Holst stood atop the ramparts of Goneril territory, gazing out at the horizon. His hands gripped the stone banister, eyes narrowed in thought. Rumors of unrest in nearby territories had reached his ears, whispers of rebellion and plots to overthrow the Alliance. As head of House Goneril, it was his duty to protect the sovereignty of the Alliance.
With a sigh, Holst's thoughts strayed to Hilda. His sweet, spoiled sister who wanted for nothing. He wondered if she had any clue the dangers that lurked at their borders, threats he worked endlessly to guard her from. She would pout and whine if he even suggested limiting her frivolous outings into town. His lips quirked into a wry smile at the thought. Though she acted the pampered noblewoman, he knew his sister had a strength and cunning that rivaled any soldier under his command.
Holst shook his head, pink strands brushing his cheeks. He had to focus. As much as he longed to dote on Hilda, to shield her from all hardship, he had a responsibility to the Alliance. And he would not fail in that duty, no matter the cost. His gaze hardened with renewed determination. The enemies of the Alliance would find no weakness in House Goneril. Not while he still drew breath.