At Cliffland, life began to settle into something that almost felt like calm. Not true peace. But the kind that makes people breathe a little deeper.
The kind that makes laughter return, even if it still sounds cautious.
The looming fear of Robert's attack did not disappear, but it loosened its grip. The thought that Ashford might soon stand with them again gave the council something solid to hold on to. But something hopeful.
Maria no longer stood in the training yard with sword in hand. That alone changed the rhythm of the place.
She watched instead. From the stone edge of the yard, arms folded across her chest, her gaze moved from one warrior to another. When a stance slipped, she corrected it. When a strike lacked weight, she called it out.
Her voice remained sharp, precise, and uncompromising. But she no longer stepped into the circle. And everyone felt that absence. The warriors trained harder because of it.
As if trying to prove they could still stand without her blade among them. Every morning, the physicians came. Without fail. Soft footsteps in her chamber. Measured voices, and gentle hands.
"The child is strong," the head physician said one morning, after resting her ear against Maria's stomach and pulling back with a small nod.
Maria sat upright, one hand already there, as if guarding what could not yet be seen. "The baby is doing fine?" Her voice carried something softer than steel. The physician smiled. "It is."
Maria let out a breath she did not know she had been holding. Her fingers pressed lightly against her stomach. "I cannot wait." The words came quiet. Almost like a secret.
The physician's smile deepened. For a moment, the war did not exist. For a moment, she was just a woman waiting for her child.
And for that week, Cliffland remembered how to laugh. The halls filled again. Voices rose, cups clinked. Even the council spoke with more confidence. Maps still spread across tables. Strategies still debated. But now there was something beneath it.
Hope.
Even Cedric and Evelyn found space within it. Their meetings became more careful. More hidden..Eyes watched the castle now. Too many eyes. Spies moved like shadows through corridors.
Listening, and waiting. But there were places even shadows did not reach. The tunnel beneath the castle remained theirs.
Narrow, dark, and silent. There, they met. Words whispered. Hands held longer than they should. Every meeting was stolen. Every moment was borrowed. And every parting was heavier than the last.
Then the following week came. And with it, came a trumpet. Sharp, and sudden..It cut through the air like a blade. A warrior rushed into the throne room, breath uneven, but his face lit with something rare.
Hope.
He dropped to one knee. "Your Grace." Drexo looked up at once. "The Ashford army is approaching."
Drexo rose so fast his chair scraped hard against the stone. The council moved with him. No hesitation, no delay. They flooded out of the hall.
Through corridors. Down steps, out toward the sea. The shore filled again with strong wind, and restless waves.
All eyes fixed on the horizon. Time stretched, and thirty minutes felt longer.
Then, ships. One, Two, then many. The Ashford banners became clear. And something inside the crowd shifted. Relief moved through them like fire catching dry wood.
The ships docked. Ramps lowered, boots hit sand. Lord Fabio Kenwool stepped forward first.
Composed, and measured. Beside him,was Frank Kenwool, his younger brother. And then Frida. She walked without hesitation. Eyes steady, Searching, and finding Theon.
Their gazes met, yet neither spoke. But something passed between them. Silent, and dangerous.
Fabio approached Drexo. Then, without delay, he dropped to his knees. The movement was clean, and deliberate. "Your Grace."
His head lowered. "I have come to swear myself and my house to you once again."
He paused. "And to return the Ashford army to your campaign." The words landed exactly as intended.
Drexo smiled, Not cautiously, not suspiciously, but open, and relieved. "Come in."
That was all he said, and it was enough. They moved back into the castle together. All of them. All unaware of what had already entered with them. Frida drifted closer to Theon as they walked. Still no words, just a smile. Soft, and knowing.
Drexo stood before them once more in the hall. "I wish to formally apologise to House Kenwool for the wrong which I have done to them." The room quieted. "I was engaged to Friya."
His voice lowered. "And a man should keep his word." He dropped his gaze. "Especially a king."
Silence deepened.
"My actions are without excuse." He lifted his head again. "I am ashamed of them." The words were honest. "I am deeply sorry."
Fabio held his gaze. Then nodded once. "Your Grace…" His tone lightened. "Let us leave that behind." A small gesture of his hand. "That is the past." His eyes flicked briefly toward Frida. "The future is more promising." He smiled faintly. "You have a child on the way."
Then he paused. "And I will have a grandchild someday." The suggestion hung there.
Clear, and calculated. "We can unite our houses through them." Drexo nodded, and smiled. He believed him.
That night, the feast returned, bigger, louder, and stronger. Wine flowed without restraint. Laughter filled every corner. The war felt distant again. Even if only for a moment.
By the next day, the hall filled once more. But this time, it was not for war. It was for union. The engagement ceremony.
The priestess stood before the altar. Young, no more than fifteen, draped in red. She held a staff in her hand. Her eyes were calm beyond her years.
Frida stepped forward. Theon beside her. They stood before the altar, before the gods, before everyone. "Do you willingly give your consent?"
The priestess asked. Frida smiled. Wide, and certain. "Yes, your Holiness." The priestess turned. "Theon Kendrick?"
He paused.
Theon's chest rose, and fell. "I do." The staff struck the floor. Once, and echoing. "Then in the presence of Osonobruwhe…" Her voice carried. "…exchange your vows."
They stepped closer. A red cloth between them. Hands meeting beneath it. Binding, and tightening. "Fire, water, air, and earth…" Their voices joined. "From this day forward…" "…she is mine and I am hers. In the name of the gods, and of the king."
The hall erupted. Cheers, Claps, and Joy. The sound filled the space so completely it drowned everything else. Everything hidden beneath it. The feast resumed. Stronger than before.
Louder, and closer.
Frida leaned toward Theon. Close enough that no one else could hear. Her lips near his ear. Her breath was warm. "The first job is done."
She pause.
Her voice lowered further. "Now it is time to kill Drexo…" Another pause. "…and his wife."
Theon did not flinch. He sid not pull away. He smiled. Soft, and controlled. "I will play my role." His voice was just as quiet. "But I will not draw the blade."
Frida studied him. Just for a moment. Then nodded. As if accepting something she already expected.
They leaned closer. Their lips met. And around them, the hall roared in celebration. Unaware that death had already taken a seat among them.