Kaelus’s jaw tightens, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Lady Vashar and Lady Vasheeth, you forget—I am king. I am not required to seek your permission. Our announcement at the banquet was a courtesy, not an invitation for your council.”
The lords exchange displeased glances, and the tension in the air thickens to the point I can barely breathe.
Kaelus's gaze shifts to the hulking Fae lord standing silently, his hands clasped over the pommel of a great black sword, its tip resting on the stone floor.
“You are unusually silent today, Lord Horax,” Kaelus states. “What is your opinion?”
Horax looks up from his vacant stare, his lip curling in a snarl. “I don’t believe you truly want to know, Your Highness.”
“Of course I do. Speak your mind,” Kaelus snaps, his voice edged with impatience.
Horax cracks his thick neck, his expression darkening as he glances at me. “Very well. I would have done the same thing—only I would have succeeded where Modok failed.”
Before Kaelus can settle the unrest, Daed lashes out, disappearing in a swirl of twisting black smoke before reappearing directly in front of Horax. He clamps his hand around the lord’s throat, forcing Horax’s sword to clatter to the floor as he struggles against Daed’s grip. Their snarls echo in the throne room, their fanged canines bared, revealing the ferocity of their intentions.
Nyraxes throws her head back in laughter as the other lords bicker, the chamber thrumming with the chorus of snarls and taunts.
“Enough!” Kaelus booms, rising to his feet as darkness envelops the room.
The lords freeze, their voices silenced by the encroaching shadows. Only Daed remains unfazed, his grip tightening around Horax’s throat, the lord’s pale face beginning to tinge with purple.
“Release him, Daedalus,” Kaelus commands, his voice thunderous. When Daed hesitates, Kaelus’s tone turns fierce. “Now!”
Reluctantly, Daed's hand slips free, and he staggers backward, but the threat in his gaze lingers—a warning that words cannot convey. Horax rubs at the handprint indented into the flesh of his rasping throat.
“We must put an end to this infighting,” Kaelus implores, his tone charged with urgency. “Especially if the rumors hold any truth.”
He shifts his gaze toward the Reapers, and Orios steps forward, an imposing figure shrouded in the darkness of his helm. “My lords,” he begins, his voice steady and commanding. “Our scouts report that the Legion’s numbers grow by the day. A small but formidable force is stationed in the valley near The Grove, and if our reconnaissance is correct, they plan to attack within the month. But there are whispers of additional Legion bands scattered across the Sundered Kingdoms, poised to strike at a moment’s notice. If we allow this to continue unchecked, it won’t be long before they overwhelm us, even with every warrior in the Untold Sea at your command.”
My heart races in my chest. No. This cannot be. Please, Souls, do not tell me I have unwittingly married into a deception—that the Mordorin lack the strength to confront the Legion of Saints.
The lords murmur among themselves, the weight of Orios’s words settling over the chamber as he steps back into line.
“Now is not the time for reckless decisions,” Kaelus presses, his voice rising. “If we are to vanquish the Legion and obliterate their threat once and for all, we must unite against them, not turn on one another. What say you?”
I wait anxiously for their responses, the fate of The Grove teetering precariously in the hands of these bickering Fae.
Reon is the first to speak. “While I draw breath, Eyr’Drogul shall always fight for Prince Daedalus and House Mordorin.”
Daed tips his head to Reon, who responds in kind.
“Fyn’Rothar will fight. We are and always will be loyal to the King of the Sundered Kingdoms,” Ilyra adds, bowing her pale haired-head respectfully to Kaelus.
Sarberos exhales a measured breath before slowly raising his gaze to the king. “Thal’Morven abstains. We have already endured too much loss to take up arms once more.”
Kaelus grimaces, his attention flickering to Horax and the twins. Yet I anticipate their responses even before they articulate them.
“No,” the twins declare in unison. “We will not engage unless our demands are met.”
Kaelus' features harden. “And what are your demands?”
The twins and Horax exchange a knowing glance, as though they had long agreed upon their terms.
“Banish the princess, and our swords are yours,” Horax asserts, confirming their ultimatum.
Kaelus’ eyes dart nervously to Lanneth. Though he has assumed command of this conclave, he visibly quakes under her seething glare. He turns back, shaken but resolute.
“We cannot acquiesce to such terms,” he mutters.
