THE IRON THRONE OF ICE AND FIRE

Ser Pell's voice carried an unmistakable pride. "My lord, I command a hundred men, and my sword hand is as steady as an iron rod."

A mere centurion. And yet he speaks as if he were a great captain.

Greene concealed his disdain behind a placid expression. In his past life, he had commanded armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands, maneuvering them like pieces on a board.

But this was no grand battlefield.

The Crab Claw Peninsula, ever fractured and chaotic, was a vast land sparsely populated. In the grand scheme of war, it was nothing more than a backwater—a collection of petty lords waging little more than glorified brawls.

The men here had never seen true war. That was a problem.

Still, in this land of small battles, Pell was a rare figure—a warrior who had survived decades of conflict and had the ability to lead. By the standards of the Crab Claw Peninsula, he was formidable.

And that was something worth recognizing.

Greene offered a satisfied smile and continued walking with the knight at his side.

Whispering Castle

Whispering Castle had changed. In the days since Greene imposed strict order, the filth had been scrubbed away, the stench of rot and unwashed bodies replaced by clean air.

A minor thing, but it lightened his step.

Tonight, he would order the kitchens to prepare something special—a small indulgence, a gesture of encouragement.

The Tin Men

The training yard of Qingyu City.

More than twenty warriors stood assembled—each tall, broad, and clad in steel plate that gleamed under the waning sunlight.

The mountain savages called them Tin Men.

They were the pride of House Kleb—elite fighters, trained to withstand battle in full armor.

As Greene and Pell approached, the warriors ceased their sparring and saluted.

Greene stepped toward the weapons rack, selecting a wooden practice sword. He gave it a testing swing before turning to face them.

"Who will face me?"

Silence. The men exchanged glances.

Greene's eyes settled on one at random. "You."

The chosen warrior hesitated before stepping forward. "My lord, I am Foley," he said, his voice measured. "I may strike too hard."

Greene smirked. "If you wound me, I'll have the kitchens serve you a roast leg of lamb."

Foley swallowed. "Fat and dripping with grease?"

"Of course."

A murmur ran through the crowd. Then came the first cheers. The news spread like wildfire—by the time Greene had shed his cloak and passed it to an attendant, the training yard was filled with onlookers.

A Warrior's Trial

Foley was quick, but he held back.

A man of some wit. If he truly hurt me, he fears he'll lose his meal—and worse, his position.

His wooden blade came down in a heavy arc. Greene raised his own sword one-handed to parry, stepping forward with practiced ease. The impact sent Foley stumbling back three paces.

"My warrior," Greene said, his voice carrying across the yard, "fight me in earnest. Show me your strength."

The crowd roared.

"Ho, Foley! Did Old Ken's wife keep you up all night?"

"That's why he's got no strength left!"

Laughter rippled through the men.

Foley's face darkened, his thick brows furrowing. Bastards. They didn't understand. The young lord was no ordinary man.

Foley's grip tightened. He shifted his stance, calling upon years of training.

He attacked.

Wood cracked against wood, dust rising from the packed earth beneath their feet.

Moments later, Foley lay sprawled on his back, staring up at the sky.

I really tried…

Silence hung in the air. Then, cheers erupted.

Greene offered a reserved smile, lifting a hand to acknowledge his warriors.

For the first time in years, Whispering Castle felt alive. The gloom that had lingered since his mother's passing had begun to lift.

Eyes from the High Tower

Sulana watched from the wooden platform overlooking the training yard, her second daughter Kalea standing at her side.

"My daughter," Sulana murmured, "Lord Greene is strong. His children will be strong as well."

Kalea's dark hair gleamed in the light. Unlike her mother, whose blood carried hints of Andal descent, Kalea bore the features common to the Crab Claw Peninsula—rich brown skin, dark green eyes.

She frowned. "But… he is an illegitimate son. And I—I wish to wed a knight, not be some lord's mistress."

Sulana sighed. "Every girl dreams of marrying a heroic knight, my love. But you lack the birth for a noble match. Wealthy knights will not have you, and those who would take you are poor, or old."

Kalea said nothing, stubbornness set in her gaze.

"You are young, and you do not yet understand," Sulana continued, her voice patient. "A woman cannot live on love alone."

Kalea turned away sharply. "If my opinion means nothing, you may as well strip me naked and throw me into his bed."

Sulana's eyes flashed, but she held her temper.

The world saw her as cold—a woman of iron discipline, like a statue carved from ice. Only her daughters knew her warmth.

She stepped forward, resting her chin gently on Kalea's head.

"If it were that simple," she murmured, "I would be at ease."

Kalea stiffened. "What are you saying?"

Sulana's lips curved slightly. "I tested him yesterday. I spoke of you, but he showed no interest."

Kalea's breath caught.

No interest?

She was the most beautiful girl in the village. Men tripped over themselves to gain her favor. And yet…

Her mother's fingers brushed against her cheek.

"Your beauty is a blessing and a curse," Sulana said softly. "One day, it will bring you trouble."

Kalea swallowed, burying her face against her mother's shoulder. "Mama…"

Sulana stroked her hair. "Perhaps there are better men beyond these lands. But I do not wish for you to go. Nor do I wish for you to be alone."

Kalea shook her head fiercely. No. Never.

Sulana sighed. "I spoke of you to Lord Greene yesterday. He said nothing. I lay awake all night, wondering why."

Kalea's grip tightened.

Nightfall

Greene spent the afternoon working in the blacksmith's forge and carpentry hall. After supper, he spoke at length with Ser Pell about the mountain savages.

At last, he allowed himself to relax.

He sank into the steaming water of his wooden bath, exhaling slowly. The heat eased the tension in his muscles, but his mind remained sharp.

Tomorrow, he would meet with the famed huntress Emparo—a woman said to be as deadly with a bow as any man with a sword.

The door creaked open.

In the quiet of the night, the sound was deafening.

Greene's fingers found the dagger resting beside the tub.

Soft footsteps. Unfamiliar.

He waited.

A figure stepped into the dim candlelight—olive-green dress, thin linen clinging to a slender frame. The neckline dipped scandalously low.

Kalea.

She hesitated, then lowered her gaze.

"Forgive me, my lord," she murmured. "I am Kalea, daughter of Sulana, your housekeeper."