Alora froze in her chair. The hall went deathly quiet, every breath held as Eldrik’s blade gleamed in the candlelight. Argyle Guards shifted, hands inching toward hilts and Calveron soldiers followed suit.
Zuma held the prince’s stare and the Minotaurs beside him braced.
Every person in the room was armed. She too reached into her pocket, the spindle warm against her palm.
Alora’s heart hammered in her chest as the weight of tension was pulled tight. One snip, and blood would spill across the feast, turning the dining room into a massacre.
Lady Zinnia’s laughter chimed like crystal, sudden and bright.
“Come now, gentlemen, ladies are present. Tonight, is meant for peace, is it not?” She tutted softly, her gaze sliding to the prince. “Your intended sits at this table, Eldrik. Do be so kindas to grant our hosts, and their guests, the respect your station demands.”
Eldrik stared at Zuma, the quiet stretching for a breath.
Then Eldrik’s blue eyes met Alora’s, and he grinned as if he was merely jesting. “Of course, my lady. As you say.” He settled back in his chair. “The wine isprovingpotent.”
Light chuckles went down the table.
Alora quietly exhaled a breath. Her father’s hand slipped from the hilt of his sword. Commander Basile and Admiral Alder did the same.
King Thalion set down his goblet, his smile as thin as parchment. “Let us not dwell on trivialities. We are here for matters of consequence. I am pleased Argyle and Calveron could sit at the same time tonight and bring our conflict to a peaceful end.”
“You’re right,” Alora spoke at last. “I do wonder what matters brought you here, King Thalion.”
Laurent’s fingers dug into her wrist beneath the table, but she pressed on.
“Argyle has no coin, no trade, no strength left to bargain with when our people lay dying. So tell me, what drew your covetous eyes here?”
Shocked silence filled the dining hall. Eldrik’s slow smile widened.
His father merely sneered. He let his voice flatten into something stony and indifferent. “Calveron is a warring court, princess. We thrive on bloodshed and conquest. And like the Hydra, we endure.
“For where one falls,” Eldrik intoned. “Two will rise.”
Their guards standing watch along the walls repeated the phrase, beating their chests six times in perfect unison.
Alora rolled her eyes. “Conquest? Crushing a weak nation beneath your heel must have been a trulyarduousfeat. My, aren’t you inspiring.”
Thalion’s expression darkened.
He set his napkin down with a quiet finality. “It was a short war, indeed. There is little here to pillage in a country worn thin by sickness. What remains but a daughter’s hand? With this union, Argyle survives under Calveron’s protection.”
As if by premonition, she could already see what this “protection” meant.
A new reign seizing her home, colors stripped away, laws rewritten, her people pressed into the dirt. The Minotaurs enslaved again. The Midlands perhaps spared for a time, but never free. Thalion’s thirst for power would consume them all.
“Without it,” he continued smoothly, “your people will wither beneath the very curse that devours them. It is a simple conclusion, Princess. Bend the knee or watch them break.”
Her chest heaved with furious breaths, rising like the storm outside. She looked for defiance in Argyle’s lords, but every one of them stared at their plates. Even her father flinched, glancing away.
They had already surrendered.
But three met her gaze.
Lady Zinnia, sharp with quiet calculation. Zuma, dark and approving. Caelum’s eyes held hers across the table, unflinching. An understanding passed between them. He would not abandon her, even if the rest of Argyle already had.
In that brief pause, she sensed them waiting for something to change.
Alora had been waiting for change her whole life.
