Festus saw the wound land, and he did not pull back. Rather, he leaned into it like a man driving steel deeper. "An oath breaker does not wake one morning, and change," he said. His voice was low now, and more dangerous. "He breaks oaths because it serves him."
No one moved. The words settled over the chamber like smoke.
Friya swallowed hard. Her throat tightened, though she fought to hide it. All her life, there had only been one man in the private chambers of her heart.
Drexo.
Even as a girl, even before politics, before war. There had been only Drexo. Since the first day she saw him at the capital, till that moment, everything within her wanted him.
She remembered him laughing in the summer courtyards. She remembered stolen glances during tournaments. The night of their betrothal. The torchlight, his hand in hers. tied together with a piece of cloth.
Then the vows. His trembling voice. She has felt as though she was the only woman the gods ever made.
For years she had fed on those memories. The imagination of how lives would look like when they are married. How their children would look: red hair with fine faces. "It wasn't just imaginations, they were my dreams, and I lived in them."
And now Festus was tearing through them. Piece by piece. "He won't dare," Friya suddenly roared. Her chair scraped backward.
The room jolted. Her chest rose sharply. "He won't dare betray me again."
Festus gave a dry chuckle, almost pitying. That made her blood boil. "He loves Maria Woodland enough to lie for her." Festus stepped closer. "Enough to take her to his bed."
Each word struck.
"Enough to put a child in her womb."
Friya's fingers curled. But he did not stop. "Enough to marry her over you." Then the final cut. He stared directly into her. "And you think he would not love her enough…" His voice dropped. "…to make her son heir?"
The room shifted. A visible shudder. Even the torches seemed to tremble. No one breathed. Because all had imagined it. But no one had dared say it aloud.
Maria's son on the Golden Throne. Not a Kenwool child. The thought alone was poison.
Frida rose: Quick, and sharp. Before the silence could choke them. "I think this should be Friya's choice." Her voice was calm, too calm. Yet cunning lived in it.
She turned, and faced Friya. "Whatever she decides," She looked around the room. "we stand behind her."
Some nodded reluctantly..Fabio turned slowly toward his eldest daughter. His face was unreadable. "What do you have to say?" No one moved.
Silence stretched: long, and heavy.
Friya stood frozen. Her thoughts ran where her face could not. She saw Drexo again. The engagement feast. His promise. His hands. His lips brushing her knuckles.
Then another memory pushed through.
Maria standing beside him. Looking at him in ways Friya understood too well. A lover's gaze. A wife's gaze. Her jaw tightened. Her chest shook. She had seen the way Drexo looks at Maria, he had never looked at her that way.
She rose slowly. Every eye followed. "I have loved Drexo all my life. Maybe I still do." Her voice cracked, but held. No one interrupted.
She exhaled sharply, trying to force composure. "But he has made it clear…" Her lips trembled. "…his love is with Maria, and not me." The words hurt even spoken.
She clenched her fist hard. "Marrying him is not the problem."
She paused.
The room waited. "The problem…" Her voice nearly failed. "…is that i will never be first in his life."
That broke something in the room. Even Festus looked stricken.
Friya closed her eyes. Tears escaped despite her war against them. Then she said it. Clear, Cold, and final. "I choose Robert Rendell over Drexo Dragaria."
The chamber shifted. A verdict. A declaration. A war answered.
Fabio slowly nodded. Something proud flickered behind his stern face. Yet Pain too. "Very well." His voice carried judgment. "We remain with Robert Rendell."
He rose, and straightened like a Warden again, and not a father now. "I will reject Drexo's offer." He paused, then darker. "And send his envoy away."
Frida smiled. A smile that never reached her eyes. Dangerous, and calculated. She leaned forward. "Why merely send them away?"
Several heads turned to face her. She enjoyed the stares. "Send their heads to Drexo."
Silence fell, cold silence. Her eyes glittered. "Let that be our answer." Her smile widened. "I would like to watch him come raging to Ashford…" She whispered it almost lovingly. "…and die here."
Even the room recoiled. Felix was on his feet at once. "No." The word cracked hard, and immediate. He looked almost offended. "We are not savages." His chest heaved. "We do not kill envoys." His hand struck the table. Not loudly, but enough.
Frida rolled her eyes. But said nothing.
Festus stood: measured, and thinking. Then he spoke. "We serve Robert now." He looked at Fabio. "Send a raven." His tone was practical. "Let Robert decide what should be done with them."
Then the burden lies on him, not us..The argument landed.
Fabio considered it. His fingers drummed once, then twice. Then it stopped.
He nodded. "Send the raven, we await the judgment of the king."
No one argued further. Because now it has moved beyond the family, beyond Ashford. Now Robert stood between peace and blood. And everyone knew that when kings decide, men might die.
By dawn the raven was ready. Festus stood in Ashford's upper courtyard with a rolled message tied to the bird's leg. The sea wind moved through his cloak. The sky was pale, almost silver.
He held the bird a moment longer than necessary. As if weighing whether once released, something far greater than parchment would be set in motion.
Then he opened his hand. The raven beat its wings hard and rose.
Higher, and higher. Until it was a dark speck cutting through morning mist.
Festus watched it vanish..His jaw tightened. "The die is cast," he muttered. "And Ashford began its game."
All through that day, they hosted Theon as though nothing had changed. Servants brought wine. Hunters returned with venison. Minstrels played. Nobles smiled too much. Everything looked polite. Yet underneath it all, tension moved like poison beneath skin.
Theon felt it. Though he could not name it. The Kenwools delayed, they Smile, Promised deliberation. "Soon," they said.
"Soon."
Yet something in their eyes stayed guarded. That was not what occupied his thoughts.
Not fully.
Because his eyes kept finding Frida again, and again, and again.
That morning he sat near the royal forest, beneath cedar trees where light poured through leaves in broken gold.
There she was: Frida, stretching in the early morning sun. Her movements were slow, and deliberate. Like she knew she was being watched.
Theon leaned against a stone, unable to look away. He smiled to himself. "I love Evelyn…" He whispered it as though reminding his own heart. "But she does not return my affection." He looked upward, the clouds drifted. His mouth curved. "I should not lose two beauties at once."
A foolish thought, but it was pleasing. He nodded to himself as if approving a battle plan. "I will approach her." And so he did. He walked toward her with practiced ease, and with the swagger of a man used to charm.
"Hello, Lady Kenwool." His tone was warm, and playful.
Frida looked at him only once. Then rose, and took up her mat. Then she began walking away.
Theon stopped, blinking. Irritation touched his face. "You are leaving?" He forced a laugh. "I came to say hello."
Frida still wore that faint smile. Yet gave him nothing, Not even a word.
Theon's fist tightened. The insult pricked him. "Is this how you treat guests?"
That made her stop, then she slowly turned. She forced a smile, but the smile carried edge. "You are my father's guest, not mine.
Then she turned again, and walked away. No apology, no courtesy, nothing.
Theon watched her go. Her waist swayed with each measured step. Mocking him without trying. Or maybe trying.
He blew a whistle through his lips. Low, and amused. "What a beauty." He shook his head. "Yet without manners."
But still he smiled. Because rejection had not cooled his interest. It had sharpened it. Far away, the raven flew. Over cliffs. Over rivers. Past villages and old ruins. Toward Kings' City.
By midday it arrived. Lord William received it in the outer ward. He untied the message himself, and broke the seal. Then he read through the note.
And as his eyes moved down the parchment, something changed. He went still. Very still. Then slowly, he smiled. A dangerous smile.
"Perhaps," he murmured, "We may have no need to fight this war with blades anymore."
He folded the message, turned, and moved fast through stone corridors into the throne chamber.
He dropped to one knee. "Your Grace."
Robert sat rigid on the throne. His gaze was sharp. "A raven has arrived from Ashford."
Robert leaned forward like a predator scenting blood. "What is it?"
William hesitated. A calculated hesitation. Robert noticed. And turned to his advisers. "Leave us."
The chamber stirred. No one questioned. Then men bowed, and left.
Doors shut one after another, until only the king and his Hand remained.
Silence stretched for a few seconds. Then William stepped closer, and lowered his voice. "Drexo has sent envoys with terms to Ashford."
Robert's face darkened. But William continued. "He offers Friya the queen's throne."
A flicker in Robert's eyes.
" He would recognize her children as sole heirs."
Another flicker.
"And offers House Kenwool command of the national army."
Robert's brow knotted. "They swore to me." The words came cold, and possessive.
William nodded. "Yes, and they intend to keep that oath."
Robert leaned back slightly. The tension shifted, even though not completely eased.
"That is why they sent us the raven," William added.
Now Robert nodded. "I will not forget their loyalty."
William inclined his head. Then delivered the blade hidden in the letter. "They have Theon Kendrick."
He paused.
"And fifty of Drexo's men."
Robert's eyes narrowed. William held his gaze. "They ask you to decide their fate."
Silence fell. Heavy, and thick
Robert's fingers curled over the throne arm. His face was laced with irritation. Then he spoke. "They are envoys." Each word clipped, and measured. "They ought to be sent home unharmed."
William smiled faintly. "Yes, Your Grace." But something in the smile made Robert's eyes harden. William stepped closer, his voice now dropping.
"But…" He met the king's eyes. "You are not thinking like a ruthless man right now."
Robert stiffened. The room seemed colder. William did not stop. "You are still thinking exactly the way Maria wants you to think." The words struck hard. A ghost between them.
Maria.
Her name spoken in that room was old fire. Robert's jaw tightened, his fingers gripped harder.