Meanwhike, at Cliffland, the sea crashed against the cliffs as it always had, but the sound felt heavier now, as though the waves themselves carried grief. Smoke still lingered faintly in the air, a reminder of what had been lost, of what could not be rebuilt no matter how many stones were laid again.
Drexo stood at the edge of the high ridge, looking down at the waters below.
He had not moved for a long time. Behind him, the castle breathed quietly, its halls filled not with voices, but with absence. Servants walked softly. Guards spoke in hushed tones. Even the wind seemed to lower itself when passing through the broken towers.
"They killed my nephews." The voice came from within.
Raw, and unrestrained.
Drexo turned slowly. Havana sat on the Rock Throne, her body leaning forward, her hands gripping the carved edges as though they were the only things keeping her upright. Her voice cracked again as the weight of it returned.
"They killed my nephews," she repeated, this time softer, but no less broken.
No one answered her. What answer could there be? Drexo's jaw tightened. His eyes lowered for a moment, then lifted again, but the grief did not leave him. It stayed. Quiet. Burning underneath everything else.
The following day carried no relief. Morning came, but it did not change anything. A raven cut through the sky, its wings sharp against the pale light as it descended toward the castle. Guards caught it before it could settle, exchanging glances as they noticed the seal tied to its leg.
Kings' City. They did not speak of it. They did not need to. The message was carried quickly through the halls, past stone pillars and silent corridors, until it reached the throne room.
Havana sat where she had been the night before.
Still, watching nothing. "My lady," one of the guards said, bowing as he stepped forward. "A raven arrived from Kings' City."
Havana's jaw tightened immediately. "That must be from Robert," she said, her voice low, already edged with something sharp. "What does he want?"
She extended her hand. The guard stepped closer, placing the message into her palm with care.
The room held its breath. Drexo stood to the side, his gaze fixed on her as she broke the seal.
Her eyes moved across the words.
Slowly.
Then they stopped. Something in her expression shifted. Not shock. Something colder.
She read it again, this time more carefully, as though making sure the meaning had not changed.
It hadn't. Her fingers tightened slightly around the parchment.
Drexo stepped closer. Without asking, he reached for it. She did not stop him. His eyes scanned the message quickly.
Deliver Drexo up, and bend your knees to mez or you and your city will face heavy destruction.
The words sat there. Simple, direct, and final. A low murmur spread through the council.
Not loud. But enough.
"My lady!" Lord Badmus began, stepping forward slowly, his voice strained under the weight of what they all understood. "We cannot afford a war of this nature."
He swallowed. "The entire kingdom against Cliffland, we will not last a single day."
No one argued with him. Because no one needed to. The truth of it hung in the air, unavoidable.
Havana's jaw clenched tighter. She knew. Of course she knew. But knowing did not mean accepting.
"So what are you suggesting?" she asked, her voice rising slightly as her eyes snapped toward him. "That I hand over my nephew… the true heir to the Golden Throne, so that a usurper can kill him?"
Lord Badmus bowed immediately, lowering his head. "I did not say so," he replied quickly. "I would never suggest that."
The room fell silent again. Havana pushed herself up from the throne. The movement was sudden, sharp, as though sitting any longer would suffocate her.
"Good," she said.
Her voice steadied as she straightened fully, though the anger remained beneath it. "Because it is not going to happen."
Her gaze swept across the council. "We swore fealty to House Dragarian in perpetuity," she continued. "And I am not a breaker of oath."
Drexo watched her. Then he stepped forward. "Aunty," he began, his voice quieter, but firm enough to cut through the tension.
The room shifted toward him. "Maybe I should leave," he said. The words felt wrong even as they left him.
But he pushed through them. "Maybe I can go far from here. Hide, until my dragons hatch."
His hand clenched slightly at his side. "Then I will return." The idea hung there.
Fragile, and uncertain.
Havana turned toward him slowly. And then she snapped. "To hell with your dragons!"
The words cracked through the room, sharp enough to silence everything else. "You are going nowhere," she continued, stepping toward him, her presence suddenly overwhelming.
"With or without dragons, we are taking back the Golden Throne." Her hand rose, her finger pressing sharply against her temple.
"Kingdoms are not conquered by the sword alone," she said. "They are taken here." Her gaze locked onto his.
"The soul of Astarous is both politics and blade," she went on. "And we will play the politics."
Drexo said nothing. He simply watched her. She turned away from him then, her focus shifting instantly.
"Theon," she called. Theon stepped forward at once. "Write to every kingdom," she ordered. "Except the North, and Iron Valley." Her tone left no room for doubt.
"Summon them here," she continued. "Tell them to come to Cliffland, and bend their knees to Drexo Dragarian."
The name echoed through the room. "The one true heir to the Golden Throne."
Theon bowed.
He moved quickly, gathering parchment, ink, and sealing wax. The sound of quills scratching filled the silence as message after message was written, each one carrying the same command.
Ravens were brought. One by one, the messages were tied. Then released.
Black wings filled the sky as they scattered in every direction. And then, nothing.
The first day passed. No response. The second followed. Still nothing. By the third, the silence had grown louder than any answer.
Drexo stood once more at the edge of the cliffs, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sea stretched endlessly before him, unmoving in its indifference.
His fingers curled slowly into his palm. "They will not come," he said, more to himself than anyone else. The wind carried his words away.
"They will not be loyal to me, not without dragons."
The truth sat heavily in his chest. His eyes lowered slightly. "My only hope," he murmured, "is to hatch those eggs."
Behind him, the castle remained still. Waiting for something.
Then, a shout, sharp, and urgent. From the lower watch. "An army is approaching!"
Drexo's head snapped up instantly. His heart slammed against his ribs. For a brief second, the world narrowed to a single thought.
"Has Robert come this soon?" The words barely left his lips before movement erupted behind him.
A messenger ran through the halls, breath uneven, his steps quick as he pushed toward the throne room.
He dropped to one knee the moment he reached Havana. "My lady," he said, his voice tight with urgency. "An army is coming."
Havana rose immediately, There was no hesitation. "Whose flag?" she demanded. "What banner do they carry?"
The messenger hesitated, then his expression changed. A smile broke through. "The Kenwools," he said.
The shift in the room was instant. Relief. It was sharp, and sudden. Like air rushing back into lungs that had been held too long.
"Your father-in-law to be," someone said quietly, almost under their breath. "He has answered your call."
Drexo did not move at first. Then slowly, a faint smile touched his lips. It did not stay long. Because something else sat beside it.
Relief, yes, but also irritation. Sharp, and quiet. Because even as help arrived. His heart remained somewhere else.