I closed the Book. The plan was set. I didn't just need bodyguards anymore; I needed a Council. A War Council.
I turned to Adel.
"Prepare for dinner," I commanded. "Set four places."
"Four places, My Lady?"
"Yes," I said, walking past her toward the door. "My parents are still at the Royal Encampment dealing with the fallout of the Hunt. They won't be coming home tonight. I am the Lady of the House."
I stopped at the threshold and looked back at her.
"Invite Octavi. And invite Cassius and Valerie."
"To the dining table?" Adel asked, her composure slipping slightly.
"Is there a problem with that?" I stared at her, my gaze fierce and cold.
"As you wish," Adel bowed low. "I will inform the kitchen. And prepare the dining table, My Lady."
"Good. You may inform them now… I want to change into my nightgown."
Adel quickly scurried off to carry out my orders, leaving me alone in the sudden silence of my room.
I waited for Adel to return. She helped me change into a simpler evening gown—dark velvet, the color of midnight. Suitable for mourning a reputation, or perhaps for plotting a war.
Thirty minutes later, I descended the grand staircase. The house was unnaturally quiet.
"My Lady," the Chamberlain stammered as I entered the foyer. "The guests… they are waiting."
I looked toward the shadows near the entrance to the dining hall.
Octavi stood there, polished and stoic. Beside her stood Cassius and Valerie. They had washed the mud of the encampment off their faces, but they still wore their leather armor, looking like wolves brought into a sheepfold.
"Come," I commanded, walking past them to the head of the long mahogany table.
I sat down, placing my hands flat on the polished wood.
"Sit," I ordered.
Octavi obeyed instantly, taking the seat on my right.
However, Valerie and Cassius just stood beside the entrance. They didn't take a single step into the dining hall.
I picked up my silver fork and tapped it against the rim of my crystal wine glass.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The sharp sound cut through the suffocating silence like a bell tolling.
"Valerie," I called out, my voice echoing in the vast hall. "Are you waiting for a written invitation to take a seat?"
The silence stretched.
"No…" Valerie finally spoke, her voice guarded. "What I am waiting for is a reason."
"A reason?" I looked at the glass of wine, its surface reflecting the flickering candlelight. "A reason for what?"
"Why are you inviting us to have dinner?"
"My parents are still at the encampment, and I am the Lady of the House right now—"
"That is an excuse, not a reason," Valerie cut in sharply. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. "You must already know about my origin and my family's status. So, why the sudden invitation?"
She tilted her head, her grey eyes piercing through the candlelight.
"You think I am trying to buy a connection to the Duchess?" I asked calmly, meeting her gaze. "You think this is a bribe? Roast duck in exchange for a favor from the North?"
I let out a short, sharp breath and dropped the formal facade entirely.
"If I wanted the North's favor, Valerie, I would have thrown you out of the carriage and delivered you back to the Duchess bound in ropes," I stated bluntly. "That would have earned me a fortune and an alliance…"
I paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the air.
"With your Third Sister."
The air in the room didn't just grow heavy. It froze.
Valerie's smirk vanished. Her arms dropped to her sides. Her hand drifted instinctively toward the hilt of her blade—pure, defensive shock.
"The Third," Valerie whispered, the name tasting like poison in her mouth.
She pushed herself off the doorframe, taking a slow, predatory step into the room. She moved just like her mother. Her grey eyes were no longer mocking. They were assessing me as a threat of the highest order.
"How do you know about that?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous. "The internal politics of House Valerius are not gossip for the Southern Court. Even the Queen doesn't know which sister is fighting for the seat."
"I know many things I should not," I replied, keeping my voice steady despite the lethal intent radiating from her. "I know the Third Sister seeks the Throne. I know she is willing to break anything to get it. And I know that if she finds you, she won't bring you home. She will bury you in the snow so there is no one left to challenge her claim."
I leaned forward.
"And it's not just you who gets buried. You will get the same burial as your Second Sister. So you won't be alone."
She flinched. The mention of her Second Sister hit harder than the threat against her own life.
"Leave her out of this," she hissed. "She has nothing to do with the Throne. She just wants to guard the Wall."
"Does she?" I asked, tilting my head. "In a War of Succession, neutrality is not a shield, Valerie. It is a target. The Third Sister can't claim the Throne while the Second is still in line for it, and the First—" I pointed a finger at her "—wanders free with a legitimate claim."
I picked up my wine glass, swirling the dark liquid.
"So, no, Valerie. I am not trying to sell you to the North."
I smiled, a small, cold smirk.
"Instead, I want to reinstate you to the claim."
She stared at me. Then, she let out a short, sharp laugh—a sound devoid of humor.
"Reinstate me?" she repeated, shaking her head. "You think I ran away because I lost my way? I ran away because I didn't want the damn chair. It's made of frozen iron and dead relatives. I have no desire to rule it."
"Desire is irrelevant," I said coldly. "Survival is mandatory."
I clasped my hands together.
"If you stay a mercenary, the Third Sister will hunt you down. If you run, she will kill the Second Sister to clear the board. The only way to save your sister and yourself is to become the one thing the Third Sister fears."
"And what is that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"The Rightful Heir."
She stared at me with a new gaze—a mix of fear and dawning determination.
"You know," she said slowly, "if you reinstate me to the claim, it means the House of Aurelius is supporting me. If the Kingdom sees this… they will not see a noble gesture. They will see House Aurelius interfering in the succession of the North."
"Interfering? Don't make me laugh," I scoffed. "I am just returning what the North lost."
"So, it means you're ready to face the consequence of my claim…" she paused, her eyes narrowing as she analyzed me. "Civil War."
The words hung heavy in the air. I saw Octavi shift uncomfortably in her seat, her knightly instincts warring with political reality.
"And if war is inevitable," I countered, leaning back and meeting Valerie's gaze with chilling calm, "then I prefer to choose the battlefield and the victor."
She didn't answer immediately. She stood there, her hand still resting near her pommel, but her grip had loosened. She looked cornered—not by an enemy, but by a choice.
She looked at the empty chair I had offered. Then she looked at the entrance of the hall. The freedom of the outside world vs. the cage of duty.
"You talk like a General," she said quietly, her voice devoid of its usual mockery. "But you have never seen a Northern winter, My Lady."
She took a step back, away from the table.
"You are asking me to start a fire that will burn down half the Kingdom," she murmured. "And you are asking me to stand in the center of it."
"I am asking you to survive it," I corrected.
She shook her head slowly, a bitter smile touching her lips.
"I need to think," she stated abruptly. "I cannot eat. The food would turn to ash in my mouth."
She turned around, her boots scraping heavily against the marble floor. She walked toward the entrance, the sound echoing in the silent hall.
She stopped at the threshold. She didn't turn back to face us. She just glanced over her shoulder, her grey eyes meeting mine one last time.
"If I take that seat, My Lady, I am signing my death warrant. Or my sister's salvation. I need to decide which one weighs more."
She walked out into the night.
Cassius looked at me, gave a stiff bow, and followed her like a faithful shadow.
I watched them leave. As they disappeared from sight, Octavi leaned toward me.
"So," she asked quietly. "How will you confront your parents about this? Supporting a pretender to a Ducal seat is treasonous if it fails."