The court seethed with noise and fury.
Great nobles filled the stone hall, voices crashing over one another like clashing blades. At the far end sat King Mortifer upon his throne, dark and unmoving, while Tenebrarum stood opposite him, silent as a shadow cast in flesh. The stepbrothers lingered at the sides, watching, listening, measuring every word.
"This is madness," a noble spat, slamming his fist against the arm of his chair. "Velmara has crossed her boundary. She must be ended—now."
"And how do you propose we do that?" another snapped back. "We have been at war with that witch for over a hundred years. A century of blood, and you speak as if she were prey."
A third noble rose abruptly, face flushed with rage. "Enough excuses! A common witch has dragged us into disgrace. Our creatures burn in public while humans cheer!"
"Common?" another stood to challenge him, eyes blazing. "Velmara is anything but common. Do you truly believe she would still stand after all these years if she were easy to defeat?"
The hall erupted again—shouts, accusations, fear dressed as arrogance.
"Silence."
King Mortifer's voice cut through the chaos like iron through bone.
The room stilled instantly.
"You will all remember where you stand," he continued, rising slowly. His eyes were dark, sunken with sleeplessness, yet his presence pressed heavily upon every noble present. "Velmara is not merely a witch. She is a symbol. And symbols do not fall without consequence."
His gaze shifted, briefly resting on Tenebrarum.
"She has claimed land. She has made a spectacle of our deaths. This is not rebellion—this is declaration."
The court held its breath.
"And we will respond," Mortifer said coldly, "not with foolish rage—but with intent."
A noble stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"My king, I have a proposal."
Mortifer's gaze settled on him. "Speak."
"It is known that Velmara once had a daughter—Aemilia—believed dead," the noble said carefully. "But she bore another child. A second daughter. Matrona."
Laughter rang out.
Prince Rhazor leaned back, amused. "The powerless one?" he mocked openly.
The room stilled as Mortifer's eyes shifted to him. Rhazor straightened immediately, clearing his throat.
"Continue," the king said.
Tenebrarum remained silent—but behind the mask, shock struck hard.
Another child.
In that instant, he understood.
Not an execution.
Not an open war.
An alliance.
The realization settled heavily in his chest as the court leaned forward, unaware that the balance of power had just begun to shift.
"A—an alliance, my king," the noble said, bowing low.
The words struck the court like a hammer to stone.
For a brief moment, even Mortifer was silent. His fingers tightened on the arm of the throne, the weight of the proposal settling heavily in the chamber. An alliance—such a word had not been spoken lightly for centuries.
"It would not be between us and the humans," the noble continued carefully, sensing the tension, "but between dark creatures and the witch herself. Velmara."
Murmurs rippled through the court.
"That way," he went on, voice steady, "we gain the upper hand. Velmara stands between the humans and their victory. Remove her resistance, and the rest will follow."
He hesitated, then added the final blow, softer but no less cruel.
"And Velmara is old, my king. Time is already against her. She will not rule forever."
Silence fell again—thick, calculating, dangerous.
A murmur swept through the court, sharp and unsettled.
From his seat, Kaelen did not move, but the weight of the words burned through him.
An alliance—born not of peace, but of necessity. Of fear.
His gaze lifted slowly, instinctively searching the hall, as if the answer might be written on someone's face.
"Then who," Kaelen said at last, his voice tight, "would marry Matrona? That woman—"
A short, careless laugh slipped from Prince Magnus before he could stop himself.
The sound cracked through the chamber.
Every head turned.
Mortifer's eyes fixed on Magnus, cold and unreadable.
"And do you have another option?" the king asked quietly.
Magnus stiffened. The humor drained from his face at once. He lowered his head, jaw clenched.
"No, Father," he said, the word tasting like ash. "I do not."
Silence followed—thick, suffocating.
Mortifer rose slowly from his throne.
"Then it is decided," he said. "The alliance will be sealed by blood and bond."
His gaze remained fixed on Magnus.
"The union will be yours."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the court. Some nobles nodded in approval, others shifted uneasily, whispers spreading like cracks in stone.
Magnus nearly choked.
Matrona was close to his father's age.
Too old.
Too deliberate.
Why does Father despise me so much?
the thought burned bitterly in his mind as he lowered his head, humiliation flooding his veins.
Kaelen's hand curled into a fist.
He had assumed—no, believed—it would be Tenebrarum. The crowned prince marrying Velmara's daughter made sense. Power matched with power.
Across the hall, Tenebrarum did not move.
But behind the mask, his thoughts raced.
Velmara's daughter.
A marriage meant to bind that witch.
A peace stitched together with resentment and sacrifice.
It better war than this.
The court called it strategy for victory.
Tenebrarum knew better.
This was not peace.
It was the beginning of something far more dangerous.
Tenebrarum finally rose up, he couldn't let them mess up like this.
The sound of his movement alone was enough to quiet the hall.
"This alliance," he said calmly, his voice carrying without effort, "will not bring peace."
Murmurs stirred, but none dared interrupt.
"You believe binding Velmara through her daughter will weaken her," he continued. "But witches do not break when threatened. They sharpen."
His gaze shifted briefly to Magnus—measured, unreadable.
"A forced union breeds resentment, not loyalty. And resentment, when mixed with power, becomes rebellion."
He turned back to the throne.
"If we proceed," he said evenly, "we must be prepared for consequences far greater than war. Velmara will not submit. She will wait. And when she strikes, she will not aim for armies—she will aim for blood."
Silence fell heavy in the court, everyone turning to the other.
"I will not oppose my king," Tenebrarum added, inclining his head slightly. "But I will not pretend this path is safe."
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To be continued...