The reports blurred into one shape.
Loss.
Accelerating.
---
Marcus, seated across from him, leaned forward at last and spoke carefully. The leather creaked under his weight. His voice was low, measured, the voice of a man stepping onto ice he was not sure would hold.
"He is forcing us to choose."
Aldrich did not look at him. His eyes remained fixed on the dark window, on the scattered lights of the kingdom below, each one a reminder of what was slipping away.
"No," he said, almost absently. "He believes I will."
A subtle difference. Not a denial of the choice itself, but a refusal to acknowledge that Thessian had the authority to offer it. In Aldrich's mind, the insult was not merely military aggression. It was that Thessian presumed to set terms to a king. That a wolf—a creature, a weapon—had placed itself on equal footing with a throne.
Marcus heard the distinction. And understood its brittleness.
---
Another call broke in.
