The words hung in the air, heavier than the smoke that drifted through the window slits.
Edward’s finger stopped mid-trace on the map. Anastasia turned from the window, her crimson eyes sharpening. Even Reina’s tail went still.
"Martial law," Edward repeated slowly, as if tasting the words for poison. "You’re certain?"
"I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t."
I t his gaze, held it. There was no hesitation in , not about this. The duchy was bleeding out one soldier at a ti, one bullet at a ti, one beast at a ti. We couldn’t keep fighting this war the sa way and expect a different result.
Especially now that they seem to have developed a smarter strategy.
"Every factory capable of producing weapons or ammunition will be converted to military production. Every household will contribute able-bodied adults to support the war effort, whether on the walls, in the supply lines, or in the fields feeding our soldiers. And every noble in this duchy will open their coffers and their armories."
Anastasia’s eyebrow rose. "You think they’ll agree to that?"
"I don’t care if they agree."
I moved to the map table, my finger tracing the markings Edward had made. The beasts’ positions. The weak points in our lines. The gaps where we were spread too thin.
"This isn’t a negotiation. It’s not a request for cooperation. The duchy is under threat of collapse, and I will not watch it crumble because so baron wants to protect his silverware."
Edward was quiet for a long mont. Then he nodded.
"It’ll cause unrest. The nobles won’t take kindly to having their authority overridden."
"Then they can bring their complaints to personally." I looked up from the map. "I’ll make ti for them."
A ghost of a smile flickered across Edward’s pale face. "I’m sure you will."
Anastasia unfolded her arms, pushing off from the window fra. "You’ve thought about this already?"
"Since before I arrived."
That was a lie. The truth was that the idea had crystallized sowhere over the forest, watching the horde surge toward our shadow, watching the guns on the ramparts tear through them with a precision they hadn’t had before.
Didn’t take a literal genius to recognize that this was a losing battle.
*** The Day After
The proclamation went out before dawn.
Runners carried copies to every corner of the duchy. Town criers read the words aloud in market squares and village greens. ssengers on horseback rode through the night, their lanterns cutting through the darkness.
By midday, the reactions began to arrive.
So were supportive. Soldiers’ families, workers from the factories, farrs who had watched their fields burn. They understood what was at stake because they had already lost so much.
Others were less enthusiastic.
The first noble arrived at Ravenhold before noon, his carriage wheels still caked with mud from the rushed journey. Lord Marsten, apparently, a wiry man with nervous hands and a title that was older than his purse.
"Your Grace." He bowed low in the command post, his voice trembling slightly. "I ca as quickly as I could."
"Lord Marsten." I didn’t invite him to sit. "You have concerns about the proclamation."
"I... that is..." He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "My family’s lands have already contributed so much to the war effort. Our granaries are nearly empty. Our armories are bare. I’m not sure what more we can give."
"Then you should be grateful you won’t have to decide."
Marsten blinked. "Your Grace?"
I stepped closer, close enough that he had to tilt his head back to et my eyes. [Presence of Vice] pulsed at the edge of my awareness.
"The proclamation doesn’t ask you to decide what to give. It tells you. Your granaries will be surveyed. Your armories will be inventoried. Your lands will be assessed for their capacity to support the war effort."
"But my family—"
"Will be compensated. Fairly." I held his gaze. "I’m not here to strip you of your legacy, Lord Marsten. I’m here to ensure you still have a legacy to pass on. Because if the beasts break through, if they reach the Golden District, none of your granaries or armories will matter."
Marsten’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I... understand, Your Grace."
"Good. You can return to your lands now. The surveyors will arrive within the week."
He bowed again, lower this ti, and retreated from the command post with his tail between his legs.
Reina appeared at my elbow, her violet eyes watching Marsten’s carriage disappear through the gates.
"One down," she murmured. "How many more?"
I glanced at the stack of ssages still waiting on the table. Requests for etings. Demands for clarification. Threats, veiled and not-so-veiled, from houses who thought their wealth made them untouchable.
"Too many."
But this shouldn’t take long. Once my supplies are restored, manpower recovered, and the beasts are finally thinned out.
It won’t be long before I can bring this martial law to an end.
***
The days that followed blurred together.
Supply convoys arrived from the interior, wagons groaning under the weight of ammunition and grain. Surveyors fanned out across the duchy, assessing the capacity of every household, every factory, every field.
The walls of Ravenhold grew thicker, the gun emplacents more nurous, the soldiers better fed and better ard.
And the beasts waited.
They didn’t attack. Didn’t surge against the walls in the endless tides that had beco so familiar.
They just... waited. Clustered at the treeline, watching, their glowing eyes visible even in daylight.
"Freaks out more than if they just continued attacking..."
Anastasia stood beside on the eastern rampart, her crimson eyes fixed on the distant shadows. The evening wind tugged at her hair, pulling strands loose from her braid.
"I agree," I said. "How are the others doing?"
"If you an our neighbours, they’re doing better than we initially suspected. The mont they heard you’d declared Martial Law, they all followed suit. Edward and I estimate it’ll be another two weeks before they fall."
"By then, do you think we can handle the oncoming horde?"
"At the current rate of reinforcents and supplies? Most likely."
"Good."
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