Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

With the dinner ended, the royal couple retired to their chambers. The room was bathed in the soft, flickering glow of candlelight, casting restless shadows across the high walls. The scent of burnt wax lingered in the air, mingled with the faint traces of jasmine perfume.

Alpheo lay stretched out on the grand bed, hands folded lazily behind his head, watching as Jasmine changed into her nightgown. She moved with the effortless grace of nobility, yet as the delicate fabric slipped over her bare shoulders, she let out a sharp sigh—one heavy with frustration.

”Our guest has no manners,” she muttered ”The way he ate... Gods, I’ve seen starved dogs with more refinement. He tore into his food as if he expected someone to snatch it from his plate.”

Alpheo smirked, adjusting his position against the pillows. ”He’s from a different world, Jasmine. A different way of living. You should’ve seen how Egil ate before he entered your father’s service through me . The man had the table manners of a warhorse.”

Jasmine turned sharply, placing her hands on her hips, the hem of her nightgown swirling around her ankles. ”From brute to brute—they are not so different,” she scoffed.

Alpheo chuckled, shaking his head. ”Egil is one of my oldest friends. He may be rough around the edges, but he’s loyal. I’d trust him to hold a dagger to my throat while I slept, knowing full well he wouldn’t use it.”

Jasmine narrowed her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. ”Yes, loyal to you,” she pointed out, her voice carrying a note of exasperation. ”But to me? He barely acknowledges my existence. The way he speaks to me—or rather, the way he doesn’t—it’s as if I’m nothing more than an inconvenience to him, if he wasn’t so dear to you I would have already done something about it .”

Alpheo sighed, rubbing his temple. ”Egil is... Egil,” he muttered, as though that was explanation enough.

Jasmine let out a dry, humorless laugh. ”Oh, well, that clears everything up,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. ”He’s a lord, Alpheo. A man of his station should know better. Did you see any of the other lords behaving that way? Did any of them look at me like I was beneath their notice?”

Alpheo sat up slightly, resting his weight on his elbows. ”No, because they can’t afford to,” he admitted. ”Nor do they have the skill to justify it. But Egil... Egil is not like them. He’s not a man made for courtly pleasantries. He was born for war, for bloodshed. That’s why men follow him. That’s why I trust him. I’d rather have one Egil than a hundred of those silk-clad nobles you speak so highly of.” He paused, tilting his head. ”When Egil smiles, he means it. When the others curl their lips, it could mean a hundred different things.”

Jasmine shook her head, disbelief and frustration etched into her delicate features. ”You say that because he respects you. But if he looked at you the way he looks at me, you’d feel differently.” She let out a small huff, pacing near the foot of the bed. ”It’s as if I’m a bothersome insect in his eyes—something to be tolerated, nothing more.”

Alpheo exhaled through his nose, watching her closely. He had never cared much for how Egil acted around others—what mattered to him was that Egil was unflinchingly loyal when it counted. But Jasmine was not just anyone. She was his wife, the woman who shared his burdens. Her grievances, whether he cared for them or not, were things he could not ignore. Even if Egil’s disdain was of no concern to him, it mattered to her. And so, by extension, it had to matter to him.

”I’ll speak to him,” Alpheo said finally, his voice softer now, laced with the quiet understanding of a husband who knew when to yield.

Jasmine raised an eyebrow, skepticism flashing in her emerald eyes. ”Will you?”

He smirked, a glint of mischief playing at his lips. ”I’ll try.”

Jasmine let out a slow sigh before sinking onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. She turned her head, her dark eyes sweeping over his face, her expression caught between curiosity and mild exasperation.

”By they way why are you so hell-bent on being generous to our guest?” she asked, stretching her legs beneath the covers, her voice laced with suspicion.

Alpheo smirked, his fingers idly tracing slow, deliberate circles on the bedsheet. ”Because he’s young and easy to mold. The perfect candidate for what we need.”

Jasmine arched a delicate brow. ”That simple?”

He nodded, his smirk deepening. ”He’s the youngest son—probably given the least honor, the least expectations. Someone like that will seize any chance to carve a name for himself. And if we’re the ones to offer him that chance, his loyalty is as good as ours.”

Jasmine scoffed, shaking her head. ”And here I thought you were just being charitable.”

Alpheo chuckled, the sharp glint in his gaze betraying the strategy lurking beneath his words. ”Inviting outsiders onto our land is always a risk. The best way to prevent rebellion is to make sure their leader never dreams of one in the first place. Give a man something to lose, and he’ll guard it with his life, show him what will be the consequence of rebelling and he won’t dream of thinking about it. That’s exactly what I’m ensuring.” He stretched his arms behind his head, the slow grin creeping onto his lips brimming with self-satisfaction. ”Which, I’d say, I’ve already succeeded in.”

Jasmine hummed thoughtfully, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. ”But isn’t he too young to command? Will the settlers even follow him?”

Alpheo let out a low chuckle. ”And I’m so much older?” He turned to her, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

Jasmine rolled her eyes, unimpressed. ”Age is one thing. Experience is another.”

Alpheo reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her fingers. ”They will obey him just as they obey you,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. ”We are not so far apart in age, and yet here we are, ruling just fine.”

Jasmine exhaled, shifting onto her side so she could meet his gaze more fully. ”The only reason they obey us is because of your army,” she said bluntly, her voice steady but laced with the weight of truth. The words settled between them, heavy yet undeniable.

Alpheo merely shrugged, utterly unbothered. ”And just as they obey us through the army, they will obey him always through that . Whether through respect or through fear—that part is up to them.”

Jasmine studied him in silence, her brows knitting slightly as if weighing the merit of his words. Then, narrowing her eyes, she asked, ”And if they don’t?”

Alpheo smirked, his fingers skimming lazily over the back of her hand. ”Then the army serves its other purpose.” He leaned back against the headboard, the flickering candlelight stretching long shadows over the sharp angles of his face. ”And if a few eggs need to be broken to keep the hen safe,” he mused, voice quiet but firm, ”I’ll be the one to crack them.”

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The week of their guest’s stay had come to an end. The crisp morning air carried the scent of the sea as Alpheo stood at the city gates, personally walking Torghan out, with Aron in tow.

Torghan stood before him, clad in the armor he had been given—a breastplate with bronze trimmings that gleamed under the pale light of dawn. It fit him well, though it was clear he was still getting used to its weight. But what stood out the most was the way he looked at Alpheo, eyes filled with something akin to awe, the way a chick would look up at the hen that had taken it under its wing.

Aron cleared his throat and spoke. ”We will now take him to see the land where his people will settle. After that, he will return to finalize the deal and bring the settlers.”

Alpheo nodded, arms crossed over his chest. ”You’ve done a good service for me, Aron.” He let the words settle before continuing. ”In a few weeks, I will send someone to take your place. I will have other jobs for you.”

Aron bowed his head, the hint of a satisfied smile on his lips. ”I am honored.”

Alpheo smirked. ”You earned it.”

After hearing that Arom smiling before turning to Torghan and speaking in Azanian, his words flowing smoothly like a river over stones. The translator, standing dutifully beside them, quickly relayed the message in their tongue.

Torghan listened, his expression serious, then gave a firm nod. He turned to Alpheo, his eyes lingering on him for a moment before he bowed deeply, the polished bronze trimmings on his breastplate catching the morning light.

Alpheo smiled, a knowing, satisfied look crossing his face.

With that, the group turned and made their way out of the palace gates . The heavy doors creaked as they swung open, revealing the road ahead. Step by step, the guests walked forward, leaving the city behind as the gates groaned shut behind them.

Alpheo’s gaze lingered on Torghan’s back as he walked away, the young warrior’s figure stiff with newfound purpose. The polished breastplate gleamed under the sun, but Alpheo knew that armor alone did not make a leader. His expression remained unreadable as he leaned slightly on the stone railing of the stairs , watching the group grow smaller in the distance.

Would Torghan prove himself when the time came? Would he rise to the challenge and lead, or would he break the first time steel met flesh? Alpheo exhaled through his nose. If the boy failed, he would have to find a replacement.

He turned on his heel, brushing the thought aside for now. Time would tell whether Torghan was worth the investment—or just another pawn to be replaced.

Whatever the case, his primary objective would already be fulfilled. By then, he would have a fresh pool of warriors—men who would fight for him with minimal cost and investment. A perfect arrangement, considering the likelihood that, in the future, he might find himself on the other end of a coalition war.

War was inevitable. It always was. And when that day came, he would need every blade, every shield, and every willing hand he could muster, not knowing however that day was coming faster than he had hoped or throught.