Chapter 15
He arrived just after sunrise.
No fanfare. No banners. Just a sleek black carriage drawn by two obsidian-coated horses, flanked by four riders in dark armor that glinted silver at the seams. Their helms bore no insignias. Their cloaks were storm-colored. It was the kind of procession that said: Yes, we can kill you. No, we won't bother explaining why.
They didn't stop at the gate. They didn't announce themselves. They simply arrived—like the cold snap before winter, sudden and inevitable.
I watched from the balcony.
My breath caught.
The carriage door opened, slow and deliberate.
He stepped out last.
Kael Vire, Grand Duke of the Western March.
He was exactly as the rumors claimed: tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed like the wind might try to assassinate him. His coat was deep gray, almost black, lined with something that shimmered too smoothly to be fur—void-touched leather, maybe, or something rarer. Silver gauntlets covered his hands. His boots made no sound on the gravel.
And his eyes—
His eyes didn't scan. They assessed.
Not curious. Not wary. Calculating.
Like he'd already decided whether to burn the place down.
I met him at the entrance, trying to ignore the way Elias stood behind me with a hand on a hidden knife. Just in case.
Kael's gaze swept over me once. Not like a man admiring a potential bride, but like a general checking for weapons.
I smiled anyway.
"Welcome, Your Grace," I said, voice smooth. "Would you like tea or terms first?"
A flicker in his expression—nothing dramatic, just a shift in the eyes. Most people wouldn't notice it.
I did.
Because for someone like Kael Vire, that counted as a full-blown outburst.
"Tea," he said.
His voice was low, restrained. Not icy. Not warm. Just… controlled.
Progress?
I gestured for him to follow. Elias stayed close behind, quiet and unreadable.
Kael took in the estate without a word. His eyes lingered on the polished woodwork, the subtle repairs, the still-warm scent of bread wafting from the kitchen.
He noticed everything.
And yet he said nothing.
Just walked like a man used to silence following behind him.
We entered the sitting room. Kellan had arranged the table perfectly: untouched silverware, fresh tea steeping, fruit slices cut with military precision.
Kael sat without waiting to be offered a seat.
I mirrored him. Elias perched by the fire, watching us like a judge in miniature.
Kael picked up his teacup. Turned it once in his gloved hand. Didn't drink.
Then, eyes locked on mine, he said,
"Let's begin."
.
.
.
.
.
End of Chapter 15