The confiscated letters lay in a neat stack on Lysandra's desk, their wax seals already broken, their edges worn from Renn's trembling hands. The council chamber was quiet—too quiet for the weight those pages carried.
Daren stood beside her like a silent pillar. Aira paced near the window, arms folded, unable to fully contain her tension. Zelda sorted the documents, eyes sharp behind her calm expression. Serene and Rhedon flanked the door, listening, observing, calculating.
No one spoke until Lysandra lifted the first letter.
It was shorter than expected.
"R.—
Your hesitation is noted. Valenfirth's direction must be corrected.
Our next step proceeds as planned. Maintain access. Await signal.
—M."
Aira scoffed. "He doesn't even sign the full name."
Zelda murmured, "Because he knew we'd read this someday."
But Lysandra was already unfolding the second letter—the one with the most damage along the crease, as if Renn had read and re-read it a hundred times.
"You see the cracks forming. You feel the instability.
Valenfirth needs a firm hand.
Your empress is young, emotional, unsure.
Help us expose her hesitation—only then will the Union listen."
Lysandra's fingers stilled at the word hesitation.
It hit harder than any sword.
Daren sensed her reaction and spoke softly, "They preyed on weakness that wasn't real—only the perception of it."
But Lysandra exhaled slowly, forcing the words out.
"Their strategy is simple. Undermine me… then isolate Valenfirth."
She passed the letter to Zelda.
"There's more," the diplomat said, voice tightening.
She opened the thickest envelope—the only one written with an elegant, aristocratic hand. Across the first line, the ink curled like a snake.
"To ensure cooperation from the Union of Kingdoms, our friends in the Council will raise concerns regarding Valenfirth's governance. They are prepared to vote against her claims unless instability is proven."
Rhedon stepped forward. "Friends in the Council?"
Zelda nodded grimly. "Asterfell must have allies among the Union representatives. That explains the resistance during the hearing."
Aira's jaw clenched. "Traitors outside and inside Valenfirth. Perfect."
But Lysandra wasn't finished.
She opened the final letter.
It was longer—carefully written, with clipped military precision, not the casual elegance of an envoy.
"Should conflict escalate, the eastern corridor will fall quickly.
Your borders are exposed.
Asterfell will reestablish order and protect Valenfirth's people."
Aira inhaled sharply. "They've mapped out their invasion route."
Daren leaned over her shoulder.
"They're planning a lightning strike through the corridor near Elwick. That's the weakest point."
"And Renn," Lysandra added quietly, "gave them the dispatch logs to time their movement."
Zelda frowned. "Your Majesty… this handwriting… it isn't Marrek's."
Lysandra lifted her head.
"What do you mean?"
Zelda spread two letters side by side.
"The envoy we knew wrote with flourishes. Curves. A courtly hand. But this…" She tapped the more recent script. "This is military shorthand. A field strategist's hand. Someone trained."
Aira muttered, "So Marrek wasn't the real mastermind."
"No," Lysandra said softly. "Marrek was a mask."
Silence rippled through the room.
Realization followed.
Asterfell hadn't sent a diplomat to manipulate Valenfirth.
They had sent a strategist.
A planner.
Someone who knew how to fracture a kingdom from within.
Daren spoke first. "There's only one person in Asterfell known for campaigns like this."
Aira nodded slowly. "General Vael Corrin."
Serene looked up sharply. "The Iron Strategist."
Rhedon muttered a curse under his breath.
Zelda confirmed it, matching the signature strokes.
"It's him. Corrin's handwriting is distinct. Every military envoy knows it. And he's been missing from Asterfell's front lines for half a year."
Lysandra felt the heaviness settle into place.
Asterfell hadn't just tried to discredit her.
They had sent their most calculating mind to quietly dismantle Valenfirth from the inside.
She set the letters aside and stood.
Her voice was calm—too calm.
"They believe I am inexperienced. They believe Valenfirth is vulnerable. They believe our people will break under manufactured uncertainty."
Aira watched her carefully.
"Your Majesty… what will we do?"
Lysandra looked at the map on the wall—the embassies, the borders, the troop movements. Then she looked at the faces of the people who had stood with her through every shifting threat.
"We fight back," she said.
"Strategically. Quietly. And decisively."
She pointed to the eastern corridor.
"We reinforce Elwick and Cindermoor. Not loudly—quietly. Under the pretense of restructuring garrisons. Asterfell must not sense panic."
Serene nodded. "I'll rewrite the deployment notices to look routine."
"To the Union," Lysandra continued, "we respond with poise. We expose nothing yet. If they have Council allies, we cannot reveal our investigations."
Rhedon raised a brow. "You want to trap them."
"Yes," she said. "If they are coordinating with Asterfell, they will make the next move. And when they do… we will be ready."
Zelda's eyes sharpened with sudden admiration.
"You're turning their plan against them."
Lysandra allowed herself the faintest smile.
"As I must, if I want Valenfirth to survive."
Aira stepped forward, boots thudding softly on the stone.
"And what of Renn?"
Lysandra's expression turned cold again.
"He will be transferred to a secure cell at dawn. Kept alive. His testimony will be needed."
Serene added quietly, "And it will undermine Asterfell's argument if presented to the Union."
"Exactly."
Daren placed a hand over his chest—subtle, respectful.
"And what of General Corrin?"
Lysandra's eyes darkened.
"We find him."
Aira narrowed her gaze. "Alive?"
"If possible," Lysandra said. "But if he is inside our borders… he will not leave them."
The chamber fell silent again—not fearful silence, but the heavy, electric quiet that precedes a nation drawing its first line in the sand.
Outside, the wind shifted.
The embassy torches flickered.
Far away—beyond diplomatic walls and political whispers—Asterfell's camps were beginning to stir.
Zelda gathered the letters with practiced care.
Aira straightened with renewed purpose.
Rhedon cracked his knuckles, already thinking of troop formations.
Serene reached for her ledgers, planning the next wave of misdirection.
And Daren stepped closer to Lysandra—close enough for her to hear his words meant only for her.
"You're not the inexperienced ruler they think you are," he murmured. "And they're about to learn that."
Lysandra lifted her chin.
"Then we begin."
And so the counter-strategy was set into motion—quiet, sharp, and dangerous.
One that would decide the future of Valenfirth.