Roxanne and Ashkareth sat side by side, their bodies still aching from the intense sparring match that had rocked the training yard to its foundation. Blood streaked their faces, their breaths heavy and uneven. The air still carried the scent of scorched magic and cracked stone. Despite the pain, both father and daughter wore faint, satisfied smirks, the kind shared only between two alphas who refused to yield.
Mara knelt between them, her hands glowing with soft golden light as she worked. Her magic seeped into Ashkareth’s chest first, the warmth nding fractured ribs and torn muscle fibres. Each ti the light pulsed, his skin knit back together as though ti itself had reversed.
She sighed as she wiped sweat from her forehead, already sensing the argunt forming before a single word was said. "What’s next?" she muttered, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusent. "Don’t tell you plan to challenge my cousin next."
"Yes," Roxanne and Ashkareth replied in perfect unison, not even glancing at each other.
Ashkareth let out a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest, still half-swollen from the last exchange of blows. "She won over —the demon king," he said, his grin showing the faint gleam of a freshly healed fang. "It’s only right for her to win against the beast king next."
In front of Roxanne, Vivianne exhaled softly, the kind of sigh that carried both affection and resignation. She moved closer, her fingers brushing over Undine’s liquid form as the water spirit obeyed her command. The restorative water swirled gently around Roxanne’s body, cool and luminous, flowing like silk infused with moonlight. The essence shimred as it seeped into torn muscle and bruised skin, knitting flesh back together slowly.
Roxanne barely flinched, her gaze still sharp and burning, even through exhaustion. Ashkareth chuckled, his voice rough but laced with pride. "Right after I deal with the demon race," he said, flexing his newly healed hand. "The Black Covenant’s fall has shaken the underworld. The elder won’t be too happy about their new king, and that’s where the chaos starts."
Roxanne leaned back, her own wounds being tended to by Undine’s soft, rippling water. The spirit’s magic wrapped around her like silk ribbons, closing gashes and soothing burns, leaving faint glimrs of light where the wounds once were. "Then it’s a good ti to make a move," she said simply.
But Mara’s grin suddenly widened, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "So that ans," she said slowly, glancing between them, "they can’t say anything to us anymore, the mixed blood, the ones they used to look down on."
Roxanne raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Why would they?" she said, her tone cool, confident, and sharp as a blade. "If I’m the one sitting on the throne... they’ll have no choice but to kneel."
"And after you deal with the beast king? My Lord?" Mara asked again.
Roxanne didn’t answer right away. She let the silence linger, the faint sound of Undine’s water magic still swirling around her body. Her gaze shifted toward Vivianne, steady, piercing, yet filled with sothing softer beneath the steel. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and deliberate. "Dietrich de Erengard." The na fell like a blade against stone.
-
In the next morning,
An urgent letter arrived from the capital, carried by an obedience falcon that landed heavily on the courtyard railing, feathers slick with exhaustion from the long flight. Maxim is the first to reach it, the faint glint of the small tal tube strapped to its leg making his pulse quicken. "A letter, from the capital," he muttered.
The falcon was ant to be the spy they planted in the palace, and with this falcon coming here, it ans sothing has happened at the capital. Maxim untied it carefully and handed the bird to one of his knights, telling them to feed and care for the falcon.
The letter bore no crest, only a seal of deep blue wax, the kind used exclusively by their spies within the royal palace. Its imprint is smooth and simple, leaving no trace of origin. Maxim’s pulse quickened. He broke the seal with his thumb, unfolded the parchnt, and began to read.
"The blue bird has stepped down; the golden field has submitted to the ice. The golden bird moves forward to the field." Is what is written in the letter.
His eyes widened as the aning sank in. The ssage was written in code – short, precise, and dangerous to the untrained eye. But Maxim knew exactly what it ant.
The blue bird is Duke Gerhard de Eisenwald, the chancellor of the empire. The golden field symbolised the South, a land of endless harvests and wealth. The ice is north, cold, and unyielding. And the golden bird is the Emperor.
Maxim’s breath caught. He didn’t waste a second. Folding the letter with haste, he turned and ran, his boots striking the marble corridors, making all the servants and maids inside the mansion stare at him with confusion.
He reached the council chamber without knocking. Inside, the faint scent of incense and polished steel hung in the air. The great map of Kaelindor lay spread across the table, marked with banners and pins, each one representing a border, a kingdom, or a power at play.
There’s the realm of the Beastkin to the west, the crimson lands of the Demon race to the south, and the Erengard Empire, ho of the werewolves, sprawled across the central plains. To the far north, marked in pale silver, stood the territories of the mixed blood, Roxanne’s dominion.
She stood beside the table, one hand resting on its edge, her other arm crossed loosely over her chest. The conversation with Ashkareth and Mara had been calm but tense, centred around troop movent toward the Beastman Kingdom. Next to them are Ian and Rose, the Wyndham’s children. They’re talking about tonight’s plan in the capital and preparing for the war that will happen soon.
When the doors burst open, Roxanne turned first, eyes narrowing slightly. Ashkareth’s gaze followed, slow but sharp, while Mara tilted her head, her hand still resting on her chin. While Ian and Rose are still thinking about the possibilities that will happen tonight.
Maxim halted just inside the doorway, his chest rising and falling. Even before he spoke, they knew sothing was wrong. "Pardon my intrusion, my lord," he said, voice low but strained. He dropped to one knee, holding the folded parchnt forward with both hands. "You have to read this."
Roxanne frowned but said nothing, only extended her hand. The letter is placed into her grasp with utmost care. She unfolded it and began to read in silence. The light from the afternoon sun from the window caught the shift in her eyes, calm at first, then darkening. The room fell silent except for the rustle of the parchnt in Roxanne’s hands.
When she finished reading, Roxanne didn’t speak right away. The silence that followed was sharp enough to make the air feel heavy. The parchnt trembled slightly between her fingers before she laid it down atop the map, her gaze tracing the borders of the Sout, the golden field.
A long breath escaped her. Calm, but threaded with the kind of restraint that ca before movent. "Send the vice-captain to the South," she said finally, her tone even, but it was filled with command. "Take a hundred of our knights from the North with him. And summon at least two thousand from Wyndham’s forces to follow. We’ll need them stationed near the border."
Maxim straightened imdiately. "Yes, my Lord."
Roxanne’s eyes lifted from the map to the others in the room. "Get in touch with the head of the Blackwood Guild. We’ll need the rcenaries mobilised before dawn."
Her voice was calm, but her expression had hardened, no longer the strategist in discussion but a commander preparing for war. The room seed to contract around her words. "The Chancellor has stepped down," she continued, her jaw tightening. "And the Emperor—" she paused, as if the word itself burnt in her throat, "—is threatening to destroy the South."
A sharp silence followed, broken only by the soft rustle of the map beneath her hand. "We’ll have the advantage if we move now," she went on, looking up at Maxim. "Protect them. Guard the fields and their people. Tonight isn’t just about saving your parents, young lord..."
Her tone softened, though her eyes remained fierce. "It’s about bringing Duke Eisenwald back under the South’s protection. If the emperor plans to burn his fields, then we’ll make sure he burns nothing but his own pride."
Roxanne straightened, pressing both hands to the table’s edge as if to steady herself and the plan unfolding before them. "Move. Before that golden, idiotic arrogance spreads any further." The words dropped into the room, dismissive and final.
Then she turned, eyes locking with Mara’s. "We ride for the Beastman territory," she said. "I’ll demand a duel with their king." The plan needed no further explanation; Mara’s expression already shifted into the hard focus of soone who understood what must be done and how to do it.
Ashkareth shifted, the air around him humming with older, rougher power. "I’ll return to the Demon lands and settle matters there before the week ends," he announced, voice rumbling. "Bring Vivianne to our ho in the Dreadfang: Morwenna will keep her safe there. No other race will find that place."
Roxanne nodded once. "I’ll speak with my wife this evening. Maxim, prepare the riders. We march toward the Beastkin tomorrow. Mara, you leave tonight." Her commands are clipped, each one sent like an arrow toward its mark.
"Yes, my lord," Mara answered, her tone controlled and imdiate. Maxim echoed the response at her side, already slipping into motion.
Roxanne pivoted to the Wyndham siblings. Ian and Rose stood where she had left them, attentive and taut as drawn bows. "You two, keep the ho front steady tonight. My captain will et with you about sending two thousand Wyndham knights to the South. Make sure nothing goes awry." Her words are careful but uncompromising; the safety of entire fields depended on their obedience.
Ian and Rose exchanged a brief look, the weight of the order settling across their shoulders. "Yes, my lord. It shall be done," they said together, the unity in their voices.
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