Finally, Morgana spoke from her chair by the fire.
"Perhaps this conversation should continue with fewer people present. Lord Roland, Lady Viviannah—you’ve delivered your message and your apologies. We’re grateful for both. But what es next involves decisions that should remain private."
It was a dismissal, politely phrased but firm.
The Beaumonts recognized it immediately and stood.
"Of course," Roland said.
"We’ve taken enough of your time, and the hour is late."
He bowed to Jaenor. "Whatever you decide, Lord Arkwright, know that House Beaumont remembers its debts. If you need us in the future, you have but to ask."
"Thank you," Jaenor said sincerely.
"Your journey here, the risk of serving as intermediaries—that means something. Our accounts are settled, as far as I’m concerned."
Relief flooded both their faces. Whatever guilt they’d been carrying could finally begin to ease.
They departed with appropriate courtesies, and servants appeared to see them to guest quarters for the night—it was too late to begin a return journey, and basic hospitality demanded they be offered rest.
Once the room was cleared of everyone except Jaenor, Morgana, the atmosphere shifted.
The social performance ended, replaced by the fortable directness of people who trusted each other pletely.
"Well," Jaenor said, flopping into one of the chairs the Beaumonts had vacated.
"That was unexpected."
"The Princess," Morgana said thoughtfully.
"I didn’t think she would contact you and this quickly. She must see you as more valuable than I anticipated."
"I must say, people get information like it’s air."
"Sure travels fast."
"Tell me about her," Jaenor said. The alcohol had mostly faded now, burned away by the surprise and subsequent thinking.
"What do you know about this Princess Gwendolen?"
Morgana organized her thoughts before responding.
"She’s the eldest of Empress Beatrice’s children—thirty years old, unmarried, and by all accounts brilliant. She studied military strategy, political theory, economics—everything necessary to rule. Many expected her to be named heir apparent."
"But she wasn’t," Jaenor said, reading between the lines.
"No. The succession went to her younger sister, Princess Baelyna. The official reason was concerns about stability and certain aspects of not being powerful. But there were other factors."
"Such as?"
Morgana hesitated, choosing her words carefully.
"Gwendolen is ambitious. Ruthlessly so. She sees the Empire’s current structure as inefficient and believes that too much power rests in independent organizations like the Covens. She’s advocated for centralization, for bringing everything under direct imperial control."
"I know her personally. We had discussions in the past. She sympathized with me about what happened with our family."
"From what I can tell, she wanted the empire, mainly the imperial family, to be the dominant force in the empire, not just because of power through authority but power through the blood. She wanted to strengthen their bloodline.
And it means bringing in outsiders."
"Which the Empress rejected," Jaenor said.
"Publicly, yes. Whether privately she agrees is unclear. But regardless, Baelyna was named heir, and Gwendolen was... "sidelined" isn’t quite the right word. She still holds significant influence, mands respect, and has her own networks and resources. But she’s not the heir, and that has to gall someone with her ambitions."
"So she’s looking for ways to increase her power. Build her own faction that might eventually rival her sister’s. And I represent a potential piece on that game board."
"A powerful piece," Morgana agreed.
"If she could secure an alliance with you—with your divine beast, your merged powers, and your claim to the Arkwright legacy—that would be significant. It would show she has connections the official heir doesn’t and can mand loyalty from forces outside traditional imperial structures."
The door opened and Emmanuelle entered, having been informed of the visitors and choosing to join the discussion. She’d changed from her evening clothes into a more practical robe, her white hair loose around her shoulders.
"I heard the Beaumonts came," she said without preamble.
Morgana nodded and said something about the letter.
"You know her?" Jaenor asked.
"Know of her," Emmanuelle corrected, settling into a chair.
"I’ve never met Princess Gwendolen personally, but her reputation reaches even provincial nobles like myself. She’s formidable—intelligent, strategic, and willing to take risks that more cautious politicians avoid."
"And she was passed over for the succession," Jaenor said.
"That must have created resentment."
"Undoubtedly," Emmanuelle agreed.
"Though she’s hidden it well. Publicly, she supports her sister and serves the Empire loyally. But there are always whispers, rumors of her building independent power bases, cultivating relationships that bypass official channels."
She looked at Jaenor directly.
"The question is whether you trust her enough to engage. Whether the potential benefits outweigh the risks of being entangled in imperial politics."
Jaenor held up the letter, rereading key passages.
"She offers help against the Covens. Resources to challenge or even overthrow the Mother Supreme. That’s... significant."
"It’s also dangerous," Morgana warned.
"The Mother Supreme is one of the most powerful individuals in the realm. Directly opposing her requires tremendous force and perfect execution. If you try and fail, the consequences would be catastrophic."
"But I’m already opposing her," Jaenor pointed out.
"She tried to kill me at Ki’thara village. She views me as a threat that needs to be eliminated. Whether I actively work against her or not, we’re enemies by default."
"There’s a difference between being her enemy and actively trying to overthrow her," Morgana said.
"One is defensive, reactive. The other is aggressive, making you the instigator rather than the victim."
"And potentially making you the aggressor in the eyes of neutral parties," Emma added.
"Right now, you can claim you’re just defending yourself. Start actively working to overthrow Coven leadership, and that narrative shifts."
These were good points.
Jaenor appreciated that his family wasn’t simply agreeing with him but rather challenging his thinking, making him consider angles he might have missed.
He stood, moving to the window.
Outside, the estate grounds were dark except for guard torches. And beyond the walls, Drakenten slept—his duchy, his responsibility, filled with people who depended on him to make good decisions.
"What’s your instinct telling you?" Emmanuelle asked quietly.
"Setting aside politics and strategy—what does your gut say?"
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