Oath of Ruin (The Warlord Chronicles #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

What if I never get to leave?

One afternoon beyond the castle walls would ease all my woes, my dread. I don’t mind the duties of being Princess of Cathros, but I always longed for more. My father never allowed me to leave the grounds, not while war raged across the seven kingdoms.

What if I jump?

It would be easy to climb over the balcony’s stone railing and plummet into the ocean below. Waves crash into the rocks at the base of the cliffside, sending large plumes of water soaring skyward. I could dodge them—maybe, and swim toward the sandy shore in the distance.

My fingers tremble around the worn leather-bound book I clutch to my chest. I silently recite the lines to myself to calm my nerves.

I’ve read it more times than I can count, scribbled notes in every margin, and pored over every page as if the words would somehow change.

It was wishful thinking that I, too, could ever wield power like the warlord in this book.

What if I—?

“Good afternoon, Raelys.” A voice behind me interrupts my thought.

Turning, I see my handmaiden, Eleanor. She smiles as our gazes meet, her dark brown eyes crinkling at the corners. Her braid cascades over her shoulder in a long strand of gray, loose pieces dancing around her face in the breeze.

“Hello, Eleanor,” I reply softly.

“We must get you ready,” she requests, smoothing her hands over the front of her dress.

“Just a bit longer…” I try not to let my pensive mood show as I glance back at the sea.

It is dry in the south, the sun’s unforgiving rays beating down like heat from a forge.

I wonder what the sand beneath my feet would feel like, or the waves against my skin.

All I need is one dip in the ocean to cool down, to clear my head.

Not that I know how to swim, but it can’t be that hard… right?

“Are you not excited about your brother's return?” she asks.

“Oh, I’m thrilled. It’s been far too long,” I call out, fiddling with the frayed edges of the book cover.

A few weeks ago, my brother sent a letter announcing his plans to travel home.

He is the commander of Cathros’ royal army, fighting on the front lines to defend and protect our kingdom.

Every year, he departs in the middle of spring and returns just before snowfall.

This schedule allows the soldiers to come home and rest their weary bones in the warmth and safety of the south, rather than the snowy, barren cold of the north.

Valentin is traveling home far earlier than usual this year, which makes me suspicious.

I only receive updates on war plans through my brother's letters or gossip in the castle halls, as my father never shares such information with me.

Every time I ask what is happening, my father says, ‘You can leave when the war is over.’

I've been asking for fourteen years straight.

“Excellent. Let us prepare you for tonight, then,” Eleanor replies.

Turning, I walk back inside my bedchambers, setting down my book on a side table as I pass.

I plop down unceremoniously in front of my vanity, waiting for Eleanor to pin my long, pale blonde strands into a half-updo.

After she finishes my hair, I apply small amounts of color to my lips and cheeks, blending it in with my fingertips.

I pat a dark color onto the outer corners of my eyelids to complement the sapphire blue striations in my irises.

I stand and allow Eleanor to help me dress.

She pulls the corset strings tight in the back, and I huff out a strained breath as the fabric settles around me.

The romantic, long-sleeve burgundy gown flares at the waist, the gold details shifting in the light as I move.

Eleanor places a diadem atop my head, ensuring it doesn’t catch in my hair before stepping away.

“I will call someone to escort you,” Eleanor says sweetly.

“Okay,” I relent, a grim feeling filling me.

Eleanor disappears into the hall, returning me to my solitude. I cannot walk alone; my father forbids me to do so. The silent shadow of a guard always accompanies me. I’m never alone, but always so lonely.

My father, King Ulrik Valantis, has called for a celebration at the castle upon my brother’s arrival home.

We rarely have social gatherings at the castle; my father always claims they are too costly in these difficult times.

I suppose it will be enjoyable to spend the evening outside of my bedchamber for once, a rarity for me.

The door opens again, and I see one of my favorite soldiers, Timothy, in the hallway with Eleanor.

His armor is dented and speckled with dirt.

A longsword hangs off his belt. His wavy brown hair looks somewhat messy.

Timothy’s eyes have dark bags beneath them, like he hasn’t slept in days.

I watch his lips turn up in a lazy smile at the sight of me.

“Highness,” he greets me.

My somber mood eases at the sight of him. “You’re back,” I point out as we walk together. “I’m surprised you survived the battle at Crossgate,” I tease.

“You wound me, Princess.” Timothy smiles, placing a gloved hand over his chest in mock pain. “You should hope I am a good fighter, as I am your guard for this evening.”

I laugh. “How did it go?” I ask curiously. “Did you see my brother?”

“It was a remarkable victory. Your brother restored all the land the Elvarrans had captured and took control of the passage.” Timothy radiates with pride.

“Halfway through the battle, the duke protecting those lands turned and abandoned his men to save his pregnant mistress. Horatio Horne, I think the duke’s name was?

Without his leadership, they were easy to conquer. ”

“That’s good news, indeed. Cutting off that mountain pass means the Elvarrans can’t travel as freely to the south,” I remark, taking in the information.

“Indeed. It forces the Elvarrans to make the twenty-day journey east to Grimhold Crossing if they need to travel to the south.” Timothy keeps pace perfectly with my line of thought.

“Anything else?”

“The kingdom of Erynthe is holding up better than I expected,” Timothy says. “King Francis Van Buren recently sent boats with rations to Liora.”

“How interesting,” I muse. “Erynthe is known for being so… recluse.”

The kingdom of Erynthe is on the largest island of the Southern Isles, secluding itself from the rest of Dratheria. They are excellent mariners, spending most of their time crafting boats and fishing in the nearby reefs.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Timothy replies, his tone unimpressed.

I leave it at that.

As we turn the corner, the guards posted in front of the great hall allow us entry. Guests waltz in the center of the room, their bodies flowing across the polished marble floors. A string quartet plays lively music, creating a moment of respite against the weight of war.

My gaze immediately catches on my brother, Valentin, who is standing beside my father’s throne.

He wears a finely tailored formal coat, black trousers, and tall boots.

The extravagant gold buttons stand out against the dark burgundy fabric, matching perfectly with my dress.

Valentin runs a hand through his neatly styled curls, and I notice a fresh scar that runs across his left brow.

His blue eyes light up at the sight of me as I approach. “My dear sister.” Valentin pulls me close for a hug. “How I have missed you.”

I wrap my arms around my brother and hug him close. “Thank the gods you’re home,” I say in relief.

“You’re late, Raelys.” My father’s voice is gruff.

Ulrik wears an embellished coat, the right chest embroidered with our family crest—a golden stag.

Beneath the extravagant coat are brown trousers and well-polished boots.

It's as if the clothes are wearing him, a bit saggy and ill-fitting. I’ve watched my father wither away from his illness over the years, his gray hair thinning, wrinkles deepening, and age spots darkening.

No healer has been able to figure out what is causing him to decline.

Ever since I was a child, my father has had burn scars on the left side of his jaw, down to his neck.

It almost appears like a handprint, one jagged scar cutting diagonally across his chin, with four longer peaks across the side of his neck.

If I even so much as mention the burn, let alone ask what happened, he would send me to my bedchamber without supper.

Sometimes I would purposefully ask to get out of mind-numbing social events.

“My apologies,” I say meekly, stepping away from my brother. I straighten out my gown and square my shoulders, standing with the perfect poise that he expects of me.

My father huffs an annoyed breath in response, turning his attention to my brother. “My beloved son.” His tone lightens as he addresses Valentin. “You have done House Valantis a great honor by recapturing Crossgate.”

“Thank you, Father,” Valentin replies, bowing his head.

Ulrik has ruled over the kingdom of Cathros for over thirty years. During his rule, he has allowed our kingdom to flourish, expand, and endure through the hardships of war. Soon, the title of king will pass to Valentin, who has been preparing to rule his entire life.

Turning my attention to the room, I see King Olav Friedrich of Avelisar. I did not know that he would be in attendance tonight. It is rare for visitors from other kingdoms to come to court, as traveling can lead to a potential ambush by the Elvarrans.

As I study Olav, it becomes clear that the years have not been kind to him. His hair has thinned, showing several bald spots. The king’s teeth have yellowed, and his skin is saggy and hollow-looking. He appears to be holding on by mere threads, on the edge of necrosis.