In the smallest hours of the morning, on the very border of the country of Dalton, a tiny village lay in flames under the dark sky. Under siege by the enemy army of Carmel, the villagers’ screams echoed throughout the night and rose to the stars, flickering in and out between wisps of smoke. 

King St. James knew the quiet village to be an easy target. It was so small, and so far from the castle, that King Anderson would never bother to station the usual fleet of guards there. Beneath his order to attack the helpless town, men and women and children alike fell to the ground as his army, cloaked in black and gray, plowed through mercilessly.

The idea was to send a message to King Anderson that, despite his pathetic attempts to strengthen his tiny country, King St. James still had the power to take it from him. 

It wasn’t an organized attack. There was no need for that up against a defenseless village. The idea was to destroy as quickly and thoroughly as possible; to get under the King of Dalton’s skin.

In the chaos of burning buildings and the metallic whisper of swords being plunged into bodies, a young boy of twelve years dashed away into the thick forest with only one destination in mind: the castle. 

Just before the sunrise, Blaine was jostled awake roughly by a large pair of hands. Startling awake, Blaine sat up in bed and squinted through the muted darkness at the hulking shape standing by his bed.

“Finn?”

“Prince Blaine, you have to get out of bed,” Duke Finn said in a hurried, but hushed, voice. He spoke with an affectation to his voice that Blaine knew had the power to control a large quadrant of men on the battlefield. Suddenly, Blaine realized that something very serious had gone wrong. “Your father is summoning troops from all over Dalton, and you must come with me to the training fields.”

Immediately, Blaine flew out of bed, having no trouble untangling his sheets in the middle of such worry pounding in his chest. This was one of those times when he had to have courage, to be a royal before he was a human. To do what was expected of him. 

He dressed quickly, eyeing Finn cautiously as he paced back and forth across Blaine’s bedchamber.

“What has happened?” Blaine asked as he and Finn scrambled out of the room the second Blaine’s shirt was buttoned and began to jog through the extensive halls of the castle.

“There’s been an attack by King St. James on the border. He will be declaring war any day now,” explained Finn as they ran. The castle, which was normally still and silent at this time of morning, was buzzing with frantic activity. Blaine thought he saw the Dukes Wes and David hurrying out onto the training fields in the distance and he and Finn picked up the pace to catch up.

“Expect to be sent out within the next couple of days,” said Duke Finn, falling into the front line of soldiers, hundreds in number and growing larger as the minutes passed. “You will be assigned your own quadrant, as well as I, Duke Wes, Duke David, and several others. I do not know how the King wishes us to respond, but be prepared. You are fairly new to this.”

Blaine nodded once and turned his head to face forward, chin held high and back straight at attention. The entire field fell silent when Blaine’s father, King Anderson, came into view. The cold morning dew clung to the leather soles of their boots and the darkness that was struggling against the rising sun hung heavy in front of their eyes. 

Despite all that his father had done to ruin his life, Blaine could not help but admire the true regality in the King’s composure and the bravery in his stance at that moment. When he began to speak, his voice boomed so loudly over the field that Blaine was sure he could be heard in the very last row of straight-backed men.

“King St. James grows closer,” King Anderson shouted at the silent men, hundreds upon hundreds, standing as still as statues as they waited for instructions by their King. “At daylight, one thousand troops will be sent immediately to our Northern border. Tomorrow, one thousand more will be sent behind them. The King of McKinley has been contacted under the terms of our new alliance, and we will receive their reinforcements soon. The key is defense. An offensive strike will only be made under strict orders from myself, which will be delivered to the commander of your quadrant.”

Blaine gulped at the mention of McKinley. Kurt.

He had to leave Kurt.

When they had finally come together, united so permanently, they would be ripped apart once again. It is a cruel world, Blaine thought to himself decisively.

For the next hour, men were assigned in quadrants to a commander. Dukes Wes and David were to leave immediately with theirs. Blaine and Finn would leave tomorrow with their men.

Blaine watched from the sides of the training field as the soldiers suited up in their battle gear and the horses were saddled. Swords and shields were passed from hand to hand. Boots were laced, arm pads tied, helmets fastened.

Finn agreed with Blaine when he voiced his opinion that it would be best to return to the castle and remain out of the way while the one thousand troops disappeared swiftly from sight. Both boys had many loved ones they wished to say goodbye to.

Upon entering the Grand Hall once more, Blaine found Lord Michael and his mother attending to a small, black casket with a golden shroud laid over it. It stood upon a sturdy platform in the center of the hall, and a few dozen royals milled about the room, respectfully waiting their turns to approach it.

Heart thudding in his chest, Blaine came to stand by his mother’s side and gave her a questioning look. Her eyes were misty, and Lord Michael placed a light, reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving Blaine a respectful nod in welcome. Finn bowed to both of the elder royals from behind Blaine.

“This morning a young boy, not yet thirteen, delivered the news of the attack,” said his mother in a controlled, but sad, voice. “He had run the entire distance from his village, the one that is now destroyed. The second his message was delivered to the King, he collapsed on the floor and died. His lungs gave out.”

Blaine swallowed thickly and furrowed his brow, gazing upon the casket with nothing but reverence in his eyes for such a strong child. Finn placed a stable hand upon the silk of the shroud and let his head fall in prayer.

“He will be buried this afternoon like a hero,” said Lord Michael, ushering their small group to step and allow the others in the hall to pay their respects.

The rest of the day was a flurry of activity and Blaine found himself caught up in the middle of the whirlwind. Although he did not see his father, several messages were delivered to he and Finn regarding their instructions upon their departure the next day. Despite Blaine’s promise that he would go to his father and speak to him about Kurt, Blaine knew that such a thing would have to wait. Perhaps for a long time. 

Many months, he guessed, with an impending war.

Besides, King Anderson was not Blaine’s father at the moment. He was the King of Dalton and Blaine was nothing but his loyal subject.

Blaine saw neither Kurt nor Rachel all day, and he assumed both were being kept tucked away in the castle for safety. Putting the children of the King of McKinley in the middle of the chaotic fray the castle had become, and therefore in the midst of potential danger, would do nothing to help the alliance that Dalton now counted on more than ever.

But, Blaine could not keep himself away. He had to see Kurt one last time. Bidding Finn goodnight, knowing in his heart that the Duke would leave to seek out Princess Rachel, Blaine carried his exhausted body to his bedchamber in the South Tower.

Poised upon the sill of Blaine’s large picture window sat Kurt, staring blankly at the door and waiting for it to open and for his love to come stumbling in.

The second Blaine’s eyes fell upon the beautiful figure, a sob choked its way out of his throat.

“Kurt.”