Meanwhile, at Cliffland, unease had begun to move through the castle like a cold draft through old stone. It started in small ways. Drexo lingering too long at windows..Pausing in the middle of council meetings. Forgetting answers. Hearing reports and not hearing them.
His eyes kept drifting toward the sea. Always the sea. Maria noticed. He sat one evening by the carved window of their chamber, staring at the black waters below the cliffs. Torches flickered behind him. His hands were clasped so tightly the knuckles had gone pale.
Maria crossed the room quietly. Placed a hand over his shoulder. "The gods will bring them back." Her voice was soft, and steady.
Drexo did not turn. For a long while he said nothing..Only watched the dark. Then finally, "The gods are often late." His voice sounded tired.
Maria knelt before him, and forced him to meet her eyes. "Theon is not a child." She smiled faintly. "He has survived too many wars to die carrying a peace offer." Drexo tried to smile, but worry sat too deep.
By the fifth day, no ship had returned. But a raven came. The black bird was taken into the throne room.
A note, it was sealed. Drexo broke it open, and read. The envoys were safe and well hosted. Discussions are ongoing. There is no cause for concern.
The lords around him breathed easier. Some even smiled. But Drexo did not. His fingers remained tight around the parchment.
Maria saw it. "What troubles you?" He exhaled sharply. "Some of the lords of Astarous are brutal men." His voice dropped. "Lord Fabio is one." He rose from the throne, and started pacing. "What if Theon wrote this under a blade?"
Silence met him. "What if he is captive?" His mind was already moving where reason could not restrain it.
Maria stepped forward. "That is fear talking." Drexo turned. "Fear keeps kings alive."
Days passed.
And with each one he frayed more. By the eighth day restlessness had become furious. He sat on the Golden Throne, but could not stay seated.
He rose, and Sat. Rose again. Then suddenly he pointed to a guard. "Summon the army commander." The command cracked through the hall. The guard bowed and ran.
Minutes later Edwin entered in mail and fur. He dropped to one knee. "Your Grace."
Drexo did not sit. "Prepare your men." The hall stilled. "Prepare the ships." Edwin's face sharpened. Then came the blow. "If the envoys are not back by tomorrow." Drexo's voice hardened. "we storm Ashford."
A murmur swept the chamber. Like wind over dry grass. Even Edwin hesitated, then bowed. "As you command."
But Havana stepped forward: cold, and measured. "Your Grace…"
Drexo did not even look at her.
"I will not advise it."
Now he turned: slowly, but dangerously. Her chin lifted. "If the envoys are arrested, then the Kenwools expect you."
She stepped closer to the throne. "You would be sailing into a trap." Drexo's temper snapped. "What would you have me do?" His voice thundered. "Theon led that mission for me."
His chest rose and fell. "If he risks his life for me…"
A beat.
"…I should do the same." Havana did not retreat. "He is not the king." The words landed hard. "If he dies…"
She scanned the chamber. "The kingdom survives." Then her eyes locked into his. "But if you die…"
Silence: heavy, and mortal. "We are all doomed." The room held its breath. Drexo's jaw worked. A muscle pulsed in his neck.
Then he spoke. Each word was iron. "I have made my decision." No one moved. No one dared. "I will not be a king who hides while his people fight and die."
His hand struck the throne arm. "I lead the army myself." That ended it. No one argued again. Orders flew through the fortress like sparks.
Messengers ran. Horn calls sounded. Armor was fetched. Blades sharpened. The castle was transformed by war.
Maria heard before he came to her. She was already arming. Her girls with her. Helen fastening shields. Evelyn folding battle wraps. Steel clattered. Voices moved quickly. Then Drexo entered.
He froze as he saw Maria in armor. His face hardened. "What do you think you are doing?"
Maria did not bow. "Preparing for war."
His eyes flashed. "No."
She stepped forward. "I fight beside you."
Drexo shook his head: violent, and absolute. "You carry my child." She opened her mouth.
"But—" He cut her off. "You are my child's shield now." His voice lowered. But it became more dangerous. "Until you deliver that child…" He pointed. "You do not fight."
Maria clenched her fists. The old warrior in her rose, ready to resist. But he spoke again. "It is an order." Each word struck. "It is not a debate."
Silence stretched.
She bowed stiffly because obedience tasted bitter.
Drexo left.
And Maria stood frozen. Helen watched her. "You would disobey?" Maria looked toward the door long after he had gone.
Then quietly, "No." But her eyes burned.
That night Cliffland did not sleep. The harbor blazed with torchlight. Men mended ships. Hammer struck wood. Ropes dragged. Barrels rolled. Salt wind mixed with iron. War smelled alive. Drexo walked among soldiers in armor. Not as king, but as a warlord.
Inspecting, and speaking. He touched shoulders. Calling men by name. Morale swelled around him. Edwin approached. "All is ready, Your Grace."
Drexo nodded. But his gaze kept drifting seaward. Always the sea. As if expecting ghosts.
Morning came gray and cold. And the army gathered. Ranks of steel. Ships lined ready. Banners snapping.
Drexo wore war armor black as storm clouds. Sword at hip. Wolf crest at chest. A king prepared for blood.
He stood at the front. Edwin stood beside him. Warriors began to board the ships one after the other.
The loading had begun. Then, a trumpet sounded. It was distant, and sharp.
Every head turned.
Another blast echoed from the sea. A cry rose from a lookout tower. A warrior shouted from the wall. "They are back!"
Everything froze.
Then it erupted. Men rushed toward the cliffs. Drexo stepped forward so fast he nearly slipped in the surf. His breath caught.
Far beyond the harbor, a ship. Then another. Then the Dragarian banners.
Home, and alive.
Drexo exhaled sharply. A sound half prayer. Half collapse.
They waited at the seashore until the ships came close enough for faces to be seen. No one left, not the king, not the lords, not the warriors.
Even the servants lingered at the cliffs, straining their eyes toward the water. The harbor wind cut cold, but no one moved.
Drexo stood nearest the tide. Arms folded jaw set. He looked every bit a king. But Maria, standing slightly behind him, saw what others did not.
His fingers trembled. Only a little. Only enough for someone who loved him to notice. The ships cut through the gray surf.
Closer, and closer.
Then Dragarian banners rose clear..A murmur moved through the shore.
Alive.
They were alive. The first vessel struck shallow waters. Ropes were thrown. Planks dropped. Warriors began filing out.
Salt-soaked. Travel-worn. And then, Theon.
Drexo moved before thought caught up. He strode through the surf. Met him halfway. And pulled him into an embrace.
Hard, almost desperate. "I thought they held you hostage." His voice was rough. Too rough.
Theon stiffened at first. Then returned the embrace. For a moment guilt pierced him.
Sharp, and unwanted. He bowed when they parted. "I am sorry, Your Grace.".His voice was steady.
But his pulse raced. "I know we spent too many days."
Drexo gripped his shoulder. Studied his face.
Searching.
Perhaps for signs of captivity. Perhaps for signs of deceit. But found neither. Or thought he found neither.
Maria watched silently. Her warrior instincts stirred. Something in Theon's eyes had changed.
A flicker. But gone too fast to name. But she saw it. Then the procession moved. Back through the castle.
Into the throne room. The Rock Throne rose above them once more.
Drexo seated himself. The lords assembled. Torches burned. Steel rang against stone as men took position.
Expectation thickened the air. Drexo leaned forward. No ceremony, no delay. "Did they accept our offer?"
Silence.
All eyes turned to Theon. And in that silence his heart hammered. This was the moment. Truth stood at one road. Frida at another. Her voice came back to him. Soft as poison.
Ask Drexo for any of the Nine Kingdoms. If he offers you one, stay with him. If he does not, stand with the one willing to give you what you deserve.
His fist tightened.
Inside his sleeve. He kept his face still.
I need time.
The thought came quick, and hard.
"Time to know what Drexo would do. I must play along."
He lifted his head. Shook it. "No, Your Grace." The words landed heavily. Murmurs broke at once.
A lord half rose. "What more does he want?" Another spat, "We have offered nearly everything." Discontent stirred through the hall.
Drexo raised a hand, and silence returned. Then Theon stood. Measured, and careful.
"He said he does not wish the king to disinherit his child."
The room shifted. Faces exchanged looks. Even Drexo stiffened. But Theon pressed on.
Slowly.
Almost enjoying the tension. "But…"
A beat.
"He is willing to return…" He let the words breathe. "…if I marry his last-born daughter, Frida."
The hall froze.
Then "What?" Drexo almost rose from the throne. "Just that?"
Theon nodded. "And I have agreed." His mouth almost curved.
Barely.
"Lady Frida Kenwool is a beautiful woman." Then the room erupted. Relief broke like storm rain.
Thunderous applause, laughter, voices. One lord slammed the table.."By the gods!".Another grinned. "All this, for marriage?"
Drexo shook his head in disbelief. "I offered them key positions." He almost laughed. "And they prefer alliance?"
Theon nodded.
"It seems the Kenwools value blood ties above power." The lie came easier than he expected. And that frightened him. Because part of him enjoyed how smoothly it moved.
Drexo descended the throne steps, and walked closer to him. Gripped both shoulders. "You have done well." Brotherly warmth, trust, and undeservedness.
Theon nearly looked away. Nearly, but held steady. "I serve my king."
The words burned his tongue. Yet no one heard the fire, not Maria, not Edwin, not Havana.
Especially not Havana. Which was strange. Because Havana questioned everything. But even she sat silent. Brows narrowed.
Watching, and thinking. Yet saying nothing. And that silence was perhaps the strangest thing of all.
By evening Cliffland feasted. The great hall blazed. Wine overflowed. Roasted meat passed in silver trays. Bards played. Warriors shouted toasts. Peace seemed possible again.
Drexo laughed for the first time in days. His burden was lifted. At least for tonight.
Maria watched him smile and felt relief soften her chest. Maybe fate had spared them.
Maybe.
But amid celebration, Theon sat quieter than the rest. Cup in hand, barely drinking.Frida's words would not leave him.
They circled.
Again, again, and again. "Ask him. See if he truly loves you."
He watched Drexo across the hall. King, friend, and brother. A man with kingdoms.
Titles, legacy, and suddenly. Questions he had never dared ask began clawing upward.
What was he? A shadow beside a king? An adviser. A sword. A man remembered only because he served another.
His jaw tightened. No.
He would know tonight. He stretched from his seat slowly. No one noticed. The music was too loud. Laughter is too wild.
Only Havana's eyes followed him. Briefly, and sharp. Then gone.
Theon moved out of the hall. Into quieter corridors..Stone colder here. Torchlight lower. His footsteps echoed. His heart beat strangely.
Not from fear. Something else: Ambition, perhaps. Or betrayal taking first breath. He stopped once. Hand against the wall. Then exhaled.
Then whispered to himself, "I will ask him now."
A pause.
"I will know if he truly loves me." He straightened, and walked on toward the king's chamber. And every step felt like crossing into something he could not return from.