RE: Monarch

Chapter 222: Fracture XXVII

Chapter 222: Fracture XXVII

The King’s suggestion that we burn the ship was entirely unsurprising. He was fond of arson even before he had a living torch for an heir. The surprising part came later, long after we’d left House Westmore’s prized frigate burning to a charred husk still anchored in the dock.

Sera and Annette both stuck close to me as we entered the lounge my father led us too long after the rest of my regiment had retired for the evening. They were more accustomed to this version of the king than I was—after all, they’d spent significantly more time around him than I had in this life. But the typical treatment they were accustomed to was hostile dismissiveness at worst. In comparison, over the course of the last day he’d put them both through the grinder.

Oddly, Gil actually seemed to understand this.

He scanned the group that included myself, Annette, Sera, Maya, and Alten. His forehead creased as he paused on Maya an Alten. For a moment, I expected a grumbling complaint about outsiders and their immediate ejection. Instead he moved on, grunting as he dropped onto the lush seat by the fire and, when no one moved, fixed us all with a withering stare. “The servants will be here shortly. Get comfortable.” Then he gestured for Annette. “Come.”

She approached him, closing the distance in the time it took for me to process how strange it all was.

Alten and Sera sat at the small table that didn’t quite match the room. I was pretty sure Alten chose the spot purely for proximity to the bowl of fresh nuts he was readily stuffing in his mouth, while Sera’s reason was purely distance from the King.

Maya grabbed a spot on the large chaise next to the wall I was holding up. Though she was silent, her tail wrapped around my wrist protectively.

Everyone was tense waiting for the King to speak. Even Alten. I got the sense the compulsive, immediate eating had less to do with quelling any appetite than restoring as much of his spent energy as he could in case the night took another turn.

The King stared down at Annette, resting his head on his fist as she waited patiently, seeming to take her measure. “You handled yourself well.”

“I did?” Annette blanched. Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been that.

“Did I stammer, girl?”

“Cairn played the more difficult role. All I did was hide, father.” Annette bowed, the picture of humility.

The King scoffed. “Knowing your limits, emancipating yourself, evading recapture undetected, and maintaining a strategic retreat lacks the valor expected of the Valen line.”

“I’m sorry—”

Gil swiped at the apology in irritation. “Fuck expectations. Your brother might be capable of fighting his way out of a brig guarded by slavers and mercenaries unarmed, but he’s an irregularity. You were behind enemy lines, unarmed, and outnumbered. A coward would have stayed hidden. But you revealed yourself while the outcome was still undecided.”

Sera grunted disparagingly, and I cringed, waiting for an explosive reaction.

It didn’t come. But all he did was grunt back at her mockingly, before returning his attention to Annette, still standing patiently before him, her fingers steepled. “Go on. Name it.” He demanded.

“Father, I don’t understand.”

“Who won, girl?” He leaned forward.

“We… did?” Annette said, cringing as she spoke.

“Ending the battle with a victory. And what do victors get?”

“…Whatever they want?”

“So, you do listen. Now name it.”

Annette blinked several times, as caught off-guard as I was. Because the King of Whitefall did not take losses well, few as they were, and any commentary on such a failure—either his or someone else’s—was delivered at the top of his lungs, while he throttled the closest neck nearby. Annette recovered quickly, deep in thought for scant seconds before she delivered her answer. “A stronghold in the Eastern Plains at my command.”

Swinging big, little sister.

“There are many—”

“Mirewolf Keep. Along with permission to travel to and from it whenever I wish.”

Silence answered as the king seemed to consider her proposal. Understandably. Mirewolf was a strange choice given the lack of limits. With its proximity to the swamps and the monsters that dwelled within them, there were safer strongholds elsewhere along the fringes of the plains, and larger, more dangerous ones towards the center of the plains that acted as hubs for the silver swords. Annette’s selection afforded neither safety nor glory.

“Why?” The king asked.

“My reasons are multifold. First, it provides security to several key lumber mills further east, specifically the only three in the kingdom that produce a steady supply of darshall wood, one of our few precious exports.”

The shift was subtle, but it was there. Annette had his attention now.

Which means something disparaging is coming in three… two… one.

Gil rolled his eyes. “An assignment for the small-minded lord who is already placed there. Hardly fit for royalty.”

“Perhaps,” Annette smiled a little. “If he wasn’t stealing from you.”

“What?” The king growled.

“I’ve been looking into that stronghold for some time. Someone buried it in a mountain of parchment, but the expected yields and flow of gold don’t match. Hasn’t for nearly five years. It’s all in the numbers, father. I wished to bring this to you sooner, but needed to be able to prove it first.”

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“And you can.”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Gil tapped his fingers, frowning. “Why else do you want it?”

“It’s…” Annette hesitated, then seemed to find her courage. “The presence of monsters is constant, almost daily. They do not appear in large numbers, and the men we’ve stationed are more than capable of repelling them, but they have been dealing with the continuous threat for years, creating a fertile environment for desertion.”

“A fact of which I am well aware. There’s not a single hold, reach, or fortress that bleeds troops like Mirewolf.”

“Then it provides the perfect staging ground to practice my magic.” Annette’s voice quivered slightly, which she covered with a cough. “Even now, I am capable of creating illusory hazards and facsimiles more than capable of diverting simple threats. My power will only grow with practice. If I’m able to give the men stationed there even an occasional respite, I believe the rate of desertion will decrease exponentially.”

“So this highly specific selection has nothing to do with Mirewolf’s geographical proximity to the designated Elven regions.” He spared an unamused glance at me. “Said elves being your brother’s next logical step in his tiresome quest for unity and reparations?”

Somehow, I kept my face neutral. Since the gravesite I’d felt little beyond numbness and anger. The kindness and forethought behind Annette’s political machinations thawed some of the ice. Not all. But it was a start.

In your own way, you’ve always tried to help me.

Before she could respond, the king made a dismissive gesture. “These are my conditions. You will send your corrected reports to the bookkeepers and begin managing their affairs from a distance while the previous lord stews in the dungeon beneath the hold.”

Annette nodded immediately. “Yes, father.”

“And once the allegations against this errant lord are confirmed, you will make damn sure he knows why a princess of Whitefall is carrying out his execution.”

“Very... what?” My sister froze.

There was the catch.

Maya scowled and her grip on me tightened, probably annoyed by how provisionary, “Whatever you want,” had become. But I wasn’t so sure this was about challenging Annette or obstructing her request. Because Annette was young. It was commonplace for young nobles—many younger than her—to be assigned high stations as an avenue of padding their respective pedigrees, their so-called “leadership” rarely more than perfunctory, existence merely tolerated while the men and women whose duties actually kept the place running went thanklessly unrecognized.

Annette would never be content with being a placeholder. Despite any ulterior motives, maintaining a stronghold was an important responsibility. She’d take it seriously from the beginning. And while forcing an introduction by way of execution was… brutish, cruel, and entirely him? It would quickly assuage any early misgivings that she was nothing more than a royal tourist from the capital.

Still, I couldn’t help but remember the first time I’d been forced to make a similar choice. The mage in the back alley of Kholis. The nausea and unease that haunted me for weeks.

A draft of frost-bitten air from the nearby window intensified, rich in mana. I altered it, using the current to carry a message to my sister’s ears.

“It’s no small thing, what he asks. Accept for now, and we can figure out a way to keep your hands clean later.”

Annette seemed to process that idea, then shook her head minutely. She stared up at Gil. “I can choose the method?”

“A victor does not ask. She demands.”

“I will choose the method.” She corrected.

The king nodded. “Good. Then it’s done. Well-reasoned, well-argued, and one less pain in my ass.”

Annette retreated, half-way back to the table before she stopped, and offered another curtsy that was much deeper. “Thank you, father.”

But the king had already moved on, now entirely focused on Sera, still fuming, doing her level best to stare a hole through the table. “Next?” He growled.

Sera’s chuckle was dark and bitter. “What I want, you’ll never give me.”

I tensed, ready to redirect the inevitable outburst.

The king pondered that, strangely pensive before he finally spoke. “You’ve all heard the tales of my youth. How the mountain folk were brought to heel?”

Annette and I both nodded, while Sera didn’t move.

He stood, stretching as he approached the window, looking out at the city beneath. “The legend’s grown, as they often do. Bards have a habit of leaving out important details for the benefit of the pretty lies they pedal. The core is true. The beginning, however, was not nearly as frictionless as the bards believe.” He watched her in the window’s reflection, waiting for a response.

When Sera refused to answer, I stepped in and attempted to lighten the mood. “So… you didn’t ascend the mountain shirtless, reaching the peak in one continuous climb, only for the Mountain Folk to recognize the fire of your spirit and welcome you into the fold?”

Gil chuckled. “Well. I did climb it. Around the half-way point, I realized how cold it was. If I stopped, I would likely never start again. So I kept going.” His expression lost its mirth. “The lie was how they welcomed me. When I reached the summit, I was greeted with the sight of crude spears and clubs wielded by half-giants. Then I was bound and dragged down a third of the mountain to the place they actually lived, a large stone shelf jutting out from the mountain itself.”

I was dumbfounded. From a pragmatic standpoint, I knew my father’s record couldn’t possibly be as sterling as the legend. It was the only thing that made sense. Any man who’d waged as many wars as King Gil couldn’t possibly win every battle. But this was different. I’d never heard a whisper of it, not even from Thaddeus. “You were captured?”

“Aye.” He nodded. “Chained my shackles to the ground unprotected by the elements. Took turns beating the ever-loving piss out of me. Left me there for three days. I think they expected me to die. Or at least, didn’t care if it happened. Even then, I was strong, already blooded, a few battles and skirmishes under my belt. They didn’t help. The mountain folk did not bear the same weaknesses as the enemies with which I was accustomed. My only recourse was to endure. At least until some enterprising idiot mistook my resilience as an opportunity for free labor. The rest plays out more or less how they tell it.”

Across the room, Sera was reaching a boiling point. White knuckles gripped the seat of the chair beneath her, and the wood cracked.

“I know you’re angry. Just breathe.” I tried to whisper. But my entreaty was drowned out in the rumbling of Gil’s voice.

“You learn things about yourself, when you’re helpless.” Gil watched Sera through the reflection. “Limits you never knew you had.”

The chair toppled as Sera surged to her feet, fists clenched, pale skin flushed as she seethed. “So… you’re saying… learning opportunity?!”

“Girl!” Gil bellowed, spinning to face her. “Put those damnable ears of yours to use and listen!” He stalked towards her, and I nearly moved to intercede before Maya grabbed my arm and stopped me. The King gripped the table and tossed it aside, sending the contents flying beyond the bowl that Alten saved. Again, I tried to move. Again, Maya stopped me.

“Wait.” She mouthed.

“I am telling you, clearly, that I have stood where you stand. Boiled in the same fire you burn with. A fire that can be quenched through one manner, and one manner alone. So, I will ask again.” He leaned towards her, his anger fiery but controlled. “What. Do. You. Want?”

Sera’s eyes went wide for only a second, before her expression hardened and she spoke through clenched teeth. “I want to hurt you.”

“A victor does not ask. She takes.” Gil’s smile was all teeth.