King in another world

The caravan arrived on the first clear day of spring.

Painted wagons rolled up the dirt path, their wheels caked in half-melted frost. Horses snorted. Traders barked orders. The smell of salted meat, dry grain, cheap perfume, and old coins followed them like ghosts.

The Terradiva estate only saw outside merchants three times a year—if the roads held. This time, the spring run was lighter than usual. Two wagons fewer. One merchant is missing.

That wasn’t a mistake. That was movement.

Terranus watched from the parapet with squinted eyes, hands behind his back like a man twice his age. Caelen was beside him, fresh from morning drills, wiping sweat from his brow.

“You’re watching wagons like they’re warhorses,” Caelen muttered.

“Trade is war. Just quieter.”

Caelen grunted, unimpressed. “Try saying that when you’re bleeding from a sword wound.”

Terranus turned. “You think blades win kingdoms?”

Caelen leaned in, smirking. “They keep them.”

Later that day, while the house staff focused on hospitality and Darius met with the caravan head, Terranus slipped into the side courtyard, where the quartermaster’s ledger was being updated.

That’s where he saw her.

A merchant girl, maybe twelve, maybe thirteen. Sharp eyes. Clean hands. Not born to trade—but clearly learning fast.

She caught him staring.

“You’re the second son?” she asked, bold and blunt.

“Who’s asking?”

“Elira. My father trades spice and river salt.”

“And you spy for him?”

“Only when I like the odds.”

Terranus raised a brow. “You talk like a merchant.”

“I listen like one too.”

They spoke for twenty minutes. She told him trade from the west was slowing. Bandit attacks. Border levies are increasing. Rumors of new taxes from the capital. One of the other noble families—House Merrow—was demanding tariffs on grain transported near their roads.

“I can fix that,” Terranus said.

She laughed. “You’re a boy.”

“I’m a Terradiva.”

And that? That meant something again.

By nightfall, Terranus sent a coded message—delivered quietly through Matya—to a trusted steward in the southern granary. Adjust the grain prices by one copper per bundle. Just enough to undercut the merchants tied to House Merrow. Just enough to make his merchants look like salvation.

They’d lose a sliver of profit.

But they’d own the route.

By morning, Elira’s father came back with a different tone in his voice.

“I’d like to renegotiate our usual terms with Lord Darius,” he said.

Darius blinked. “What changed?”

Terranus stepped forward, handing the man a sealed scroll.

“Just making sure our friends profit from staying loyal.”

Meanwhile, inside the house, things weren’t as smooth.

Caelen had grown colder since their duel. Less playful. More tense. His training had intensified. Their father praised him constantly—yet his eyes lingered more on Terranus during strategy discussions.

And that didn’t sit right with Caelen.

At dinner one night, Darius spoke of troop formations and grain logistics. Terranus offered an alternative plan—a three-village rotation that would ease taxation stress.

Darius nodded. “Sound reasoning. Thomald, look into it.”

Caelen slammed his knife into the table. “He’s six! Why do you take him seriously?”

The room went dead silent.

Terranus didn’t flinch. He looked Caelen dead in the eye.

“Age doesn’t change truth. Numbers do.”

Caelen stood abruptly. “You think you’re smarter than me.”

“I don’t think. I know.”

Darius chuckled, but there was tension behind the amusement. “Enough, boys. The wolves of the world are circling. We need unity, not rivalry.”

But later that night, Lady Elana came to Terranus’s chamber alone.

She sat beside him on the bed, her voice low.

“You’re pushing too hard.”

“I’m winning.”

“You’re outpacing your brother.”

He looked at her. “You don’t want me to hold back.”

“No. But don’t forget—Caelen bleeds too. He’s your shield, whether he knows it or not. Don’t break him.”

Terranus stared into the candlelight, jaw tight.

He understood what she wasn’t saying.

There was only room for one head of House Terradiva. And when that time came…

He either had to stand beside Caelen—

Or stand over him.

Outside, spring winds blew in from the south. Dust rose from the roads. And across the flatlands, word spread of a noble house quietly expanding its grain market, locking in trade deals, and shifting power without lifting a single blade.

The boy lord was growing teeth.

And soon, everyone would feel the bite.

The southern flatlands were unforgiving this time of year—dry, cracked earth and winds that carried dust like knives. Most nobles wouldn’t dare ride through it without a full escort.

Terranus Terradiva went with three guards and a merchant’s cloak.

No banners. No trumpets. Just him, a keen eye, and a sealed pouch of ledgers from the steward’s office.

His first real move beyond the walls.

They reached the granary outpost by dusk. A squat stone structure surrounded by drying fields and lean livestock. The manager, a hard-bitten woman named Iva, squinted when she saw him.

“You the noble brat?”

“I’m the one saving your margins.”

She laughed so hard she spat on her boots. “Come inside, then. Let’s see what that noble brain’s worth.”

Over the next two days, Terranus studied more than grain. He watched workers haggle over weights, measured barrels against output records, asked why oxen feed had risen in cost. His questions annoyed the staff at first—but then… he offered solutions.

Move the grain carts at night to avoid toll roads.

Cut a deal with the nearby riverfolk to use their old ferry crossing.

Switch to dried wildgrass feed from the forest’s edge.

And through it all, one man stood out—a tall, silent laborer named Fintan. Kept his head down. Worked faster than three others. Knew the whole operation like the back of his hand. But never spoke unless pressed.

Terranus approached him on the final morning.

“You used to run this place, didn’t you?”

Fintan froze. Looked around. “Not supposed to talk about that.”

“I’m not supposed to be here either. So we’re even.”

Fintan eventually nodded. Quietly agreed to send monthly reports to Terranus—through coded deliveries. Unofficial. Unsanctioned.

But effective.

Another piece in play.

When Terranus returned to the estate, Elira was waiting at the gates.

Her hair was braided now, clothes finer, voice sharper. Not the same girl from the courtyard weeks ago.

“My father sends regards,” she said. “Also—this.”

She handed him a sealed letter. It bore the crest of

An offer. Land incentives, coins, favors. If Terranus helped swing a grain agreement in their favor.

It was flattering.

It was dangerous.

And he burned it.

“I don’t sell my name,” he said. “Not to liars.”

She didn’t argue. Just watched the parchment curl to ash and whispered, “They’ll remember that.”

“I want them to.”

That night, Caelen found him in the old orchard behind the estate. The moon hung low, throwing silver across the branches.

“You’ve been moving behind my back,” Caelen said, voice low but tight.

Terranus didn’t lie. “Yes.”

“Trading without my knowledge.”

“I’m not stealing power. I’m protecting the cracks you don’t see.”

Caelen stepped closer. “And what if I don’t need protecting?”

“You do.” Terranus met his gaze. “Just like I need your sword.”

The wind rustled through the leaves.

Caelen exhaled sharply. “Father keeps praising you. The staff whispers your name. I—” He swallowed it. “I’ve been trained for this my whole life.”

“And you still will be the head,” Terranus said. “I’m not after the chair, Caelen. I want the foundation.”

Silence stretched.

Finally, Terranus spoke again. “You’re the wall. I’m the scaffolding. If we compete, we both fall.”

Caelen looked at him long and hard. “You swear that?”

Terranus stepped forward, placed a hand on his brother’s chest. “On my name. On our blood. I will never compete for head of this house. That’s not my dream. But I will make sure this house never breaks.”

Caelen blinked, surprised. Then nodded.

And for the first time since they were boys, he pulled Terranus into a full embrace.

“Then we build it together,” Caelen said.

“Brick by brick,” Terranus replied.

Behind them, the wind shifted. Carried the scent of smoke from the west.

Something was coming.

But this time, the Terradiva brothers would face it together.