The eastern lords gathered in a stone hall, uneasy and suspicious.
Rumors of Frosthold, Riverwatch, and Greyhaven's obedience had reached them.
Whispers of the Wolf haunted every conversation.
Rowan's envoys arrived, carrying promises of support and threats of punishment.
The lords listened, but fear had already seeped into their hearts.
Every word they spoke was measured. Every glance calculated.
Aren did not attend the meeting.
He had no need.
Instead, his spies moved unseen among the lords.
Messages were intercepted. Alliances undermined. Suspicion planted like seeds in fertile soil.
By nightfall, the alliance Rowan tried to forge had begun to fracture.
Arguments erupted in hushed voices.
Lords accused each other of treachery.
Merchants withdrew support. Soldiers questioned orders.
Lysa reported quietly from the shadows:
"They are turning on each other. No army needed. Fear alone will dissolve their unity."
"Yes," Aren replied. "The poisoned alliance is stronger than any blade. Suspicion will do the work before we ever march."
Rowan realized, too late, that the Wolf had infiltrated every corner of his kingdom.
The prince's allies became spies. His plans became tools. His court became a trap.
From a ridge above the hall, Aren observed silently.
The Wolf's influence spread like a disease.
One by one, even the proudest lords bent.
And Greyhaven, the north, and now the east… all were caught in the web.
Aren whispered to Lysa and Caelis:
"Patience. Fear. Deception. The poisoned alliance will fall before our soldiers ever draw blood.
The kingdom is ours to shape, one shadow at a time."