The scent of roasted meats, spiced wine and cider drifted lazily through the warm air of Alpheo's command tent, the heavy canvas fluttering now and then in the evening breeze like a silken veil at the entrance of a king's palace.
Inside, a small feast was underway with enough food for both dinner and breakfast , and enough wine to drown the memories of a thousand battles. The war was over in all but name, and the mood among the prince's inner circle was unmistakably festive.
But above all others, it was Alpheo himself who radiated satisfaction.
He leaned back in his chair with the air of a man who had not only eaten well but had dined on victory itself.
Inside his private tent , under his bed lay the prize that had brought such delight—two simple scrolls.
One contained a list. The other, a signed confession.
It was more than mere parchment. It was leverage. Control. Power hidden behind wax and paper.
