30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

M adan would lose his mind locked in that manor patrolled by Loren's soldiers. Though they did not come inside uninvited again—and he'd rather cut off his other hand than invite them in—he didn't trust they weren't reporting back any of his movements. With no messages in or out that wouldn't be read, he had no means of communicating with the Lords of his Lower Council.

At least not without encoding it first.

The only problem with doing so, however, was that he didn't know any of them well enough to make references, nor did he have enough time to plan for such things. This only made things worse as he began to receive letters from the Lords, none of which were forthcoming or included any hints as to what to look for. Margot, despite her attempts to help, had nothing to offer.

After spending five centuries priding himself on his analytical mind—of which he'd always found time to remind Azriel—he was now at a loss. Answers, he prayed, lay within what remained of Garth Caldwell's belongings, which had long since been shoved into small crates and set aside to make room for Azriel. Then Madan. And their grandfather kept everything .

Like every other room of the manor, the drapes of the office were now pulled shut, even at night. If he wasn't allowed to leave, he'd permit no one to see into his home. Privacy being all they had left, the servants and Margot had wholeheartedly agreed.

Madan dragged out two boxes from the corner and shoved the couches aside. Neat and orderly though he was, desperate times often called for a little chaos. At least at first. He upturned the first crate onto the low table at the center of the room before plopping onto the red and brown rug, crossing his long legs under him.

He made several stacks out of the papers he sorted through. Correspondence from the High Council, mainly the Princeps, occupied the space to the far left of the table. The likelihood of him finding anything of worth within those documents was slim. On the far side of the table, he piled up any letters from Eastwood's Lower Council. This was the most likely place to find something , but digging in before organizing the rest didn't sit right with him. Personal letters from friends and Margot were shuffled together underneath the table, unneeded entirely. A separate stack was created for the minimal written correspondence with the Crowe. He'd investigate those later. The final pile contained all documents detailing land ownership, taxes, and other business dealings.

Satisfied with the organization, Madan dug into the letters from the Lords. They were as dry as he anticipated. Nothing jumped out at him as a form of code used amongst them for discreet matters.

Then again, had Garth or any of his Lower Councilmen ever been imprisoned in their own homes due to a radical general's militaristic jurisdiction? Not likely.

But the more Madan read from Lord Veron Knoll, the more he began to understand the Caersan. Old and wise, the vampire was a seasoned veteran of the army and second-eldest son of the Knoll family. His elder brother had been killed during a dhemon raid two thousand years ago. He used long-game strategy tactics in many aspects of his life, enjoyed a rousing game of pall mall, and knew something had been happening between Garth Caldwell and the Crowe shortly before their deaths.

It was on these letters that Madan dwelled. At no time did Veron mention the Crowe by name or even by lineage. Madan knew they spoke of the Crowe because the writing changed. While the penmanship itself remained static throughout, the pattern and grammatical formatting shifted in a strange, irregular pattern. He even used colloquial contractions not considered proper amongst the Caersans. Most of all, a very specific he was mentioned throughout.

After studying his writing style and using these letters as a key, Madan settled into the chair behind the large desk, where he pulled forward Veron's most recent letter first.

Lord Governor -

It is with my most sincere apologies that I must cancel our upcoming appointment to discuss the harvest tax collection. This is an important time of year during which I am certain you would appreciate guidance. Unfortunately, I've been detained.

Due to this cancellation, I will do my best to provide you with as many details as I am able within this letter. I'm sure you understand why this troubles us all. The people of Monsumbra will come to you, as they have always done. No need to change anything due to our current predicament. It'll change soon, I am certain.

Each household pays their tax as one to minimize the number of transactions required. Eastwood's accountant will be present to collect the money prior to its distribution to you, the High Council, and the Provincial Bank for future renovations. You'll be in charge of when this happens. But never fear! We'll be ready to support as needed.

Residents unable to pay their taxes and are not behind on payments are asked to save and present one and a half next season. Residents unable to pay their one and a half carries over from the previous season are to be penalized. This isn't ideal. Members of the household are chosen to pay their dues in manual labor for the Province. It'll be difficult work, but worth it in the end.

We have time until the harvest tax begins, so do not fret. Included is a document of Lords who collect within their own estates and pay the lump sum to you. You'll need allies. They'll be of more help than I can during this time.

With respect,

Lord Veron Knoll

Madan stared at the letter for a long moment, then pulled a blank sheet of paper to him, inked his pen, and rewrote the sentences that stood out:

Unfortunately, I've been detained. I'm sure you understand why this troubles us all. It'll change soon, I am certain. You'll be in charge of when this happens. We'll be ready to support as needed. This isn't ideal. It'll be difficult work, but worth it in the end. You'll need allies. They'll be of more help than I can during this time.

Sitting back, he read and reread the message. If he'd guessed correctly and Lord Knoll wasn't merely prone to writing in such an erratic manner for a Caersan, then the vampire and the rest of the Lower Council were just as displeased with this turn of events. What was more, they were ready to take up arms and fight back—alongside Madan's allies. Did he know who they were?

He doubted it. Veron likely guessed Madan would be in league with the dhemons after his grandfather's dealings with the Crowe and Azriel's exposed lineage, but there would be no way for him to know about Brutis and the other dragons. And they were all about to stretch their wings into battle—something they hadn't done for years.

" I hope you're all ready ." Madan fisted the rewritten message and volleyed it into the fire, where it browned and curled into ash.

Brutis stretched his consciousness like a cat. " Whatever for ?"

Inking his pen again, Madan slid another paper in front of himself, scrawling Lord Knoll's name at the top. " A rescue mission across Eastwood ."

The evening following their attempt to relocate to the Waer Province, Emillie and Alek were given permission—as though they were children in need of correction—to visit her father's estate. Though Emillie wished for Kyra to join them, Alek patiently reminded them of their need for discretion. If they were seen in every setting together, the gossips of the Society would begin to whisper. Whether it was about her and Kyra or that they believed she did not want to be alone with Alek, it did not matter. To make their marriage appear presentable to other Caersans, they had to continue their ruse indefinitely.

So she kissed Kyra goodbye in the privacy of her—their?—suite before meeting Alek in the foyer. She took his hand in silence, and they set out together. Though they may not be compatible when it came to their physical relations, Emillie could not deny how well they had worked together thus far. Mere nights into their marriage, perhaps, but weeks into conspiring against the Society's expectations of them.

Inside the carriage, Emillie leaned back in the seat to study Alek's neutral face for a long minute. The sharp angles of his high cheekbones cast weary shadows beneath them, and when he looked at her, his black eyes were filled with more uncertainty than she had ever seen before. The sight of him was disconcerting.

"Loren took control of Valenul," he said before she could ask, for what felt like the thousandth time, what had happened to force their change of plans. "No one in the Society moves to or from their current city without permission from the army."

Emillie went still. The words clanged around in her mind, their meanings not registering at first. As they settled into place, abject horror filled her chest. She bit back the first words that came to mind and said instead, "How?"

He shook his head and turned his glare out the window as he had done the night before. "That is what I want to find out. He must not be concerned about your father or me getting in his way if he is allowing us to meet so soon after this decree."

"He is not the Princeps," she said in a hushed voice. "He cannot make these decisions."

Alek did not respond for a long moment. He looked at his hands in his lap, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "There is a law that allows it."

He pulled a letter from his pocket and unfolded it. The creases were soft from being folded and refolded so many times. When Emillie took it from his outstretched hand, however, she realized it had only been him reading it over and over again, for it was dated a mere week ago.

And just like Alek, Emillie read it. Looked out the window to digest what she had consumed, then read it again. She slowly looked at him. "Everyone will believe we knew about him the entire time. No one will believe us after this."

Leaning forward, Alek pried the letter from her shaking fingers and took her hand in his. He squeezed it tight, his depthless eyes never leaving hers as he said, "Your father and I will fix this. There are too many strikes against Loren."

"Did everyone in the Society get that letter?"

"No." Alek abandoned the thing on the seat next to him. "The entire Council did, but I would not have even gotten a copy so soon if not for a friend under Loren's command."

Emillie frowned. "A friend?"

"A lowly grunt," Alek said with a shake of his head, "who was in charge of delivering the message to the Princeps after he escorted Azriel to Algorath. He worked in my household in Waer before joining the military."

"Why did he join?"

"To provide for his family." He grimaced. "He had signed the papers before speaking to me, so I could not offer him a higher wage to stay. I have been looking after his wife and child since he went to the Hub. It seems it worked out in my favor."

She scoffed, trying so desperately to distract herself from the growing nausea. "You would think he would send a letter to each Lord Governor as a courtesy."

"He did." Alek rolled his eyes, still holding firm to her hand. "It is likely sitting on my desk in Armington after being read aloud to the capital."

Fantastic. So no matter where they went, they would be seen as traitors to Valenul due to their relationship with Azriel. What would they say, then, about Ariadne? Emillie could not stomach thinking about it. Her sister had already gone through too much. More rumors would only drive her farther away from Valenul.

As if Emillie would want her to return in its current state.

"What will this visit with my father accomplish?" Emillie did not want to see him so soon after the wedding, but for all intents and purposes, they needed to make it appear as though they were one happy family. One solid front, ready to conquer whatever came their way. The Society was nothing if not brutal to those who ostracized themselves.

Alek sighed. "My plan is to help him reverse whatever madness Loren has begun."

"To rewrite the law." Emillie bit her lip. "The entire Council is needed for such things. He will not consider it legal otherwise."

"The only Lord Governor not in Laeton is Madan."

Emillie's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her half-brother. He was likely faring along the same as them. "Is that enough?"

"It will have to be."

By the time they arrived at the Harlow Estate, Alek had pocketed the letter, and her mind whirled with all that had happened over the last couple of nights. Too much. If this had been anything similar to what Ariadne had gone through during her first nights as a married Caersan, Emillie could understand why she had not wanted to talk about much. Aside from the Soltium celebration at Camilla's, of course.

Gods . Emillie's lungs seized at the thought of her friends. With everything that had happened, she had not considered how they were faring. With Camilla's father on the Lower Council and Revelie living alone as a Caersan woman, she could not imagine they were in better positions.

How selfish she had been to not consider them sooner. She should have contacted them immediately. Instead, she held Kyra through the early morning hours, discussing how this would change all their plans once they arrived in Armington.

The carriage door opened, and Alek stepped down first. He held out his hand for her, and she took it without hesitation to follow suit, then linked arms as they made their way up the steps to the manor. How strange it was to be entering the building she had called home for so many decades with such a different view of it.

In the few nights she had been away, Emillie had grown exponentially. She had stepped into her shoes as the mistress of the house and explored her sexuality with Kyra. While she enjoyed the latter far more than the former, she was not upset with any of her decisions up to that point. She would be walking back into her family home with more love than she left it.

Though, despite what had happened to her father thanks to Loren, she still could not find it within her to love him as she once did.

They passed the soldiers in their crimson uniforms and stepped into the foyer, where they pulled off their cloaks and handed them to the butler. She smiled kindly at a passing servant before Alek took her hand again, leading her toward her father's study.

"Should we not first be announced?" She no longer lived here and, therefore, did not have the same rights to wander the halls as she once did. At least not with Alek.

But he shook his head. "He knows we are coming. This is too important to leave to formalities."

To her utter shock and embarrassment, Alek did not so much as knock before shoving open the door and letting them in. She tried to pull him back, yet he held firm and urged her forward.

Her father sat behind his desk with the same weary expression on his face that Alek had had in the carriage. He rested his forehead on his hand, elbow propped on the desk, and swiveled his gold eyes to them. Still, he did not move. He merely returned to the paper laid out before him.

"Father, I apologize for intruding."

"I do not." Alek gave her an unreadable side-long look. "We must discuss this immediately."

The Princeps sighed and sat back in his chair to look between them. "So you brought my daughter with you?"

Alek huffed a laugh as they settled into the chairs across from him. "If you think for one second that she would have let me come alone, you only prove how little you know her."

Those hawk-like eyes slid to her. "And why does she know anything about what is happening?"

"It would be difficult," Alek said, "for her to ignore the soldiers that impeded our departure from Laeton last night."

"Excuse me?" Her father frowned and looked between them.

"Apparently, we needed permission," Emillie said after finding the courage to say anything at all. "From the General."

Her father's lip curled in disgust. "I was blinded by his loyalty when he exposed that traitor. I should have awaited a decision from the Council prior to reappointing him to such a powerful position."

"The Council would have followed suit," Alek reassured him, "and his title would have been restored nonetheless. No one could have seen such treachery coming from him."

Emillie scoffed at that but said nothing when both Caersans raised their brows at her. Men were blind and often stupid due to their blissful ignorance of what some did to those deemed lesser. Their trust came and went with ease. When the truth of things became evident to women, they trusted their instincts and never looked back. She would have left Loren stripped of everything if she had had the chance.

"Have you something to say, Daughter?" Her father held his hands open, but the greeting did not reach his eyes. His tone held more spite than she had heard in some time. "You have been invited and therefore must have something of worth to contribute."

She blinked at him a moment, then twisted her fingers together and said, "You are both fools if you believe he would have sat back and done nothing, even without his title. Neither of you understand how terrible a person he is."

"I think we can comprehend the gravity—"

"Then tell me, Father," Emillie said, heart thundering and hands shaking as she leaned forward, "have you seen Lord Governor Caldwell's arm?"

Her father's brows pinched. "A dhemon attack."

"Wrong." Heat prickled in her eyes, and she swallowed the rising tide of nausea. She had sworn to keep silent on the matter. "That pitiful excuse for a General tortured him. His hand had rotted to the bone by the time Ariadne pulled him free at the Gard Estate. The General ruined him in his craze to expose Azriel."

Both men sat unfathomably still. They stared at her as though she had spit venom, not truth, at them. Their lack of response only spurred her on.

Sitting straighter, Emillie blinked back the hot tears, refusing to let them loose. When next she spoke, her voice was rough and broken, "Do you even know who Madan is?"

"How do you know all of this?" Alek searched her face as though seeing her fully for the first time. "Why did you not tell me?"

"Because they asked me not to," she choked out. "But they kept truths from me, too. I swear I did not know about Azriel."

"Madan called you his sister," Alek said. "You said you would explain. Do so now."

Across the table, her father's fingers clenched into fists. "Unnecessary. By law, the marriage—"

"Stop lying!" Emillie glared at him. "Madan is your son , and you lied to everyone . You said they died."

"He did to me."

"And you would sacrifice him again for your own gains?" She shook her head, fiery rage coursing through her. "Loren will go after him just to prove a point, and if you think your pretty words or new laws will stop him from doing what he wants, you are both delusional."

Alek turned his attention to his Princeps in confusion. " Your son?"

"My first family died," he said coldly, "when I learned the truth. Whether Mattias was of my flesh or not, I do not claim him and never will."

How could she have spent a century and a half loving such a terrible man unconditionally? He had done nothing but lie, twist, and shame. His very existence made her sick.

"This is why you cannot invite women to such conversations," her father said, returning his attention to Alek with cool indifference. "They derail the conversation for their own agenda. Let us continue uninterrupted."

The door opened behind them, and a chilling voice said, "Oh, but I do love a history lesson."

When Loren had received the request for Alek Nightingale to visit the Princeps, a new path appeared before him. The perfect opportunity. He approved it immediately and set out from the Hub to ensure he was included in the stimulating conversation he knew would happen.

Upon his arrival, he stood outside the office door, listening in as truth after truth came to light. Madan was the long-since-believed-dead Mattias Harlow. All the more reason to ensure he did not gain the upper hand in Eastwood Province. If he decided to use his true name, too many Caersans would rally behind him. The Harlow name held too much weight—the same reason he wished to use Ariadne to legitimize his own claims.

But Loren's favorite part of the night was the look of sheer terror on Emillie's face as he stepped through the door flanked by a handful of his highest-ranking officers still in Laeton. He could not help the slow smirk that curled his lips.

"Good evening." He inclined his head to the three. "You all look quite well."

In unison, Alek and Markus stood to face him. They moved around the chairs and desk but did not extend their hands in greeting. Both looked murderous. The irony was funny, really. As though they had the upper hand.

"I did not receive your request for an audience," Markus said as though he had any right to declare the need for one.

Loren cocked his head in cool calculation. "Has your daughter returned home yet? I have not seen her, and you were adamant she would be back by now."

"Perhaps your decree has prevented her travel." Markus crossed his arms, jaw tight. "Care to explain? Elaborate, perhaps, as to why you have restricted the Council to their homes and kept everyone clouded by fear."

Unsurprised, Loren merely clasped his hands together and surveyed them both. No need to explain himself to those untrustworthy enough to lead the kingdom. "I expect to be notified immediately upon Miss Harlow's safe return to Laeton."

"Why are you so obsessed with her?" Emillie's voice was stronger than Loren had ever heard it before. She stood then, looking so much like her sister with her hands balled into her skirts as though fearful of what would happen next. Perhaps that fear was not as unfounded as she believed it to be.

Loren chuckled. "Ah. Lady Nightingale. I did not see you there."

"Answer my question."

"Silence, Daughter." Markus gave her a warning look over his shoulder.

But Emillie pushed forward, her pale face turning ashy. Just like Ariadne, there was something beautiful in that unease. She lifted her chin, eyes rimmed silver. Perhaps she thought her new husband would be able to keep her safe.

As though reading Loren's thoughts, Alek reached out and gripped her forearm. "Emillie…"

"Leave my sister alone." Emillie's chin quivered, though she did not look away. She was more daring than Ariadne, that was certain. Less malleable. Loren was glad that Alek had chosen to step in when he did, though he did not doubt their engagement to be some other level of manipulation.

"I think you forget," Loren said, laying a hand over his heart, "that I have loved your sister for quite some time and wish to keep her safe. When she returns, I will see to it that she is well taken care of."

Markus's mouth drew thin. "I believe I understand what it is you desire, General."

Now this would be interesting. Loren dropped his hand and raised a quizzical brow at the Princeps. "Do you now?"

"You wish to be named my heir." Markus stood a little taller, the shadow of his previous position as General of Valenul showing in the edges of his hard features. "And you wish to marry my daughter to gain that title."

Loren shifted back on his heels and smirked. Alek's face drained of any color and when Emillie moved to step forward, he pulled her back with a warning hiss of air between his teeth. She stopped dead and looked to her father. The father whom she had always believed to be the most powerful man in Valenul.

Now she would see that the most powerful Caersan would always be the one with the army at his beck and call.

"It seems you have figured me out," Loren said smoothly. "Bravo."

Markus shook his head. "I rescind my blessing. You will never marry her, and after this madness, you will never be Princeps."

If any of the three believed those words to be strong enough to take the wind from his sails, Loren would be surprised. Though they held their positions with the belief that Markus could, in fact, take away Loren's position again, he did not back down.

"That is where you are mistaken," Loren said, "I no longer wish to be Princeps."

Alek must have seen it in his eyes before Markus registered his next move. The Lord Governor, wise as he was, jerked Emillie back and placed his body firmly in front of her. Markus, however, moved too slow.

In the span of a heartbeat, Loren pulled his sword from its sheath and buried the blade in Markus's chest. The Princeps did not even have the chance to speak, let alone scream, before the air punched from his lungs at the impact. Those sharp, golden eyes widened in surprise and turned down to look at the sword now buried in him just before the blood leaked from between his lips.

A scream shattered the air. As Markus's knees gave out and Loren pulled the blade free, he calmly turned his attention to Alek struggling to hold Emillie back.

"Father!" Emillie writhed in her husband's arms, tears flooding her pallid cheeks. Her eyes never left the dead Caersan as the lifeless Princeps crumpled to the floor, his unseeing eyes still wide with shock. "What have you done? What have you done ?"

Loren stepped back and held out a hand. One of his officers passed a kerchief to him, which he used to wipe down his blade.

"Like I said." When he spoke, he made sure it was just loud enough to be heard over the insufferable wailing. All eyes turned to him, even Alek's as he clutched his wife to his chest. "I no longer wish to be Princeps."

Alek shook his head. "You fucking monster."

He almost laughed. Instead, he shook his head and sheathed his clean blade. The officers behind him would do anything he said, so he turned to the Lord Governor to ensure full cooperation. "Things will be different now, Lord Nightingale, and if you wish to be a part of it and continue protecting that beautiful wife of yours…I suggest you fall in line."

"Loren—"

"No." He held out his arms. "You may now address me as Your Majesty or King Gard."

The Caersan glanced over Loren's shoulder as though expecting the officers to turn against him. Pathetic. "Excuse me?"

"It is time for us to return to our roots as a monarchy," Loren explained, keeping his words simple for the man who clearly did not understand what he was saying. "Therefore, I will not be your Princeps. I am your King. And if you wish to maintain order in the Waer Province on my behalf, you will pledge your allegiance to me. Now."

"Fuck you!" Emillie snarled, her red-rimmed eyes burning into him. It almost amused him.

"Emillie, silence," Alek said, only holding her tighter.

She looked up at him incredulously. "You cannot be considering bending your knee to him ."

Alek grimaced. "I swore to keep you safe."

"I will not bow to him."

"You will," Alek said, his voice growing quieter and quieter with every word. "You must. Trust me. Please."

Loren narrowed his eyes. "Your sister will be my Queen. Be a good girl and listen to your husband…for her sake. I would hate for you to miss her coronation."

He left the rest unsaid. There was no need to tell her that she would die if she did not cooperate. She was smarter than her sister, and judging by the way her eyes widened in fear, she understood his implications just fine.

"I cannot let either of you leave this room," he continued, "without your undying fealty."

Keeping himself between Emillie and her dead father, Alek turned back to him. He held Emillie's hand firm, giving it a light tug, before lowering to a knee. At first, Emillie did not follow suit. Her entire body shook as she slowly—oh, so slowly—knelt beside her husband, her father's blood soaking into her dress.

"Your Majesty." To his credit, Alek kept a straight face as he bowed his head and said, "I pay my allegiance to you, King Loren Gard of Valenul, and so swear my undying loyalty. May you strike me down should I prove to be unfaithful or break this pledge."

Loren chuffed and nodded. "I quite like the way you said that. You must write it down for all others to repeat."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"I accept your pledge," Loren said, crossing his arms over his chest. "And as I am feeling generous, I will accept it for you both. Your duties as Lord Governor will remain almost entirely the same. Do not expect to meet with the Council. It is hereby disbanded."

Alek, in all his wisdom, did not look up. He did not respond at all. That would be enough for him. Likewise, Emillie said nothing more. She stared at some point on the floor near Loren's boots, crying silently.

At least she had finally shut up.

"Colonel Wintre." Loren pivoted to his officers.

The stout man stood a little straighter, unperturbed by the events unfolding before him. In fact, he looked positively giddy. A good soldier. He bent at the waist as he said, "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"At ease." Loren felt light as a feather now that his plan had finally unfolded without a hitch. Wintre stood straight again. "Alert the Provinces of these changes. I expect to hear from all Lords within a fortnight. They are to come to Laeton with their families immediately to also swear their fealty to me. Anyone who refuses is to be cut down without hesitation. In addition, I would like scouts to be sent in all directions in search of my bride. Send a company to Algorath. Something tells me she has been hiding there. Bring her to me."

Behind him, Emillie made a small sound before being quieted by Alek speaking in low tones. Loren smirked. If everyone were to bow as easily as he, this would be no problem. Having their families present would make the transition run smooth as ever.

"Is there anything else, Your Majesty?"

"Just one." Loren's smirk grew. "Madan Caldwell is a traitor. I want him dead."