The scroll from Lorian sat unopened on the small writing desk in Alex's private study for nearly two hours after Elara left.
He hadn't gone back to bed. Instead he'd wandered the upper corridors until he found himself here—among the shelves of forbidden tomes, star charts pinned to the walls, and a single tall window that faced the eastern mountains. Dawn was bleeding pink and gold along the horizon now, turning the snow-capped peaks into blades of light.
He sat in the high-backed chair, boots propped on the edge of the desk, turning the black-waxed scroll over and over in his fingers. The seal was plain—no royal crest, no heroic flourish. Just a simple impression of crossed swords. Practical. Honest. Exactly what he would expect from someone who believed he was fighting for destiny itself.
Alex finally broke the wax with his thumbnail.
The parchment unrolled smoothly. Lorian's handwriting was neat, almost schoolboy-precise.
*Duke Vesper Blackthorn,*
*Three days hence, at noon on the Eldrath Crossroads, I extend invitation to parley under flag of truce. Terms as follows:*
*- No more than ten armed men per side.*
*- No sorcery, no summoned creatures, no shadowed arts.*
*- Weapons sheathed unless drawn in self-defense.*
*- Discussion of cessation of hostilities, border recognition, and possible exchange of prisoners.*
*Refusal will be taken as declaration that you intend to continue this war until one side or the other lies broken.*
*Light guide us both.*
*Lorian Dawnblade, Chosen of Aetheria*
Alex read it twice.
Then he leaned back and let out a long, slow breath.
No threats. No flowery declarations of divine right. Just cold, clear terms. The kind of letter a man writes when he's tired of killing but still believes he'll win.
He liked Lorian a little more for it.
And hated that he did.
The system chimed—soft, almost thoughtful.
«Parley accepted: +50 Reputation with Neutral Factions (minor).
Survival timer reset to 72 hours upon formal acceptance.
Hidden variable unlocked: Elara Voss will attend as observer. Her presence modifies outcomes by ±30% depending on your choices.
No pressure.»
Alex snorted. "Helpful as ever."
He stood. Rolled the scroll carefully and tucked it into an inner pocket of his coat.
First things first: he needed to decide who went with him.
Not Garrick—the big captain was too blunt, too obviously loyal in the old, brutal way. Not Seraphine—her presence would scream espionage. Not Cassian—gods no.
He needed people who could keep their mouths shut and their blades sheathed unless absolutely necessary.
And maybe… someone who could read the room better than he could right now.
He left the study and headed toward the servants' wing.
Liora was already awake when he found her.
She stood in the narrow hallway outside the maids' quarters, arms crossed, back against the stone wall. Still in the same crimson-trimmed dress from dinner, but with a dark wool shawl draped over her shoulders against the morning chill. Her violet eyes flicked up as he approached.
"You're up early," she said.
"Or late." He stopped a few paces away. "Elara Voss was here. On the eastern balcony. Truce flag."
Liora's expression didn't change, but her shoulders tightened a fraction.
"And?"
"Parley offer. Three days. Eldrath Crossroads."
She pushed off the wall. Studied his face like she was looking for lies written in blood.
"You're going."
"Not alone."
She waited.
Alex met her gaze. "I want you there."
A beat of silence.
Then she laughed—short, disbelieving.
"You want the woman who's tried to kill you seven times to stand at your side during a parley with the hero who wants your head?"
"Exactly."
"Why?"
"Because you see through bullshit better than anyone in this citadel. Because if this is a trap, you'll spot it before I do. Because if I start slipping back into the old Vesper… you'll end it before it costs more lives than necessary."
Liora's eyes narrowed.
"You're asking me to be your conscience. And your executioner."
"I'm asking you to be honest. That's rarer."
She looked away for the first time—toward the narrow window at the end of the hall where dawn light was turning the stone gold.
"I could kill you there," she said quietly. "One quick thrust while everyone's distracted. Blame the hero's men. Walk away clean."
"You could," he agreed. "You still might."
She turned back to him.
"Then why risk it?"
"Because I think you're curious enough to want to see how this ends." He stepped closer. Not crowding. Just close enough that she had to tilt her head up slightly. "And because I think part of you wants to believe someone can change. Even me."
Liora searched his face for a long moment.
Then she exhaled—sharp, almost angry.
"Fine."
Alex raised an eyebrow.
"But on my terms," she continued. "I ride beside you. I carry my own blades. And if I see even one sign you're playing games with the truce… I won't wait for proof."
"Deal."
She studied him another second.
Then she reached up—slowly—and adjusted the collar of his coat where it had folded wrong. Her fingers brushed his throat. Cool. Steady.
"Don't make me regret this, Vesper."
He caught her wrist gently before she could pull away.
"Alex," he said quietly. "My name is Alex. At least when it's just us."
Her brows lifted.
She didn't pull her hand free.
"Alex," she repeated. Testing it. Like a new blade.
Then she slipped her wrist from his grasp and stepped back.
"Get some rest," she said. "You look like death warmed over."
She turned and walked down the corridor.
Alex watched her go until she disappeared around the corner.
The system pinged—soft, almost smug.
«Affection +18 (Current: -11).
She used your real name. Voluntarily.
Also: party composition update – Liora Voss now designated as personal guard / observer for parley event.
Hidden affection modifier active: her presence increases your effective Charisma by +15 when dealing with female characters during the meeting.
You're building something dangerous here, host. Keep it up.»
Alex leaned his head back against the wall.
Dawn light spilled across the floor in warm bars.
He closed his eyes for just a second.
Three days.
Three days until crossroads, terms, and whatever came after.
He smiled—small, tired, but real.
Yeah.
He could work with three days.