Her Graceful War Song

With so much on her mind, Grace couldn't sleep. She rose, pulling a shawl over her shoulders, and walked with Lyra to Caden's chambers.

Silently, she dismissed the attendants keeping watch over him for the night. Taking a seat by his bedside, her gaze fell upon her son's delicate, youthful face. He seemed to be having a nightmare. Even with his eyes closed, she could feel the fear emanating from him.

She let out a quiet sigh, a flicker of vexation rising within her.

Asher-that was the middle name Trevor had chosen for Caden, one meant to instill virtue and teach him kindness and humility. But in truth, it was a name meant to make him docile, to mold him into a man who would yield and never fight, forever content in the shadow of others.

Why should he settle for that?

Her son had every advantage but birthright. In every way, he surpassed Kylie's

son.

It was not that Grace wished to fight, but without a fight, there was no survival.

Kylie was narrow-minded, selfish to the extreme, and utterly intolerant of threats to her position. If Caden had been dull or unremarkable, perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. But he was neither. Instead, he was the brightest and most gifted of the three princes.noveldrama

How could one tolerate a rival sleeping soundly beside them?

Connor might not be so ruthless now, but who could say what the future held? He and his mother would never tolerate threats to their power. To stand aside was to court ruin; to surrender was to die forgotten and unmourned.

Tomorrow, Grace would win. There was no alternative.

She had never entertained the notion of failure.

The plan was foolproof and carefully crafted to ensure success. Every detail had been meticulously arranged, and it was a strategy that would strike two birds with one stone-eliminating both Connor and Sylvia.

For nearly an hour, Grace lingered by Caden's side, watching over him in silence. At last, she rose and slipped away. Lyra quietly summoned the waiting attendants to return before following after her mistress.

"You should rest, Your Grace. It is late," Lyra murmured.

Grace pulled her cloak tighter, the high collar shadowing the edges of her face. Her eyes, however, glinted coldly in the darkness.

"This night is not meant for sleep. No doubt Queen Kylie is just as restless. She still clings to the foolish hope that Prince Connor will prove himself tomorrow, that the court officials might change their minds about him," she said.

Lyra shook her head. "If anything, Queen Kylie is torn between hope and despair. Prince Connor is improving, but has grown distant. She sought him out at Serenity Palace, yet he barely spoke to her. She left in tears."

"What a fool," Grace scoffed. "Who

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told her to resort to such extreme measures? She hurt her own son merely to preserve her dignity. Adults may understand her reasoning, but Prince Connopis still a child. How could he possibly accept that his own mother would go so far as to harm him in pursuit of her schemes?"

Lyra chuckled. "You're absolutely right, Your Grace. A royal prince doesn't act lightly, but when he does, he must secure the greatest advantage."

Grace remained silent, her brows knitted in thought.

It had never been her wish for her son to stain his hands with blood, but what choice did she have?

Meanwhile, Connor and Ryan were staying in Serenity Palace as they always did. Victoria had arranged shared chambers for them, believing that Ryan's presence would help drive Connor to improve.

Originally, their beds had been

placed at opposite ends of the room,

as per the eldest prince's request.

But as their bond grew, he had ordered the servants to move the beds closer, so they could speak more easily in the evenings.

An anxious Connor turned to Ryan, asking, "You don't think I'll falter tomorrow, do

you? If I ride poorly, my father will be so disappointed."

Ryan smiled reassuringly and said, "You've been training diligently. Even Uncle Rafael has praised your progress. Just relax. Don't let fear get the better of you. Ride as if it were any other day of practice."

"How am I supposed to not be

nervous?" Connor groaned. "Do you

remember the Verdant Hunt? Ugh

mustn't think of it. The moment I do,

I want to disappear from shame.

What was I thinking? I cried!

actually cried! How humiliating."

Mortified, he pulled the blanket over his face and kicked his legs in frustration.

"What's so shameful about that? I once fought a dog for scraps from a rubbish dump. Not only did the dog get the food, it also bit me," Ryan said lazily, his tone lighthearted.

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a crescent-shaped scar on his arm. The edges

of the old wound were thickened with scar tissue-evidence of how deep the bite had been.

"See? Many were watching, and they all had a good laugh. Now, that was embarrassing. Your situation hardly compares," he added.

Connor gazed at the mark on his friend's arm, noting how deep the bite had been. A pang of sorrow stirred in his chest.

"You endured such hardships... It's a relief that Uncle Rafael found you. I swear, you'll never go hungry again, nor will you ever have to fight a dog for scraps."

Ryan grinned. "Of course. From now on, I'll stick close to you. I'll be eating fine meals and drinking the best wine."

"You will," Connor promised. "Where there's food for me, there will be food for you as well."