Roland picked up where his wife left off.
"When you declared yourself as the Arkwright heir in our ho, we panicked. The political implications, the danger—we thought only of protecting ourselves and our position. But in doing so, we failed you. Failed the oath our house swore to yours generations ago."
He t Jaenor’s gaze directly.
"We can’t undo that failure. Can’t change what we did—or didn’t do—that night. But we wanted you to know that we recognize our mistake, that we’ve spent these days trying to find ways to make ands."
Jaenor studied them both, his Arkwright senses reading the connections and emotions beneath their words. The guilt was genuine. The desire to make things right was real. They’d carried this weight for days, and it had cost them—he could see it in the strain between them, the way their bond showed stress fractures from shared sha.
"I don’t bla you," Jaenor said quietly, surprising them both.
"That night was chaos. Shitty nobles and cowardly people. You had your own people to protect, your own responsibilities. I never expected you to throw yourselves into danger on my behalf."
"But we should have," Viviannah insisted.
"We should have done sothing. Anything. Instead, we stood aside and let you face it alone."
The na Arkwright held weight, and it was by no ans just a wordplay of the people. It was proven through generations of the bloodline. People have paid a great price for underestimating the Arkwright bloodline, and it was the reason why everyone was being cautious.
Even Mother Supre didn’t dare go against him even after knowing what he had beco.
Information about the Ki’thara clan massacre and the events that followed had spread like gossip, and the noble houses had predicted that once again Arkwright had produced a terrifying heir.
"We ca primarily for our own peace of mind, not because Lord Jaenor needed our apologies." He reached into his coat, withdrawing a sealed letter.
"But we also ca because we were asked to deliver this. By soone who couldn’t risk sending it through normal channels."
He offered the letter to Jaenor.
The seal was unmistakable—the imperial crest, marked with additional symbols that identified it as coming specifically from the imperial family rather than the general imperial administration.
Jaenor took it carefully, noting how the Beaumonts watched him with renewed nervousness.
"Who gave this to you?" he asked.
"An interdiary," Roland said carefully.
"Soone with connections to the Imperial Court. They knew we had... history with you. They asked if we’d be willing to deliver correspondence, and we agreed. Both as a way to begin making ands and because refusing would have been politically unwise."
"Politically unwise," Jaenor repeated.
"aning you were afraid of consequences if you said no."
"Yes," Roland admitted without trying to soften it.
"Fear still motivates us, I’m afraid. We’re trying to be better, but we’re not heroes."
At least they were honest about it.
Jaenor broke the seal and unfolded the letter, noting the quality of the paper and the elegant script that covered it.
The handwriting was precise and controlled, each letter ford with care that suggested both education and discipline.
Lord Jaenor Arkwright,
Word of your return to your ancestral seat has reached the Imperial Court with remarkable speed. The arrival of a divine beast in Drakenten is difficult to keep quiet, and your formal acceptance of the Arkwright title has been noted by those who monitor such things.
I am Princess Gwendolen, eldest daughter of Empress Beatrice II. We have not t, though I confess I’ve been following reports of your activities with considerable interest. Your... unique abilities... and the complications they present make you a figure of significant importance in current political landscapes.
I wish to et with you.
Privately, away from the eyes and ears of those who would use such a eting for their own purposes. I believe we have common interests, common enemies, and the potential for mutually beneficial cooperation.
Specifically, I’m aware that the Council of Covens—the Mother Supre in particular—views you as a threat to be eliminated. I also know that you’ve manifested power that makes such elimination increasingly difficult. This creates opportunity.
If you wish to challenge the Coven leadership, to undermine their authority, or even to overthrow the current Mother Supre, I can provide assistance. Resources, intelligence, political backing—all available, if our interests align.
I make this offer not out of altruism but pragmatism.
The Covens hold too much independent power. They operate outside normal imperial authority, maintaining their own territories and command structures. This has been tolerated because they serve useful purposes, but the current situation presents chances for reformation that may not co again.
A private eting can be arranged if you’re interested. Reply through the Beaumonts—they’ve agreed to serve as interdiaries, and I trust their discretion more than official channels.
Consider carefully. The forces moving in our realm require alliances between those willing to act rather than rely react. I believe you understand this, or you wouldn’t have returned to claim your birthright.
Princess Gwendolen.
Jaenor read the letter twice, processing the implications.
Then he looked up at the Beaumonts.
"You know what this contains?"
"No," Roland said imdiately.
"We were specifically instructed not to read it. And we didn’t—the seal was intact when we received it and remained so until you broke it just now."
Jaenor believed him. His senses would have detected deception, and there was none.
"But we can guess the general nature," Viviannah added quietly.
"The Princess is known for her political acun. She’s building networks, establishing connections with potential allies outside traditional imperial structures. If she’s reaching out to you, it’s because she sees strategic value in your position."
"Or because she wants to use ," Jaenor said flatly.
"Possibly both," Roland agreed.
"Politics at that level rarely involves pure motives. But that doesn’t an cooperation is impossible. Sotis mutual advantage is stronger than friendship."
Jaenor folded the letter carefully, his mind working through angles and implications. The Beaumonts watched him, waiting to see how he’d respond.
User Comments
0 comments from readers