The air in the study was unusually still, thick with the scent of burning cedar from the hearth
The scent of ink and old parchment clung to the air like dust in a tomb.
Azarion stood at the tall arched window of his study, the velvet drapes drawn back, revealing the view of Emberhold below.
its iron roofs and smoldering chimneys softened by the pale, unforgiving light of morning. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, knuckles white with restrained fury.
On the desk lay a single parchment, its red wax seal of Caelmont broken, open, mocking. its content poisoning the silence that hung like a blade over the room.
A quiet knock interrupted the silence.
"Enter," Azarion said without turning.
"Your Grace, Lord Aldric is here," came Steven's voice, clipped and respectful.
A moment later, Aldric stepped in.
The door creaked open, and Aldric stepped in, his boots muffled by the thick carpet. He glanced at the letter on the desk but said nothing of it.
The prince's hair was still damp from sword practice, his tunic slightly wrinkled. He paused when he saw his father, noting the tension in the older man's frame...he way his shoulders held fury beneath the calm, the way silence vibrated in the space like an unspoken threat.
"You sent for me, Father?"Steven said you summoned me," he said.
Azarion did not look at his son. His voice, when it came, was low, controlled...but beneath it was something sharp, like the glint of steel beneath silk.
"The Lord of winter,has refused the engagement with Aurelia."
Aldric blinked. "Still Refused? After everything…?"
"He not only refused it," Azarion said, finally turning from the window, his expression unreadable but for the tight clench of his jaw. His voice dropped, thunder laced in restraint.
"he carried his defiance all the way to Caelmont. Filed an appeal. Called upon the ruling lords to sit in judgment over what he calls an 'unjust arrangement.'"
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, like smoke after a fire.
Aldric's brows pulled together. "He's taking it to the Circle of Accord? In Caelmont?"
"Yes. In two weeks' time. The council of ruling lords will convene. We've been summoned to attend."
Azarion moved to the desk, placing a hand on the edge of the letter as if to anchor himself, to keep from splintering beneath the weight of his anger.
"He seeks to shame us, Aldric. He paints us as tyrants who would force our will on a helpless girl and a reluctant groom. And the worst part is....some fools may believe him."
Aldric's fists clenched. "So he's dragging Aurelia into this… making a mockery of her in front of all the realms. After everything she's suffered already…"
Aldric stared at him, brow drawn. "He's rejecting Aurelia Publicly?"
Azarion's jaw tightened. "He's making a spectacle of her. Filing formal charges with the Caelmont tribunal, invoking old rights, ancient laws. A farce. A coward's route."
Aldric's hands curled into fists at his sides. "This is madness. It's not just an insult...it's a mockery. Of our family. Of her."
"Precisely," Azarion snapped. "A calculated one."
He moved back toward the desk, fingers brushing over the open letter, its words biting into the page like poison.
"He thinks I'll bow. That I'll let the matter drop to avoid scandal. But he underestimates me."
"And Aurelia?" Aldric asked, jaw tightening. "Will she… be brought before the court?"
"She will attend the hearing," Azarion said without hesitation.
Aldric stared at him. "You're bringing her?"
"She is at the center of this matter, whether we like it or not. Her presence is required."
"But, Father…" Aldric hesitated. "She hasn't left Emberhold in years, not since the fire. She barely comes down from her tower. You know how she is now .... withdrawn, fragile.
She avoids the mirrors. The staff barely speak to her now without flinching. She doesn't handle stares and whispers well.
What will the crowds at Caelmont do when they see her? gods, Father, they'll tear her apart. You know how cruel the people's words can be."
Azarion's gaze darkened, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. "Let them stare. Let them speak."
"That's easy for you to say," Aldric snapped before catching himself.
"She's… she's not like you. This will hurt her. Publicly. Deeply."
Azarion exhaled sharply and turned his back to his son again, as though even looking at him fed the fire within.
"She is my daughter," he said coldly. "She will do what is necessary."
Why?" Aldric demanded. "Why put her through that?"
A muscle jumped in Azarion's jaw. "Because we are not going to cower in some forgotten corner of the continent while the North drags our name through the mud."
Aldric was silent. He glanced at the table, the discarded letter. "What exactly did Neris write?"
Azarion didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked past his son, pacing near the hearth. The flames inside snapped with sudden force, licking high up the stone.
"He used words like 'unfit,'" Azarion muttered. "'Deceit.' He accuses us of hiding her condition... as though she's some disfigured beast we tried to pawn off to them."
Aldric's stomach twisted. "He said that?"
"Implied it." Azarion looked over his shoulder. "You think this is about a marriage? This is war dressed in etiquette."
Aldric's face darkened. "And what are you planning to do about it?"
There was a pause before he added, quieter this time.
"The North will pay for this insult, Aldric. I will make them regret this" he said, voice a whisper now .... but no less terrifying.
"Every inch of insult, every word of dishonor.....I'll repay it tenfold. I will not allow Neris or any of the lords to mock our house without consequence.
I don't care what tribunal stands in my way. I don't care if the whole damn continent watches. No one....not Neris, not Caelmont, not the gods ....will stop me from finishing what I started.
Aldric swallowed, feeling the heat of his father's fury coil around the room like smoke.
"They think they can unravel decades of planning with one petition to Caelmont? No. I've come too far."
Aldric frowned. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish, Father?"
Azarion didn't answer.
"You'll go to her now," Azarion ordered. "Tell her to begin preparations. She rides with us."
Aldric took a breath, steadying himself. "I'll go to her. I'll tell her we're leaving for Caelmont."
"Good," Azarion murmured. "Make sure she understands the gravity of what's at stake."
Aldric lingered for a second longer before giving a stiff nod and leaving the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Azarion stood in the silence once more, the letter still lying on the desk like a taunt. His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass of the window, a tall shadow with cold eyes and a clenched jaw.
He had not clawed his way to power, made the sacrifices he made, only for a boy from the North to spit on his name. Neris thought this was a game of court politics.
But Azarion was not playing.
His fingers dug into the edge of the desk until the wood groaned under the pressure.
"Let them try to stop me," he whispered to no one.
The fire crackled in the hearth, but it did not warm him. Rage simmered beneath his skin, crawling through his bones like wildfire.
He would not be denied.
For years he had waited....planning, maneuvering, sacrificing. All for the prophecy foretold.
And now... the timeline was slipping from his fingers. No... He must see to it that his daughter is wed.
He bared his teeth. The North thought it clever, Caelmont thought it noble to judge and serve justice...but neither saw the storm coming.
Let them gather. Let them argue and judge
Then he walked to the window, to the view of Emberhold,and he said to the silent gods who watched from far above: "The prophecy will be fulfilled. One way or another."