The woman waiting for them in the manor's receiving room was not what Seth had expected. She was middle-aged, perhaps in her late forties, with steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun and eyes that seemed to miss nothing. She wore practical travel clothes of good quality, and she carried herself with the confidence of someone accustomed to command.
She rose when Seth entered, offering a respectful bow that was neither too deep nor too shallow. "Your Highness. Thank you for receiving me on such short notice. My name is Beatrice Thornwood, master of the Thornwood Trading Company. We operate caravans across five kingdoms, specializing in metalwork, textiles, and luxury goods."
Seth gestured for her to sit, taking his own seat across from her. Eris entered a moment later, having changed into a clean dress, and stood uncertainly near the door until Seth waved her closer.
"This is Eris," Seth said simply, offering no other explanation. Let Beatrice make of that what she would.
Beatrice's sharp eyes moved to Eris, and Seth saw her take in the silver white hair, the nervous posture, the way Eris positioned herself slightly behind Seth. A small smile played at the corner of the merchant's mouth.
"I see. Well then, I'll be direct, Your Highness. I arrived in Fort Renly this evening planning to stay just one night before continuing south. But my drivers were full of talk about a smithy that had somehow reopened after two years of dormancy. Naturally, I was curious."
She leaned forward slightly, her hands folded in her lap. "I've been in the metal trade for twenty-five years, Your Highness. I know the economics intimately. Opening a smithy requires significant capital investment: fuel, raw materials, skilled labor, facilities. Fort Renly is a poor territory. You couldn't possibly have the resources for a proper operation."
"And yet we do," Seth said calmly.
"And yet you do," Beatrice agreed. "Which means you've found some way to bypass the usual costs. The fuel cost, specifically, since that's typically the largest expense in metalworking."
Her eyes moved to Eris again, lingering this time.
"You're using a witch, aren't you? That's the only explanation that makes sense. A majin with fire powers, providing heat without the need for coal or charcoal. Ingenious, really. Dangerous from a political standpoint, but ingenious."
Seth felt Eris tense beside him, but he kept his own expression neutral. "That's quite an assumption to make based on limited information."
"I'm not making an assumption, Your Highness. I'm stating a fact. You can confirm or deny it as you wish, but we both know I'm right." Beatrice's smile widened slightly. "The question is what I intend to do with that knowledge."
"And what do you intend to do with it?" Seth asked carefully, his hand moving subtly toward the knife he kept at his belt.
Beatrice laughed, a surprisingly warm sound. "Relax, Your Highness. I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to make money. And I believe we can make a great deal of money together."
She pulled a leather portfolio from her bag and opened it, revealing pages of notes and calculations. "My caravan network covers a vast territory. I have standing contracts with over fifty different towns and cities, regular customers who buy metal goods from me monthly. The problem is that my suppliers have been raising their prices, squeezing my profit margins. I've been looking for a new source of quality metalwork at competitive prices."
She looked up, meeting Seth's eyes directly. "I examined some of the items your smithy produced. The work is good, better than what I've been getting from my current suppliers. And if you're using a witch for heat, your production costs must be incredibly low, which means you can afford to sell to me at prices that would be unprofitable for traditional smithies."
"You want to buy from us," Seth said slowly, understanding dawning.
"I want to buy everything you can produce," Beatrice corrected. "Exclusively, if possible. I'll distribute it across my trade network, and we'll split the profits. You get a guaranteed buyer and steady income. I get quality goods at prices that let me undercut my competitors."
It was a tempting offer, more than tempting. The kind of contract that could transform Fort Renly's economy practically overnight. But there was a catch. There was always a catch.
"In exchange for what?" Seth asked.
"Honestly? Very little beyond the obvious." Beatrice closed her portfolio. "I want favorable pricing, of course. And I want exclusivity for at least the first year, so I can establish market dominance before your goods start appearing elsewhere. But beyond that..."
She paused, then said quietly, "I want you to succeed, Your Highness. I've been watching the political situation across the kingdoms for years. The persecution of witches is intensifying, driven by religious zealots and fearful nobles who see magic as a threat to the established order. But it's counterproductive and wasteful."
Her expression became serious. "I've encountered other witches in my travels. Most were in hiding, terrified, their powers going to waste because they were too afraid to use them openly. But a few, a very few, had found protection with lords who were pragmatic enough to value ability over superstition. And in every case, those territories prospered."
She looked at Eris directly now. "If you can prove that witches are assets rather than threats, if you can demonstrate that openly using magic for peaceful purposes benefits everyone, then maybe, just maybe, others will follow your example. And I would very much like to live in a world where useful people aren't murdered for being different."
The speech was delivered with complete sincerity, and Seth found himself reassessing Beatrice. He had expected a purely mercenary merchant, someone motivated only by profit. But there was idealism beneath the pragmatic exterior, a genuine desire for change.
"There are other lords protecting witches?" Eris asked, speaking for the first time, her voice tentative.
"A handful," Beatrice confirmed. "Scattered across different kingdoms, operating quietly to avoid drawing too much attention. You're not as alone as you might think, though you are certainly the most brazen about it that I've encountered."
She turned back to Seth. "But that's precisely why I think you might succeed where others have failed. You're not hiding what you're doing. You're demonstrating it openly, forcing the people of Fort Renly to confront their prejudices directly. It's risky, but it's also the only way to actually change minds."
Seth considered the offer carefully. It aligned with his own goals: proving Eris's value, stabilizing Fort Renly's economy, building something that could not easily be torn down. But it also meant trusting Beatrice, putting significant power in her hands.
"If we agree to this," Seth said slowly, "I need guarantees. You keep Eris's involvement quiet outside of Fort Renly. No advertising that we use a witch, no spreading the information to your other contacts. What happens here needs to stay here until we're ready to deal with wider attention."
"Agreed," Beatrice said immediately. "Discretion is in both our interests. The longer we can operate without attracting the wrong kind of attention, the more successful we'll become."
"And the profits are split evenly. Not weighted in your favor because you control distribution."
Beatrice smiled. "I was going to propose sixty-forty in my favor, but fifty-fifty is acceptable. You're shrewder than your reputation suggests, Your Highness."
They negotiated details for another hour, hammering out specifics about quantities, prices, delivery schedules, and payment terms. Eris listened quietly, occasionally offering input about production capabilities, and Seth was pleased to see Beatrice treat her observations with the same respect she showed his own.
Finally, they had an agreement. Beatrice would buy everything the smithy could produce for the next year at prices that were low enough to give her a competitive advantage but high enough to provide Fort Renly with substantial income. She would handle all distribution and marketing, keeping the source of the goods deliberately vague to avoid triggering witch-hunting sentiment in distant territories.
As Beatrice was preparing to leave, she paused at the door and looked back at Seth and Eris.
"One more thing, Your Highness. A warning, if you will." Her expression had turned grave. "I mentioned that religious opposition to witches is intensifying. What I didn't mention is that the Church has been increasing its rhetoric specifically. There are rumors of a new initiative, some kind of formalized witch-hunting organization being established."
She shook her head. "I don't have concrete details yet, but the political winds are shifting, and not in your favor. Whatever you're building here, build it fast. Make it successful enough and economically important enough that even religious zealots think twice about destroying it."
"How much time do we have?" Seth asked, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.
"Weeks, maybe months if you're lucky. But the pace of change is accelerating." Beatrice's smile was sympathetic but realistic. "Use the time well, Your Highness. Prove that witches are worth protecting. Because if you can't, then all the good intentions in the world won't save either of you."
After she left, Seth and Eris remained in the receiving room, both of them processing what had just happened.
"We did it," Eris said quietly. "We actually secured a major contract. This will give Fort Renly real income, real prosperity."
"We did," Seth agreed. But Beatrice's warning echoed in his mind. Weeks, maybe months. Not much time at all to build something that could withstand the coming storm.
They were making progress, real tangible progress. But the clock was still ticking.
Seth was about to suggest they both get some rest when Lyra appeared again, looking more anxious than before.
"Your Highness, I'm very sorry to interrupt again, but there's another messenger. This one bears the King's seal."
Seth felt his blood turn to ice. 'No. Not yet. It's too soon.'
He took the letter from Lyra with hands that remained steady through sheer force of will. The seal was unmistakable: the Arannis family crest pressed into red wax. He broke it and unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the text.
The letter was brief and brutally direct:
'Seth,'
'I have received concerning reports about your governance of Fort Renly. Specifically, reports that you are openly consorting with a witch in defiance of kingdom law and established tradition.'
'You will cease all activities involving the witch immediately and await formal inquiry. A representative will arrive within a fortnight to assess the situation and determine appropriate consequences.'
'I have tolerated your failures out of familial obligation, but I will not tolerate heresy or behavior that brings further shame upon the Arannis name.'
'Do not disappoint me further.'
'King Magnus Arannis'
Two weeks. They had two weeks before the King's representative arrived to pass judgment.
Seth read the letter twice, his mind racing through implications and possibilities. Then he handed it silently to Eris, watching her face pale as she read the words.
"Two weeks," she whispered. "Your Highness, I should leave. Now, tonight. If I'm gone when they arrive, you can claim you sent me away, that you were just—"
"No." Seth's voice was sharp, cutting through her rising panic. "Running solves nothing. It just confirms their assumptions that you're dangerous, that harboring you was a mistake."
"But you'll be punished because of me," Eris protested, her voice breaking. "Your father will strip you of everything. He might even—"
"He might," Seth interrupted. "Or he might not. It depends on what we can prove in the next two weeks."
He stood up, pacing the length of the receiving room as his mind worked through the problem. His father was sending a representative, someone to assess the situation and report back. That person would arrive with preconceptions, with expectations of finding a foolish prince who had made a terrible decision out of weakness or stupidity.
They needed to shatter those expectations completely.
"Eris, how much can you and Edmund produce in two weeks if you push yourselves?"
Eris wiped at her eyes, forcing herself to focus. "If we work full days, every day? Maybe four thousand nails, a hundred horseshoes, thirty or forty larger implements like plow blades and tools. Why?"
"Because we're going to make Fort Renly's economic transformation undeniable," Seth said, the plan forming as he spoke. "Beatrice's contract proves there's demand for what we're producing. But we need to show more than just potential. We need to show results that are already changing this territory."
He turned to face both Eris and Lyra, who had remained in the doorway. "Tomorrow, I want you to spread the word, Lyra. Tell everyone in Fort Renly that the smithy is offering a special rate for the next two weeks. Twenty percent discount on all goods. I want to flood this town with our products, get them into every home and business we can."
"Your Highness," Lyra said hesitantly, "if you discount the prices, you'll barely make any profit."
"I don't need profit right now," Seth said. "I need proof. I need every person in this territory to have a tangible example of how the smithy has improved their lives. When the King's representative arrives, I want him to see thriving farms with new tools, repaired buildings with new hinges and nails, horses with proper shoes. I want the evidence to be everywhere he looks."
Understanding dawned on Eris's face. "You want to make me indispensable. Not to you, but to all of Fort Renly."
"Exactly," Seth confirmed. "It's one thing for a prince to claim a witch is useful. It's another thing entirely when hundreds of common people can testify to how their lives have been improved by that witch's work."
He moved to the window, looking out at the darkened town beyond his manor. "We're going to make it politically untenable to shut us down. We're going to create a situation where removing you would actively harm the economic interests of everyone in this territory. And we're going to do it in two weeks."
"That's insane," Eris said, but there was a spark in her eyes now, hope kindling where despair had been moments before.
"That's survival," Seth corrected. "And it starts tomorrow."
He turned back to face them both. "Lyra, first thing in the morning, I want you to summon Edmund to the manor. Then I want you to make a list of every business, every farm, every household in Fort Renly. We're going to systematically reach out to all of them, find out what they need, and provide it."
Lyra nodded, her nervousness replaced by determination. "Yes, Your Highness. I'll start immediately."
After Lyra left, Seth and Eris remained in the receiving room. She had moved to the window, staring out at the same view Seth had been looking at moments before.
"I'm scared," she admitted quietly. "Not for myself, not really. I've been prepared to die since the moment I awakened. But I'm scared of what will happen to you if this doesn't work. You've risked everything for me, and if your father decides to punish you..."
Seth moved to stand beside her. "Then he punishes me. But I made this choice with my eyes open, Eris. You didn't force me to save you. You didn't manipulate me into protecting you. I did it because it was right, and because I saw an opportunity to build something better."
He paused, then added more softly, "And because you deserved better than to die in chains for the crime of being born different."
Eris turned to look at him, and in the dim light of the receiving room, her blue eyes seemed to glow. "I won't let you down," she said fiercely. "Two weeks, two months, two days, whatever time we have, I'll give everything I have to make this work."
"I know you will," Seth said. "That's why we're going to succeed."
They stood there for a moment longer, drawing strength from each other's presence. Then Seth forced himself to step back, to return to practicality.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow we start the hardest two weeks of our lives."
The next morning, Seth woke before dawn and immediately began executing his plan. Edmund arrived at the manor looking confused and concerned, having received only a cryptic summons from Lyra.
Seth handed him the King's letter without preamble. "Read this."
Edmund's face went through a series of expressions as he read: shock, fear, anger, and finally grim determination. "Two weeks. They're giving you two weeks to what, execute the witch who's been making Fort Renly profitable? That's madness."
"That's politics," Seth corrected. "But we're going to turn it to our advantage. Here's what I need from you."
He laid out the plan: maximum production for two weeks, discounted prices to get their goods into as many hands as possible, systematic outreach to every potential customer in the territory.
Edmund listened, nodding slowly. "It's ambitious. Miss Eris will have to maintain the forge basically from dawn to dusk every day. I'll have to work faster than I've ever worked in my life. We'll both be exhausted."
"Can you do it?" Seth asked bluntly.
Edmund looked at him for a long moment, then at Eris, who had entered the room during the explanation. "For a chance to keep my smithy? For a chance to prove those prejudiced fools wrong? Yes, Your Highness. I can do it."
"Then let's get to work."
The next two weeks became a blur of relentless activity. Seth, Eris, and Edmund fell into a punishing routine: work from sunrise to sunset, minimal breaks, every ounce of energy focused on production and distribution.
Eris pushed herself harder than Seth had ever seen her push before. She maintained the forge flames for ten, twelve, sometimes fourteen hours a day, her face pale with exhaustion but her concentration never wavering. She was burning through her mana reserves at a rate that would have collapsed a less determined person, but she kept going, driven by the knowledge that everything depended on their success.
Edmund matched her intensity, his hammer rising and falling in a rhythm that became almost mechanical in its consistency. His hands developed new calluses, his arms ached constantly, but he produced piece after piece after piece of quality metalwork.
Seth coordinated everything else: managing inventory, negotiating with customers, handling the financial records, making sure they had the raw materials they needed. He also began personally visiting every farm and business in Fort Renly, cataloging needs and making offers.
The response was overwhelming.
With the twenty percent discount and the quality of the work speaking for itself, customers who had been hesitant suddenly became eager buyers. Farmers who had been making do with broken tools for years finally had access to affordable replacements. Businesses that needed repairs could finally afford the nails and hinges and hardware they required.
Money began flowing into Fort Renly in ways it had not seen in years. And more importantly, the evidence of the smithy's impact became visible everywhere.
A week into their campaign, Seth walked through the town and saw new plow blades in fields that had been producing poor yields. He saw barn doors that had been sagging for years now hanging straight on new hinges. He saw horses wearing proper shoes instead of going barefoot and developing hoof problems.
The transformation was not complete, not yet. But it was undeniable.
Roderick and Wilhelm appeared at the smithy on the eighth day, their expressions a mixture of anger and grudging acknowledgment.
"Your Highness," Roderick said stiffly, "the town council wishes to know your intentions regarding the King's directive."
Seth looked up from the inventory list he had been reviewing. "My intentions are to continue operating the smithy until such time as the King's representative arrives and makes a formal judgment."
"You're defying the King's order," Wilhelm said, but there was less hostility in his voice than there had been before. "He told you to cease all activities involving the witch."
"He told me to await formal inquiry," Seth corrected. "The representative hasn't arrived yet. Until he does, I'm within my rights to continue governing this territory as I see fit."
Roderick's jaw tightened. "This is folly, Your Highness. You're only making your eventual punishment worse."
"Or I'm building a case for why that punishment would be unjust," Seth countered. He gestured to the window, to the town beyond. "Walk through Fort Renly, gentlemen. Tell me honestly whether this territory is better or worse than it was three weeks ago."
The two men exchanged glances but said nothing.
"The income from the smithy has already exceeded the total tax revenue Fort Renly generated in the previous six months," Seth continued. "Employment is up. People are spending money in local businesses because they have money to spend. The economic indicators are all positive."
He leaned forward, his voice becoming more intense. "You can hate the fact that a witch is responsible for this improvement. You can think I'm a fool or a heretic or whatever you want. But you cannot deny the results."
Wilhelm cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Your Highness, I won't pretend I'm comfortable with... with the methods you've employed. But I cannot deny that the ledgers show improvement. Significant improvement."
Roderick shot his colleague a sharp look, but Wilhelm continued doggedly. "As treasurer, my duty is to the economic health of this territory. And objectively speaking, the smithy has been beneficial."
"This is heresy!" Roderick hissed. "You're talking about openly supporting a witch!"
"I'm talking about supporting economic prosperity," Wilhelm corrected. "Whatever my personal feelings about magic and those who wield it, I cannot ignore the fact that Fort Renly is more financially stable now than it has been in years."
The crack in their unified opposition was small, but it was there. Seth pressed his advantage.
"When the King's representative arrives, he's going to ask for testimony from the people of Fort Renly. He's going to want to know whether I've been a good steward of this territory or a foolish one. What will you tell him?"
Roderick's face had gone red. "I'll tell him the truth. That you've consorted with dark forces and endangered everyone in this territory."
But Wilhelm hesitated, and in that hesitation, Seth saw opportunity.
The days continued to blur together. Production, sales, exhaustion, brief snatches of sleep, then back to production again. Eris developed dark circles under her eyes that no amount of rest seemed to eliminate, but her control over her flames actually improved with the constant practice. She could now adjust temperature with pinpoint precision, could maintain multiple different heat levels if Edmund needed to work several pieces simultaneously.
Edmund's skills grew sharper too, his muscle memory fully restored and then surpassed. The pieces he produced now were better than anything he had made as an apprentice, refined by hundreds of hours of concentrated practice compressed into two weeks of intensive work.
And Seth watched it all, documenting everything, preparing for the judgment he knew was coming.
On the thirteenth day, Beatrice returned to Fort Renly with her caravan. She had sold through her entire inventory of their goods in record time and had come back for more.
"The demand is extraordinary," she told Seth as they reviewed numbers in his study. "I've had to turn away customers because I couldn't meet orders. If you can maintain this production level, we'll both become very wealthy very quickly."
"Can you testify to that?" Seth asked. "To the economic value of what we're producing?"
Beatrice's sharp eyes studied him. "The King's representative?"
"Arrives tomorrow or the day after, according to my calculations."
"Then yes," Beatrice said firmly. "I'll testify to whatever you need. The Thornwood Trading Company has contracts worth thousands of gold pieces dependent on your smithy continuing to operate. That's objective fact, and I'll state it under any oath you require."
Seth felt another piece click into place. Between the townspeople who had directly benefited from the smithy's products, Wilhelm's grudging acknowledgment of economic improvement, and Beatrice's testimony about the trade implications, he was building a case that would be difficult to dismiss.
But would it be enough?
On the morning of the fourteenth day, a rider appeared on the horizon.
He came alone, riding a horse that bore the Arannis family crest on its saddlecloth. He was a man in his forties, well-dressed in clothes that marked him as nobility, with graying hair and the bearing of someone accustomed to authority.
Seth watched from the manor's window as the rider made his way through Fort Renly, noting how the people stopped to stare, how word spread through the town with the speed of wildfire.
The King's representative had arrived.
Seth took a deep breath, straightened his clothes, and went down to meet him.
The man had dismounted in front of the manor by the time Seth emerged. He bowed, the gesture respectful but not overly deferential.
"Your Highness. I am Lord Blackwood, dispatched by King Magnus to assess the situation in Fort Renly and report back on your governance. I trust you received His Majesty's letter?"
"I did," Seth confirmed. "Welcome to Fort Renly, Lord Blackwood. I hope your journey was pleasant."
"Long, but uneventful." Blackwood's eyes studied Seth carefully. "I confess, Your Highness, I expected to find you in a state of panic or perhaps having already fled. Yet here you are, calm and seemingly unconcerned about the gravity of the accusations against you."
"I'm very concerned," Seth said truthfully. "But panic serves no one. Come inside, Lord Blackwood. Let me offer you refreshment after your journey. And then I believe we have much to discuss."
As they entered the manor, Seth saw Eris watching from an upper window. Their eyes met briefly, and he gave her a small nod.
This was it. The moment everything hinged on.
Time to prove that witches were worth protecting.
Time to show that trash princes could build something worthwhile after all.
Lord Blackwood settled into the receiving room with the air of a man who had conducted many such inquiries before. He accepted wine from Lyra but did not drink it immediately, instead setting it aside and pulling out a leather journal.
"Let us be direct, Your Highness. I am here to investigate reports that you are harboring a witch in defiance of kingdom law. Do you deny these allegations?"
Seth met his eyes steadily. "I do not deny them. There is a young woman named Eris living in this manor under my protection. She is a majin who awakened to fire magic approximately three months ago."
Blackwood's eyebrows rose slightly, clearly not having expected such immediate honesty. "You admit it? Just like that?"
"Lying would serve no purpose," Seth said calmly. "You would discover the truth within hours of beginning your inquiry. Better to be forthright and move to what actually matters: whether my decision to protect Eris has been beneficial or harmful to Fort Renly."
"The law is quite clear on the matter of witches, Your Highness."
"The law was written based on fear and incomplete understanding," Seth countered. "And I am prepared to prove that the law's assumptions about witches are fundamentally flawed."
Blackwood leaned back, a hint of interest entering his expression. "This should be interesting. Very well, Your Highness. Make your case. Convince me why I should not recommend that you be stripped of your title and the witch be executed according to established precedent."
Seth stood up. "I could tell you, Lord Blackwood. But I think it would be more effective to show you. Would you accompany me on a tour of Fort Renly?"
Blackwood considered, then nodded. "Very well. Show me."
Seth led him through the town, and with every step, the evidence of transformation became more apparent. They stopped at farms where Seth introduced Blackwood to the owners, let them show off their new tools and explain how their yields had improved. They visited businesses that had completed long-delayed repairs thanks to affordable nails and hardware. They spoke with a carpenter who was taking on new projects because he finally had access to quality metal fittings.
And everywhere they went, when people learned who Blackwood was and why he had come, they spoke up.
"The witch ain't hurt nobody, my lord," one farmer said gruffly. "She just helps the blacksmith. My crops are better this year than they been in five years past."
"I was afraid at first," a shopkeeper admitted. "But fear don't pay bills. The money flowing through Fort Renly now, that's real. That's feeding my family."
Not everyone was supportive. Some people still made warding signs when Eris's name was mentioned, still spoke of her with fear and suspicion. But their voices were increasingly drowned out by practical testimonies of economic improvement.
Finally, Seth brought Blackwood to the smithy itself.
Edmund was working, hammer rising and falling in steady rhythm, shaping a piece of glowing iron into a scythe blade. And tending the forge, maintaining the flames with focused concentration, was Eris.
She looked up as they entered, her eyes widening when she saw Blackwood. But she did not let the flames falter, did not lose her control.
"This is Eris," Seth said simply. "And this is the source of Fort Renly's economic recovery."
Blackwood watched in silence as Edmund completed the scythe blade, as Eris adjusted the forge temperature without being asked, the two of them working in practiced synchronization. When Edmund finally plunged the finished blade into water and held it up for inspection, Blackwood stepped forward.
"May I?"
Edmund handed over the blade carefully. Blackwood examined it with the eye of someone who knew quality when he saw it, testing the edge, checking for flaws, assessing the temper.
"This is excellent work," he said finally. "As good as anything produced in the capital's finest smithies."
"Better," Edmund said with quiet pride. "Because we can maintain perfect temperature control throughout the entire forging process. Miss Eris's flames don't fluctuate like coal fires do. The consistency shows in the final product."
Blackwood set down the blade and turned to Eris. "You're the witch."
It was not a question, but Eris nodded anyway. "Yes, my lord."
"How long have you been doing this? Working with the blacksmith?"
"Two weeks, my lord. Well, nearly three now."
"And before that?"
"Before that I was running," Eris said quietly. "Hiding. Trying not to be caught and killed for something I never asked for and can't control."
Blackwood was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned back to Seth.
"Might we speak privately, Your Highness?"
They returned to the manor, to Seth's study this time rather than the receiving room. Blackwood stood by the window, looking out at the town, and was silent for so long that Seth began to worry.
Finally, the older man spoke.
"What you've built here, Your Highness... it's remarkable. And deeply problematic."
Seth's heart sank, but he kept his expression neutral. "Problematic how?"
"Because it works," Blackwood said, turning to face him. "Because you've demonstrated that witches can be assets rather than threats. Because you've created economic incentives for protecting them. And because if word of this spreads, it will undermine centuries of established policy regarding magic users."
He moved to sit down, his expression weary. "I am not a cruel man, Your Highness. And I am not blind to the evidence before me. Fort Renly is clearly better off now than it was a month ago. The witch has harmed no one and helped many. By any objective measure, your decision to protect her has been vindicated."
"But?" Seth prompted, hearing the unspoken word.
"But I answer to the King," Blackwood said heavily. "And the King's letter was very clear about his expectations. He wants the witch removed and you punished for defying tradition."
"What will you report?" Seth asked.
Blackwood was quiet for a long moment. Then he said carefully, "I will report the truth. All of it. The economic improvements, the testimonies from townspeople, the quality of the smithy's work, and yes, the fact that it all depends on a witch's power."
He met Seth's eyes directly. "I will also report that Fort Renly now has trade contracts worth thousands of gold pieces dependent on the smithy's continued operation. That shutting it down would not only harm this territory but would have ripple effects across the broader economy."
Seth felt a flicker of hope. "You'll recommend that we be allowed to continue?"
"I'll recommend that the King consider all factors before making his decision," Blackwood said. "Which is as much as I can do without overstepping my authority."
It was not a guarantee. But it was better than Seth had dared hope for.
"There is one more thing," Blackwood added. "The witch, Eris. I need to speak with her alone. Standard procedure for these investigations."
Seth wanted to refuse, wanted to protect Eris from whatever interrogation Blackwood had in mind. But he also knew that refusing would only make things worse.
"I'll ask her," Seth said. "But the choice is hers."
Eris agreed, though Seth could see the fear in her eyes. He walked her to the study where Blackwood waited, squeezed her hand once in encouragement, then left them alone.
The wait was agonizing. Seth paced the corridor outside his study, imagining everything that could be going wrong, every way the conversation could turn against them.
After what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, the door opened. Eris emerged, and to Seth's surprise, she was not crying or obviously distressed. If anything, she looked thoughtful.
"Lord Blackwood wishes to speak with you again, Your Highness," she said quietly.
Seth entered the study to find Blackwood writing in his journal. The man looked up as Seth entered and gestured to a chair.
"Your witch is remarkable," Blackwood said without preamble. "Intelligent, articulate, and surprisingly self-aware about the implications of her situation. She understands that she's a test case, that what happens to her will influence how other witches are treated going forward."
"She's not my witch," Seth corrected gently. "She's her own person who happens to be working with me."
Blackwood's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Noted. Regardless, I asked her a question that I think you should hear her answer to. I asked her what she would do if the King ordered her execution despite everything you've built here."
Seth's blood ran cold. "What did she say?"
"She said she would submit to it," Blackwood replied quietly. "Because if dying was what it took to protect you and preserve what you've accomplished, she would consider it a worthwhile trade."
Seth felt something twist in his chest. "That's not—she doesn't have to—"
"I know," Blackwood interrupted. "And I told her as much. But it speaks to her character, doesn't it? She's not the monster the law assumes all witches to be."
He closed his journal and stood. "I'll be departing tomorrow morning to carry my report back to the capital. It will take two weeks for me to reach the King, perhaps another week for him to deliberate and send back his decision. Use that time well, Your Highness."
"What do you think he'll decide?" Seth asked, unable to stop himself.
Blackwood was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Honestly? I don't know. Your father is... complicated. He values tradition and order, but he also values results. And the results you've achieved are undeniable."
He moved toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth, Your Highness, I hope he rules in your favor. What you've built here is worth preserving."
After Blackwood left, Seth found Eris in her room. She was sitting by the window, staring out at the night sky, and she did not look up when he entered.
"You can't offer to die for this," Seth said without preamble. "That's not acceptable."
"It's my choice," Eris said quietly. "If it comes to that."
"No," Seth said firmly. "We both survive this, or neither of us does. That's how partnership works, remember?"
Eris finally turned to look at him, and there were tears on her cheeks. "You've given me something I thought I'd lost forever. Hope. Purpose. A reason to use my power for something other than running. If sacrificing myself is what it takes to protect that, to protect you, then it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."
Seth crossed the room and knelt beside her chair so they were at eye level. "Listen to me very carefully, Eris. You are not a tool to be discarded when convenient. You are not a sacrifice to be offered up. You are a person with value that exists independent of what you can do for me or anyone else."
He took her hands in his, holding them gently. "We're going to survive this together. Both of us. And we're going to keep building what we've started. That's not negotiable."
Eris looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Together," she whispered.
"Together," Seth confirmed.
Three weeks. That was how long they had to wait for the King's decision. While continuing their work and building Fort Renly's prosperity, and trying not to think about the sword hanging over their heads.