She had been watching him sleep for some time now. His sleeping looked as peaceful as it was to watch. His rhythmic breathing soothed her. He was dreaming, she wondered what of, part of her hoped it was of her. Such a thought made her blush and she had no choice but to look away. And yet, she quickly turned back to catch a glance of him once more. Even in sleep he looked regal, his features were sharp, effeminate in some parts, his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. Masculine in other parts, his brow, his nose, his jaw. No longer was he the boy she once knew, who read to her and filled her head with stories of heroes long passed. He was a man now, a stranger, her king. He had such a striking resemblance to their father, one could be forgiven for thinking they were twins. She repeatedly had to stop herself from calling out their fathers name when she saw him. He even sported the same messy hair their father had but not nearly as long. His hair resembled the night, such a deep and rich darkness, under light it sometimes even had a purple hue to it. The stars that glimmered in his hair were full of life and wonder. She remembered back in her youth how she used to lose herself in his hair. To lose herself in his world. She reached out and softly ran her hand through it. Such softness, nothing like her fiery hair. He still wore the common rags he arrived in the day before, the top of his loose poet's collar exposed his bare chest and with it a visible scar that seemed to run across his torso like two lines crossing in the shape of an angled cross. She remembered the first time she saw the scar. Her world teetered on collapse that her own brother could be dealt such a blow. In his absence she often thought of the scar, the pain he must have felt and perhaps still felt. But not today, Guinevere did not want to think of any more suffering. Instead she turned her attention to the rest of the room.

  In the years since his absence she seldom came into his chambers. The memories were too strong, it filled her with rage, regret, sadness and longing. The events of his exile were still not privy to her, no matter how many times she asked their father, no matter how many times she wrote letters to the Lords of War asking for the truth. She was always met with the same frustrating answer. But none of that mattered now, he was here, sleeping in front of her, he was finally back. That is all she cared about, and she would never let him leave again.

  She got up and explored the room. It was spacious, suited for a prince. Every wall was adorned with some kind of tapestry, some of them she knew, others she had no idea about. His fascination with stories and the past were always evident, it was one of the many things she loved about him. Her thoughts were full of memories of when they were younger, and he would tell her stories of famous heroes, both Stygian and human who lived long ago. And what they went through, the passion in his eyes was always captivating. One could be forgiven for thinking this room a miniature library for the books that dominated the shelves were vast. Too much for one person to have read it all, yet she knew he had read every single one of them. Some, many times over. Dust had covered many areas; ordinarily such a place would be kept in great condition seeing as the owner of the room was the crown prince himself. But the king at the time did not want the room to be touched, as though he wished to preserve a moment in time.

  She ran a finger through the table covered with letters, books and papers. A clear line passed through the dust as she looked at her finger. She could not help but get annoyed. If only they spoke to each other she thought, so many years wasted being angry and resentful. Her people were known for being stuck in their ways; they sought the rigidity and familiarity of tradition over the flexibility and uneasiness of emotion and those two embodied the former far too well.

  "Those correspondents are between Aslan Xerxes and his brother Keltyon. They had entered a dead zone near the southern edge of Iliad caused by war days before and blue moon butterflies were useless due to the lack of mana in the air, so they resorted to using letters." The man behind her said.

  She was startled but she did not show it, she turned to face him.

  "Go on," she asked.

  "The issue was that it took days to exchange letters, so any letter received was typically a day or two behind, effectively useless."

  She made her way to the chair next to the bed and sat down.

  "So how did they communicate?" she asked earnestly.

  "Aslan used the interval between messages to gauge the enemies position, if it was a day the enemy was still far away. If it took two or more days the enemy was close since the messenger would have to go the long way around," he continued.

  "How would this help?"

  "It allowed Aslan to use his army as bait to lure the enemy to him so his brother could attack them from the rear. Those letters on my desk are the final words Aslan sent to Keltyon. Informing him of their final location and their efforts to hold the line."

  "Did they?" she asked softly, knowing the answer.

  There was a moment of silence.

  Antares let out a dry laugh, devoid of all emotion. "In the letter Aslan said at best they could hold the line for three days. The casualties would be high, but they could, they would." Antares raised two fingers, "For two days, and two nights Keltyon and an army of twenty thousand strong rode as fast as the winds could carry them. On the morning of the third day they arrived exhausted, but prepared for battle. And battle they did."

  He let his words hang in the air, Guinevere latched on to every single syllable. "The skirmish was swift, only taking a few hours. But as the dust settled, what Keltyon was prepared to see was Aslan and the last remnants of his army on the other side of a sea of corpses. But what the general saw was the dead and rotting bodies of Aslan and a mere hundred or so of his men."

  Guinevere gave him a confused look, "One hundred? Aslan only had that little by his side?"

  Antares shook his head, "From the moment he sent the letter Aslan had no intention of asking thousands of his men to throw their lives in defense of mere land. He lied to them and told them to return to Akkad, he and about a hundred or so would remain to make sure they were not followed."

  "He had no intention of surviving did he?"

  Antares shrugged, "Not quite. He simply just had no intention of trading the lives of his men for his own. If blood were to be spilt that day, let it be his own. For if someone was to become a footnote in such a bloody war, let it be him. Not those who barely understood what they fought for," he finished.

  "What are your thoughts?"

  "They were both reckless and eager to make a name for themselves. Once they realized blue moon butterflies could not work they should have retreated back to Akkad and thought of a new plan. Land is worthless, it can be gained and lost. What is most important are the people. For as long as the people exist, there is no greater value."

  "A bit harsh, they were young men."

  "War is harsh, there is no room for rashness." He responded, rubbing his eyes. "But enough about that, did you come here to make sure I did not run away at night Gwen?"

  Guinevere let out a small laugh. She missed him dearly.

  "The thought might have crossed my mind once or twice on my way here, but the way you enjoyed yourself last night I figured you'd be too drunk to move." Guinevere said teasingly

  Antares furrowed his brow, rubbing his head.

  "When Typhon starts drinking, it is nearly impossible not to try and match his ferocity." He said with a smile escaping his face.

  "You are one to talk, I did not know you could drink that much... I guess five years is enough time to change a man." Guinevere turned towards the window.

  "I have not changed enough. I am still your dear older brother. That will not ever change," Antares grabbed her hand and smiling.

  Guinevere's heart started to beat faster. That is what she had been looking for, that smile that she had grown so accustomed to seeing her whole life, a smile that told her that everything was going to be okay. She had feared that smile would never return.

  "Oh yes, my dear and very loveable brother. In fact the most loveable man the city of Kish has ever seen. What is it they call you? The Earl of Lavender?" she said mockingly.

  Antares could not help but blush and look away. It was a moniker he was embarrassed by. His steep fall from grace was softened by his landing in the great city of Kish. His memories of the time bordered between what was real and what was not. The mixture of drink and exotic substances left him in a state of near euphoria. He drowned out the world, but the world was still acutely aware of him. His sexual exploits were the stuff of legends, spreading like wildfire throughout the lands with the assistance of songwriters and playwrights. He was indifferent to what they called him but to know his own sister was aware of these conversations brought him some embarrassment. Antares made a mental note that one of his first decrees as king was the imprisonment of all bards throughout all of Iliad.

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  "You know how these bards are, they greatly exaggerate exploits. Big or small," Antares responded.

  " I am sure your exploits were very big," Guinevere giggled.

  "So what really brings you here, Sister?" Antares looking to move the conversation along.

  Guinevere stood up and went towards the window. She drew the curtain open and a burst of light shone through covering the room in the warm glow of the morning sun. Already far down below, she could see the city of Akkad coming to life. Various houses in the distance had smoke emanating from their chimneys. The city would soon be humming and that meant the day could begin in full earnest.

  "I can not let you be late on your first day as king," beamed Guinevere. "I have been looking forward to this day for a long time, father would not forgive me otherwise."

  Antares sat up from his bed, a sad expression crossed his face.

  "We have not had the time to speak about him, about many things, about how I treated you when you-" Antares began.

  Before he could finish his sentence Guinevere launched a pillow at his face, almost knocking him off the bed. It seemed in his absence Guinevere's strength had increased tenfold.

  "There will be time to talk about father later. I am old enough to handle my emotions and how I feel, besides you have a kingdom to govern and I have already forgiven you for your 'welcoming' attitude in Kish. Stop trying to avoid your duties," Guinevere said scolding him.

  "I'm not even king yet, I have yet to even start the ritual or send out rav-"

  "Already taken care of, ravens were sent out to every corner of Iliad several days before you arrived by the Elders and father." A large triumphant smile came across Guinevere's face.

  "They knew you would drag your feet and use the time between being named king and your coronation as an excuse to postpone the procession."

  Antares hung his head in shame, he wished to curse the elders for being so proactive, something that was rare given their desire to always debate on important matters. Still it was not lost on him that even for them this was too eager. It was enough to let him know things were bad, Typhon's appearance in Akkad was the final confirmation he needed. Last he remembered he was stationed at the shore city of Larsa since his exile. Something was amiss, he could sense it in the air, taste it even. He wondered what could have happened during his absence to cause such a fuss so quickly.

  "Are things really that bad?" he asked.

  Guinevere took a moment to think about it, it wasn't that she was unsure how to answer more so, she was debating whether things were really as bad as she thought. Much of Iliad had changed over the course of these five years. It had become far more secular, closing itself off from its allies and the rest of Aurum. Commerce and trade suffered, not for the nobility or the royal family but for the common folk. The strain put on them was starting to grow, a series of conflicts with neighboring realms and conflicts within had made it difficult to raise grain for the coming year. This led to increased cost of goods, such effects were even beginning to be felt within Akkad itself, which meant neighboring towns and villages were sure to be suffering already.

  She did not want to overwhelm her brother with so much, but the truth of the matter was that this was the reality. So she sat back down and began to speak, she spoke of the events after his exile, the years following and the state of Iliad. She touched on many aspects from political conflicts to ones that took place on the battlefield. She spoke of the different factions that arose, Iliad was divided but more importantly the royal family was divided. Power was transferred to the hands of their brother Daimion. His desire to align himself with a faction that wished to return Iliad to the old ways was shocking at first, but it quickly came to be beneficial to them as they were members of nobility who had a monopoly on the Ilian trade. Daimion's rule seemed to benefit them most of all, this further shown by offering to replace all members of the council with Stygian nobility who had direct relations with these men. Of course there were few if any who could challenge this, their father was far too weak and was bedridden, as for those who could oppose they were sent on their own pseudo-exile.

  Casspien was confined to the castle, under close observation. Forced into dealing with land dispute claims. Typhon was sent in the opposite direction west to the port city of Larsa. Unlike Casspien who was made to serve under the Stygian nobility here, the giant Stygian was given control of Larsa and the largest navy in Iliad and commanded to deal with incursions and civil conflicts in the area. There he fought wars both on land and in the sea, matters made worse by the regular clashing with pirate ships from the Storm Islands and those further beyond.

  Guinevere spoke of herself and how she too was sent away by her father to the south-eastern edges of Iliad locked in conflict with the Nephilim of Vanaheimr in an effort to capture Hightower. She did not go into detail about her time there, seeming to avoid the conversation. Antares did not interrupt instead choosing to remain silent and listen. She spoke of the southern city of Eirdu, governed by their kin Xenon Xerxes, a fellow Lord of War. Guinevere had thought perhaps he would have pushed back on closing the borders as Eirdu, and by extension much of Iliad's main source of wealth, came from being a border kingdom, yet Xenon had no objections. In fact he welcomed the closing, which Guinevere later realized played into his hands allowing him complete monopoly on who and what was allowed into Iliad.

  It was clear to anyone, non so much than Antares, that Iliad was tearing itself apart at the seams, stretched too thin in multiple directions. Guinevere had yet to touch on what the other realms were doing during the years since she last saw Antares. But to Antares that was of little concern for now, Iliad was nearing a crossroads. She was in dangerous territory of losing what little power and influence she had, if not already done so. Finally, Guinevere ceased with her report, she hoped this would not be enough to scare her brother away. She looked at him for any sign to see if she could ascertain his thoughts on the matter but she could not. His training as a Lord of War was far too good, his body would never betray what his mind was thinking. An expressionless visage bore on his face. Antares fell back down on his bed and let out a large sigh, a reaction that was not expected.

  "Things have really gone to shit while you have been gone, Antares. I Hope you are happy," he said, softly to himself.

  In one fell swoop he leapt out of his bed and gave a big stretch. This was not the moment to feel sorry for himself, or even talk to himself. He needed to further understand what truly has happened to his home in his absence. His first ordeal was dealing with his coronation, depending on who arrived and who didn't would tell him all he would need to know about how the rest of the Stygians felt about him. He turned to his sister.

  "Thank you Guinevere. Gather the council for me please, including Casspien." He said while taking off his shirt and yawning.

  "What about Typhon?" she asked.

  Antares scratched the back of his head and let out a little chuckle.

  "I would actually like my first meeting as future king to go smoothly," he responded lightheartedly.

  King. She liked him referring to himself as that, for that was what he was. He was her king, their king. And he would be the one to fix things, to save their home from those who would wish to cause harm. She stood up.

  "As you command, my king," Guinevere said, bowing deeply.

  She exited the room and Antares began to undress, as he did so he made his way to the door on the opposite side of his room. He walked through and it led to an even larger room, one that was made of a softer marble. It was the prince's own private bathing room. It had been so long since he had been here. It was designed to give off the calming nature of a bath underneath a waterfall. Every corner of it was spotless, there were various smaller miniature pools where one could sit and enjoy the rejuvenating waters. In the center of the room ran an endless waterfall and on each side stood different kinds of liquid soaps, all of different scents.

  As he took a step underneath the waterfall, he allowed the warm water to wash over him. It felt like electricity ran through his body, he could feel his strength returning, his bones seemed to ease underneath the weight. The young prince began to clean himself and as he did he allowed his mind to wander to the conversation he just had with his sister. Such complicated matters his father left him, yet that was not what truly dominated his thoughts. It was that of his younger brother Daimion. He did not understand why Daimion would align himself with such a faction of greedy men who sought power so brazenly. He knew his brother had a sheltered life, while he and the rest of his siblings learned the art of war and many of its harsh and permanent lessons. Daimion was taught art and poetry and diplomacy. To be so easily swayed and by humans no less, it worried him. There was much to do, much to discuss, such was the life of royalty. He still had yet to decide in which manner his coronation would be handled. Even he knew the importance of it. In many ways it would dictate the kind of reign he would have. Antares was unsure of what to do or how to approach it. He would make sure to seek Lady Alena for council on the matter.

  He finished up underneath the bath and made his way back towards his room, the scent he had chosen to use on himself was lavender, a cheeky smile came across his face when he could smell faint traces of it. He dried himself off and began to get dressed. On his bed lay two different garments, both predominantly black as it was still a time of mourning for him and his realm. Yet the one on the right was adorned with various gold accents across it. It was the royal garment of mourning specifically designed for the king. While the clothes to his left was of a simple design of mourning for nobility. It was not as gilded as the one on the right for its accents were of royal purple and some silver around the cuffs and bottom of the pants. Antares instead chose the simpler of the two. As he slipped on the clothes they felt comfortable, snug as though they were designed specifically for him and him alone. In a corner of the room stood a mirror and he used it to fashion his clothes properly. He looked excellent, just as one would expect of royalty. The way his clothes flowed together, truly was breathtaking, Stygian design had no equal throughout all of the realms Antares believed. Although his bias may have assisted his opinion he was not far off from the truth. Stygian designs were unique enough that one could point them out in a crowd of dozens of different styles of clothing. They were also designed in a way that could easily be discerned whether the person was a prince, or princess or one of their various counts and countesses.

  The telling marker with the outfit Antares was wearing was with the waist cape attached to it, something only worn by the members of the royal family. A distinguishing enough addition to the outfit that even other realms adopted in various ways to mark a distinction within their own royal families. He ran a hand through his raven hair and gazed into his own eyes. Within the setting sun in his eyes, thunder gathered in the horizon. He was satisfied with his appearance.