood seeped into the earth, and the cavern flared with light—but this time, the roots didn't release her.

Xyrus yanked her back, his sword severing the tendrils. "Enough!"

The rebel leader smirked. "You see? It's not enough. She needs to bind herself. Fully."

"No," Xyrus growled.

Valencia wiped blood from her lips. "I decide what I give."

That night, Xyrus cornered his spymaster in the archives. "Who's been accessing the mine reports?"

The spymaster palmed a dagger. "You're too soft, Prince. Feron needs a king, not a gardener."

The fight was brutal, silent. Xyrus emerged with a broken rib and a name—Lord Eryll, his childhood tutor, now Vela's puppet.

The rebel leader's ultimatum came at dawn. She stormed into the council chamber, flanked by Pherri warriors. "Crown Valencia, or we join Lysandra."

Chaos erupted. Feron's lords drew blades. Valencia climbed onto the table, her voice sharp as shattered glass. "You want a queen? Here I am." She slashed her palm, letting blood drip onto the map of the borderlands. "But I won't rule corpses. Stand with us, or feed the vines."

The room stilled. Even Xyrus looked at her as if seeing a stranger.

In the crypts, Valencia faced Liora's empty tomb. Xyrus found her there, his breath ragged from the fight. "Eryll's dead. But Vela's already moving."

Valencia traced the inscription. "The crown is a root."

Xyrus gripped her shoulder. "We don't have to do this alone."

She leaned into his touch. "Yes, we do."

The battle began at twilight. Lysandra's forces surged, but Feron's soldiers fought with desperate fury, the cleansed mines at their backs. Valencia rode the front lines, her dagger singing, the vines responding to her blood with ravenous loyalty.

Then Vela appeared, her serpent mount crushing allies and enemies alike. "Little queen!" she taunted. "Let's see what you're worth!"

Valencia charged.