Chapter 4
Bellamy tells himself he won't return to the dungeons.
For two days, he manages to convince himself that his midnight visit was nothing more than morbid curiosity—a prince's need to understand his enemy.
He throws himself into his duties with renewed vigor, attending council meetings where they discuss what to do with their infamous prisoner, reviewing reports from the border, training with his sword until his muscles scream.
But when the third night comes and sleep eludes him once again, he finds himself pulling on his simple clothes and making his way through the castle's darkened corridors.
The guards are different this time—younger men who straighten nervously when they see him approach.
"Your Highness," one of them stammers. "General Harwick said—"
"I know what the general said," Bellamy interrupts gently. "But I'm not here to free the prisoner or interrogate him. I simply want to check on his condition."
It's a weak excuse, but they're too intimidated by his rank to argue. They unlock the door and step aside, though Bellamy notices they position themselves where they can see into the cell.
Ivah is awake, as if he's been expecting company.
He sits against the wall, but this time his shirt is unlaced and hanging open, revealing the powerful expanse of his chest. In his hands is a small clay pot of what looks like healing salve, and he's carefully applying it to the wound on his shoulder where Harwick's blade had found its mark.
The sight stops Bellamy in his tracks. He's seen men completely naked before but there's something about the way the lamplight plays across Ivah's muscled torso that makes his breath catch.
Broad shoulders taper to a narrow waist, and every movement reveals the play of muscle beneath scarred skin.
Dark hair dusts his chest, and intricate tattoos spiral down his arms, disappearing beneath the fabric.
"Back so soon?" Ivah asks without looking up, though there's amusement in his voice. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your nerve. Or perhaps you couldn't stay away?"
Bellamy realizes he's been staring and feels heat flood his face, but he can't seem to make his eyes move away from the careful movements of Ivah's hands as he tends to his wound.
"Do you..." Bellamy starts, then catches himself, but the words are already half-formed. "Do you need help with—"
He stops abruptly, mortified by what he'd almost said, but Ivah's knowing smile tells him it's too late.
"How thoughtful of you to offer, little prince." Ivah's voice is rich with amusement. "You’re braver than your general gives you credit for, to offer to step into the cage with the lion."
Bellamy's face burns even hotter, and he desperately searches for a way to change the subject.
"Tell me of Everitt" he says suddenly, the words tumbling out in his eagerness to steer the conversation into safer territory.
"I’ve heard plenty of the stories they tell children to scare them at night, but nothing of the truth. "
Ivah's hands still on his work, and he looks up with genuine surprise. "You want to know about my people?"
"I want to understand what drives a man to unite warring clans and march across kingdoms. There must be more to it than simple conquest."
Something shifts in Ivah's expression—the mask slipping to reveal something more genuine underneath. "You really want to know?"
"Yes."
Ivah sets aside the pot of salve. "Everitt isn't like Mirn, little prince.
We don't have fertile valleys and gentle rivers.
Our lands are harsh—mountains and forests where winter can kill the unprepared.
For generations, the clans fought each other for scraps while richer kingdoms looked down on us as savages. "
"So you united them by force."
"I united them by necessity." Ivah's voice takes on a more passionate quality.
"Do you know what it's like to watch children starve because raiders from neighboring kingdoms steal their food stores?
To see entire bloodlines wiped out because some lord decides barbarian land would look better with his banner flying over it? "
Bellamy finds himself drawn in despite himself. "Is that what happened?"
"Among other things. The Kingdom of Valden to our east has been pushing our borders for decades, claiming we're too savage to deserve the land we hold.
The Northern Kingdom sends raiders every spring to 'test our defenses.
'" Ivah's voice hardens. "They think because we live differently, we're somehow less human. "
"So you decided to show them otherwise."
"I decided to make them too afraid to test us anymore." Ivah's eyes gleam in the lamplight. "Nothing stops aggression quite like the knowledge that retaliation will be swift and absolute."
Bellamy nods slowly, beginning to understand. "You became the monster to protect your people from other monsters."
"Something like that." Ivah studies Bellamy's face with keen interest. "Most princes wouldn't understand that kind of choice."
"Most princes haven't had to make impossible decisions yet."
"Haven't they?" Ivah tilts his head, and suddenly Bellamy feels like he's being examined by those dark eyes with uncomfortable intensity. "Tell me, little prince—how are your negotiations with the Northern Kingdom progressing?"
The question stops Bellamy cold, his breath catching in his throat. The Northern Kingdom situation is supposed to be a closely guarded secret, discussed only in the highest levels of court. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" Ivah's smile is sharp. "King Kent has been making increasingly aggressive demands about your southern trade routes.
He wants access to your ports, your merchant networks, preferential treatment for Northern goods.
And when your mother politely refuses, he sends raiders to 'test your defenses,' just like he does to us. "
Bellamy's mouth goes dry. Everything Ivah has said is accurate—disturbingly so. "How could you possibly know that?"
"Because I make it my business to know what threatens my borders. And a weakened Mirn caught between hammer and anvil would be very bad for Everitt's security."
"Weakened?" Bellamy's voice rises slightly before he catches himself and lowers it again. "Mirn isn't weak."
"Mirn is strong but spread thin. You're trying to protect too much territory with too few soldiers, and your nobles are more interested in comfort than conflict." Ivah's analysis is delivered with clinical precision. "King Kent knows this. He's counting on it. What are you planning to do about it?”
"I'm not going to do anything. I'm not the ruler of Mirn."
"Aren't you?" Ivah leans forward, chains clinking. "From what I hear, Queen Amelli may wear the crown, but her son has considerable influence over policy. Especially military policy."
Bellamy feels heat rise in his cheeks. It's true—his mother values his input more than she probably should, and the council has grown accustomed to looking to him for guidance on matters of defense and strategy. But hearing it stated so baldly by an enemy makes him uncomfortable.
"My mother is the rightful sovereign. That day is still a long way off."
"Is it?" Ivah's voice drops to that intimate whisper again. "How many council meetings have you attended this week? How many reports have crossed your desk? How many decisions have been made with your input rather than your mother's direct command?"
The accuracy of the observation is unnerving. Bellamy has been involved in every major decision since his return from the battlefield, has felt the weight of responsibility settling more heavily on his shoulders with each passing day.
"That's different," he says, but the words lack conviction.
"Is it? Or is it simply that you've been preparing to rule longer than you realize?" Ivah's eyes never leave Bellamy's face. "The real question is—what kind of king will you be when the crown is officially yours?"
"I told you, that's a long way—"
"What will you do about King Kent?" Ivah interrupts smoothly. "Will you give him what he wants to avoid conflict? Will you try to negotiate a middle ground that satisfies no one? Or will you make the hard choice to show strength even if it means war?"
Bellamy opens his mouth to protest that he doesn't have to make those decisions, that his mother will handle the Northern Kingdom situation, that he's just a prince who follows orders. But the words die in his throat because they aren't true, and they both know it.
"I..." Bellamy starts, then stops, his thoughts in turmoil.
"You already know, don't you?" Ivah's voice is gentle now, almost coaxing. "You've been thinking about it, planning for it, weighing options and consequences. Because that's what leaders do—they prepare for the decisions that will define their reign."
"How can you see that when my own mother's council can't?"
"Because I recognize another leader when I see one. Even a reluctant one." Ivah's smile is more appraising than taunting. "The question is whether you'll have the courage to act when the time comes, or whether you'll let someone else make the hard choices for you."
Bellamy feels something cold settle in his stomach.
Everything Ivah has said rings true—about the Northern Kingdom, about his own role in Mirn's governance, about the decisions that loom in his future.
But hearing it laid out so starkly, by an enemy who sees more clearly than his own allies, is deeply unsettling.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asks quietly.
Ivah's eyes glitter with something dangerous and delighted, and a grin spreads across his face—something genuinely amused and pleased.
"Because you, little prince, are a far more interesting opponent than any other I've faced."
Bellamy blinks, taken aback by the unexpected answer. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"