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Chapter 13 - THE CHOICE AND THE CHASE[PART III] PERSPECTIVE SHIFT: GREYMARCH FORTRESS

Four Days' Ride North

Prince Edric Thane stood in the war room, staring at a map covered in colored pins representing troop movements, supply lines, and territorial claims.

He was thirty-two years old, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, with the kind of face that looked trustworthy—an asset in politics, a liability in poker. Unlike his cousins—Duke Theodric with his arrogance and Prince Malric with his brutality—Edric had spent his youth actually learning statecraft instead of just expecting to inherit power.

Fat lot of good it was doing him now.

"Still no word from Captain Hale?" he asked without turning from the map.

His spymaster—a thin, nervous man named Corvus—shuffled papers anxiously. "No, my lord. He was supposed to report three days ago. Either he's been delayed, captured, or..."

"Or dead. You can say it, Corvus. I'm not made of glass."

"Dead, my lord. Yes."

Edric finally turned from the map. The war room was cold despite the fire in the hearth. Everything about Greymarch Fortress was cold—stone walls, stone floors, stone hearts. The price of choosing a strategic location over a comfortable one.

"What about the doctor? Cadarn Vex. Any word on him?"

"Conflicting reports, my lord. Some say he died fleeing Duke Theodric's soldiers. Others say he was captured. Still others claim he's somewhere in the Stonewood, still running."

"So we know nothing."

"We know that Duke Theodric is actively hunting him. Which suggests the doctor is still alive and still valuable."

Edric moved to the window, looking out over the fortress courtyard where soldiers drilled in the fading light. His soldiers. Good men. Loyal men. Men who would die for him if he asked.

The question was: for what?

"Tell me honestly, Corvus. If Captain Hale failed to retrieve Doctor Vex—if the information dies with him—can we win this war on military strength alone?"

Corvus didn't hesitate. "No, my lord. Duke Theodric has more troops, more money, and the support of the western duchies. Prince Malric controls the capital and the royal treasury. We have geography and tactics, but in a prolonged conflict..." He trailed off diplomatically.

"We lose."

"We lose, my lord. Yes."

Edric had known this. Had known it from the beginning. His claim to the throne was the weakest of the three—third nephew, younger son, fewer connections. His only advantages were competence and the fact that he actually gave a damn about the kingdom beyond who got to wear the crown.

But competence didn't win wars.

Numbers won wars.

"And if we had proof that Duke Theodric's claim is fraudulent?" Edric asked. "Absolute, undeniable proof that he has no royal blood, no legitimate right to the throne?"

"Then the western duchies would withdraw their support. His army would fracture. We could win without a major battle." Corvus moved closer. "But that's a large 'if,' my lord. We don't have the proof. We don't have the doctor. And Captain Hale—"

The door burst open.

A young messenger, breathless and mud-splattered, stumbled in. "My lord! News from the southern border!"

"Catch your breath, soldier. Then report."

The messenger gulped air, then: "Captain Hale, my lord. He's alive. Being held at Fort Ravensgate. Duke Theodric's forces are interrogating him."

Relief and dread mixed in Edric's chest. "For how long?"

"Three days, my lord. Our spy there says he's... they're not being gentle."

Three days of torture. Garrett was strong, but no one was that strong.

"Does Theodric know what Hale was trying to do? About the doctor?"

"Yes, my lord. They recovered a journal from Sergeant Bram's farm. It contains... significant information about Duke Theodric's birth."

The room went cold.

"Define significant," Edric said quietly.

The messenger swallowed hard. "The journal suggests Duke Theodric is not who he claims to be, my lord. That there was a... substitution. Twenty years ago."

Corvus made a small sound of shock.

Edric's mind raced. "Who else knows about this journal?"

"Duke Theodric's spymaster, Commander Vane. Possibly Theodric himself by now. And..." The messenger hesitated. "And whoever interrogated Captain Hale."

"So the secret's out. The one piece of leverage we had—everyone knows it now."

"Not everyone, my lord. Commander Vane is keeping it quiet. Probably to control Duke Theodric with the information. But it's only a matter of time before it spreads."

Edric turned back to the map. The colored pins suddenly seemed less like strategy and more like tombstones. Each one representing soldiers who would die in a war that might be based on a lie.

No. Not might be. Was based on a lie.

If the journal was real—if Doctor Vex's testimony could be verified—then this entire succession crisis was a fraud. Hundreds of thousands of men were mobilizing to die for a pretender.

"We need that doctor," Edric said. "Alive. Here. Testifying. It's the only way to end this without drowning the kingdoms in blood."

"My lord," Corvus said carefully, "even if we find Doctor Vex, even if he testifies, Duke Theodric won't just step aside. He has too much invested. Too many supporters who've committed to his cause."

"Then we make it impossible for him to continue. We expose the fraud so completely, so publicly, that even his own supporters abandon him." Edric's hand clenched into a fist. "But first we need the doctor."

"What are your orders, my lord?"

Edric thought for a moment. Then: "Send riders to every contact we have in the Stonewood region. Deserters, smugglers, trappers—anyone who might have seen or heard about a wounded man traveling north. Offer gold for information. Safe passage for delivery."

"And if Duke Theodric's forces find him first?"

"Then we send a rescue team. Small, fast, expendable." He hated that word—expendable—but it was the truth. "We can't afford an open battle over one man, but we can't afford to lose him either."

"I'll make the arrangements, my lord."

Corvus left. The messenger followed.

Edric was alone with his map and his doubts.

He'd gotten into this war believing he was the best choice to rule—not because of birth or divine right, but because he actually understood governance. Because he cared about trade routes and crop yields and making sure village wells didn't run dry.

Boring shit. Important shit.

But now the boring shit didn't matter.

Now everything came down to one drunk doctor who knew a secret that could end or escalate a war.

No pressure.

Edric stared at the northern section of the map where the Stonewood was marked in dark green ink.

"Run fast, Doctor Vex," he said to the empty room. "And pray you reach us before Theodric's knives find your throat."

The map didn't answer.

It never did.

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