Chapter 120: Hot coals
She gave a short, reluctant nod. "Fine."
"You don’t have to worry too much. Theron, Trovald, and Galen will handle matters of our allies."
Galen spoke next. "What about the Rogue King? If we are gathering allies, perhaps we should consider asking him to join us."
The atmosphere shifted slightly. Alaric’s expression hardened. "No."
Galen’s forehead creased. "He commands a large number of fighters. If he joins us, it would strengthen our forces. I’m certain he won’t refuse to help his mate’s son. He’d respect the bond before anything else."
"The fact that Orion’s son is mated to my daughter does not make me trust the rogues. I will not be indebted to them. If we ask for their help, they will demand something in return. And they never ask for small favors. The result will always be something I cannot give." Alaric replied coldly.
Aveloria tilted her head slightly. "And what exactly would they ask for?"
Trovald answered before Alaric could. "Freedom to trade within Lycanthria. They have been banned from roaming the kingdom as if they owned it. For generations, they have been confined to the outer territories. Granting them access to our markets and our lands would destabilize the region and anger every established pack." Trovald explained.
Alaric added. "The nature of the rogues is unstable. They have no central authority they can trust. They fracture. They scheme. They follow strength, not law. Even if Orion agreed to a pact, there is no guarantee his followers would honor it. Inviting a wolf into your home to deal with a rat, you may get rid of the rat, but the wolf will still be there, and it will be hungry."
"Trusting them is not advisable. For now, they are out of the picture." Trovald added.
Aveloria was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Soon enough, we may have to start trusting them. I am mated to one, and that’s not going to change." Her voice was calm but direct.
Alaric looked at her, and for the first time, the mask slipped slightly. He looked tired and sad. His shoulders stiffened slightly. Then he sighed. "I am not happy that you are mated to a rogue. But I do not have a choice. The Moon’s will is not something I can defy."
He straightened again in his chair, wincing almost imperceptibly. "Regardless, we will focus on allies who have proven loyalty. Diplomatic envoys will be sent with strategic gifts, military pacts, and mutual defense agreements. We will remind them of past alliances and future benefits. The Dwarves will require a formal petition delivered by someone of royal blood. Trovald will draft the document, and I sign it. Theron, while you handle the protectors of the seven kingdoms, also make contact with the Lord of the East. He respects martial prowess. If you win, he will listen."
Theron nodded in approval. The meeting continued in this vein for another hour. Alliances were discussed. Strategies were outlined. And every detail was committed to scrolls with ink.
"There is another matter we must address," Trovald said.
Alaric looked at him. "Speak."
"We need more information about the Wanderers’ major dwelling. Not their minor cells or their forward camps. The actual land where they reside. According to my research, the place is called Drakwyne. I have searched every map in the archives. I have consulted with traders, scholars, and travelers. However, no one can place it."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
Aveloria frowned. "It is hidden?"
"Yes. I believe that the location is concealed with forbidden magic. A place that can only be found by one of their kind."
They all fell silent.
Alaric finally spoke. "There is only one person who can help us find it."
Aveloria’s expression darkened before he even finished.
"Eirene."
Aveloria’s face hardened instantly. "No."
"She knows their ways. She is one of them. She knows their magic, their hiding places, and methods."
Aveloria’s voice was cold. "I would rather walk on hot coals than consider asking for help from Eirene. She would ask for her freedom in exchange for the information. You know she would."
Alaric held her gaze. "There is no other way to find Drakwyne."
"We can find great witches," Aveloria countered. "Powerful ones. Let them decode the location."
"I tried that already. It’s only a wanderer witch that can do that." Trovald explained.
"Then we find one! Or maybe a wanderer, we have them in the dungeon. Torture till they speak. And when we find the truth, we can ambush the Wanderers."
Theron cut her off. "That would be suicide."
She looked at him sharply.
"You are talking about attacking an enemy stronghold without knowing its defenses, its numbers, or its layout. That’s death. We need to be fully prepared. We need someone on the inside to give us that information."
"Eirene is the only option," Trovald added.
Aveloria stood up. Her hands are trembling. "I will not release her. I have plans for Eirene. She is going to be executed. She is going to pay for my mother’s death. For every crime she has committed. Her head will be on the spike! That is what she deserves." Aveloria said firmly.
A few seconds of silence passed. Alaric said nothing. His expression faltered for a brief moment. Guilt was written in the lines around his eyes.
"What must be done must be done. Eirene is the key to finding Drakwyne. We can use her knowledge against her own kind."
Aveloria looked at him, and suddenly she understood. "I know what you are playing at," she let out a short, humorless laugh.
Alaric’s brows drew together. "What do you mean?"
"You are still in love with her," Aveloria said bluntly. "And you cannot bear to watch her die. So you invent a reason to keep her alive!"
The words hit the room like a blow.
"Your Grace, that’s not true." Trovald countered.
"It is," Aveloria insisted.
Alaric’s face tightened. "I am a king first before anything else. My duty is to protect my people. If we can get Eirene to speak, we have a chance to uncover more secrets. Perhaps we may learn who is working for the wanderers within this very court. There are traitors among us, Aveloria. I know it. And she can help us find them."
Aveloria’s eyes burned with anger. "So you would bargain with the woman who killed your mate, bewitched you, orchestrated Evander’s attack, and nearly destroyed your kingdom?"
"I would use any resource necessary to prevent the destruction of this kingdom," Alaric answered.
Her voice dropped, harsh and controlled. "Then perhaps the kingdom matters more to you than the truth. Or the justice my mother deserves. You are a coward."
Alaric flinched slightly, though he tried to hide it.
Aveloria did not stop. "You call it strategy. I call it weakness. I will not be part of a negotiation with Eirene." She said, finally.
She turned and stormed out of the room. The silence that followed after the door slammed shut was suffocating. For a moment, no one spoke.
Galen exhaled and looked toward the door. He stood. "I will go after her."
Alaric gave a short nod. Theron remained in his seat. He looked at Alaric, then at Trovald. The weight of the conversation pressed down on them.
"She’s hurt," Theron said calmly.
"Yes. But the decision about Eirene cannot be delayed." Trovald replied.
Theron stood up. "I’ll do well to convince her." He turned to leave, his boot echoing on the floor as he walked away.
Alaric leaned back in his chair, the mask finally slipping for a brief second as pain and exhaustion showed in his eyes.
"We are running out of time, and the Wanderers will not wait for us to resolve our personal conflicts." He said quietly.
