CHAPTER 470: A VISION AT SUNSET

After lingering a while at the training ground, Lara and Galahad finally turned away. The echoes of sparring faded behind them, replaced by the hush of the palace corridors. As they rounded a corner, they nearly collided with Alaric. The prince’s expression softened the instant he saw Lara.

"Come," he said with quiet conviction, "watch the sunset with me. Behind Balai Hamili—Queen Astrid’s Garden."

Without hesitation, he reached for her hand. His fingers threaded through hers, warm and steady, as if anchoring her in a world that often threatened to sweep her away. They walked in silence along the garden path, the hush of their footsteps blending with the rustle of leaves in the late afternoon breeze. Words were unnecessary; the weight and warmth of their clasped hands spoke what neither dared to voice.

At last, they reached the gazebo at the heart of Astrid’s garden. Its white marble gleamed softly in the fading light, framed by vines heavy with blossoms that perfumed the air. Alaric guided Lara to the bench facing west, steadying her with a gentleman’s care. When he sat beside her, their shoulders brushed, and neither pulled away.

The horizon burned in shades of gold and crimson, the sun sinking as though into a sea of fire. Against that backdrop, Lara’s voice was almost a whisper. "Aren’t you building an empire? What is the deal with Angus? Aren’t you set on conquering Estalis?" Lara finally broke the silence.

Alaric’s gaze did not leave the horizon. "Conquering a kingdom is not only through sword and might," he replied, his voice low, thoughtful. "An empire founded on bloodshed alone will crumble. It cannot endure."

Lara turned her head sharply, startled by the depth of his conviction. She searched his face, but he gave nothing away except the calm certainty in his tone.

"Our empire," he continued as his gaze locked into hers, "will not be born of tyranny. It will be shared. A central power—the empire—bound with the kingdoms it governs. Dual sovereignty. Each will hold its own sphere of authority. Each will have the right to craft laws for its people. Local matters will remain in the hands of their own rulers. The empire will guide, but not suffocate."

For a moment, Lara forgot to breathe. She shifted to face him fully, admiration breaking through her usual guarded composure. This was no mere warlord’s dream. It was a vision—measured, deliberate, just.

So this is Alaric’s plan, she thought, her heart tightening with something she dared not name

The last rays of the sun painted Alaric’s profile in amber and shadow. Lara found herself watching him more than the horizon, her thoughts unmoored. His words had unsettled her—not in fear, but in the way they revealed a man whose strength lay not only in his sword arm but in his vision.

Without thinking, her fingers tightened slightly around his hand. Alaric glanced down at the gesture, and a faint smile touched his lips, fleeting but undeniable.

"You surprise me," Lara admitted softly, her eyes lingering on his. "I thought your ambition would demand conquest above all else."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping lower, as though speaking only for her. "And what did you think of me then, Lara? That I was a man who cared for power, even at the cost of blood?"

Her heart beat faster. The space between them was narrow, charged. "I thought..." she began, then stopped, caught in the snare of his gaze. I thought you were ambitious and therefore dangerous. I thought you were a storm that could sweep away everything I know. But she did not speak it aloud.

Instead, Alaric saved her from the admission. "Power without purpose is nothing but destruction," he said, drawing back just enough to release the moment’s spell. "I seek to build, not burn."

Lara exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. "And yet, you speak of an empire. Can an empire be built without bloodshed?"

Alaric looked back to the horizon, now a band of fading scarlet. "Blood will be spilled, yes. It always is. But the foundation of what I build must be more than fear. It must be a structure. Balance. Shared strength. If each kingdom keeps its dignity and its right to rule its own people, they will not rebel against a guiding power. They will embrace it. Our empire will be a tapestry of sovereignties, woven together by choice, not chains."

Our empire. Lara smiled at the emphasis. Alaric had started including her in his future.

Lara felt her chest tighten again—this time not from the nearness of him, but from the enormity of what he described. "You would give kings and queens autonomy, yet expect them to swear loyalty to you? That is... bold."

"Not loyalty to me," he corrected gently, his hand brushing against hers once more. "Loyalty to something greater. To stability. To peace. To a future where their children inherit a world less fractured than ours."

His words stirred something deep within her, something she could not easily name—admiration, longing, perhaps even hope. She turned back to the sunset, lest he see too much in her eyes.

If this is the empire he dreams of, she thought, then it is not built on conquest alone. It is built on conviction. Perhaps... perhaps it is an empire I could believe in too.

The silence between them stretched, but it was no longer empty. It was alive with unspoken promises and questions neither dared to voice. The sun slipped fully below the horizon, and in its wake, stars began to pierce the darkening sky—like the first outlines of the empire Alaric imagined, taking shape in the vast unknown.

Lara broke the silence first, her voice calm but edged with skepticism. "You speak of choice, My Prince. Of kings and lords willingly bending their knees to something greater than themselves. But power is rarely surrendered without blood. Pride alone has toppled kingdoms. Do you truly believe they will accept this ’dual sovereignty’ you imagine? That they will share power rather than guard it jealously? That those kings would allow you to rise above their thrones?" Lara inquired, her eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

"If diplomacy fails to bridge the divide, and we find ourselves with no alternative but to draw swords, then so be it. Should the winds of conflict force our hand and blood must be shed, then let it flow."