The tension in the hall did not dissolve.
It merely changed shape.
Like smoke.
Edric remained silent for a long moment, and within that silence there was more threat than in any shout. His eyes were fixed on Maelyra, hard as wet stone.
She did not look away.
Not because she felt no fear.
But because she knew retreat now would be like bleeding before wolves.
One of the captains cleared his throat, unable to bear the weight of that standoff.
"My lord… we must answer Ser Garron's request."
Edric did not turn.
"I already have."
His voice was low.
Controlled.
But filled with iron.
He walked slowly back toward the throne, as though each step reaffirmed his place in the world. It was not merely a man returning to a chair.
It was the domain returning to its axis.
When he sat, the groan of the wood sounded like a lament.
"Send messengers to the vassal houses," he said at last, not looking at anyone in particular. "To Dunmere. To Halwick. To the hills of Varrenshade."
Maeron, the counselor, hesitated.
"My lord…"
Edric raised a hand.
"No."
Maeron closed his mouth.
Edric continued:
"I want banners on the horizon. I want Marrick to know he is not facing Varynhold alone."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I want him to fear."
Maelyra let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Fear."
Some men turned, uneasy.
Edric lifted his eyes.
"Say what you think, since you seem so inclined to do so."
Maelyra drew a slow breath.
"I think you are trying to win a war with shadows."
Captain Merek frowned.
"My lady, careful—"
"No," Maelyra cut him off without even looking. "Let me speak."
She turned back to her father.
"You want Marrick to fear banners that do not even exist on the field yet. You want your men to fight on the hope that reinforcements arrive before they die."
Edric remained still.
Maelyra stepped closer.
"That is not strategy."
Her voice hardened.
"That is blind faith."
The hall reacted like a wounded animal.
One captain muttered a curse.
Another tightened his grip on his sword hilt.
But Edric…
Edric only watched.
"You speak as though you understand war," he said at last.
Maelyra held his gaze.
"I understand enough to know men are not stone."
She gestured subtly toward the messengers still kneeling, soaked through.
"They rode through nights without stopping. They bled. They saw villages burning."
Her voice trembled—not with weakness, but with anger.
"And all of it for what? So you may keep your pride intact?"
Edric rose again, abrupt.
"So I may keep the domain intact."
The sound echoed.
He descended the steps of the throne, drawing closer.
"You think a lord rules with gentleness? With understanding?"
He leaned in, close enough that Maelyra could smell wine and steel.
"A lord rules because others fear to challenge him."
Maelyra did not retreat.
"Then admit it."
She whispered, but the entire hall heard.
"Admit you will use your men as flesh."
A brutal silence.
Edric blinked slowly.
"Flesh?"
Maelyra lifted her chin.
"A living shield. Peasants and bastards holding spears so you can keep your name clean."
Edric's face hardened.
"They swore."
"They were forced," she corrected swiftly.
"Every oath has choice," he growled.
Maelyra smiled without humor.
"As I had choice?"
The words hung like poison.
Edric stood motionless.
For an instant… just an instant… something human passed through his eyes.
Then it vanished.
"You had your chance to be useful to the domain," he said coldly. "You chose instead to be an obstacle."
Maelyra inhaled deeply, as though holding back something that threatened to break her.
"I chose to be a person."
A murmur spread among the captains, uneasy. That was not the language of war.
It was the language of conscience.
Edric turned away, as if ending the matter.
"Ser Haldrin."
The captain answered immediately:
"Yes, my lord."
"How many men does Garron have in position?"
"Three thousand two hundred, my lord."
"And Marrick?"
"Four thousand. Perhaps more, counting the mercenaries."
Edric nodded slowly.
"Then we will hold."
Maelyra closed her eyes for a moment.
"Hold."
She repeated bitterly.
"Until how many remain?"
Edric turned, irritated.
"Until they win."
Maelyra opened her eyes.
"Until they die."
The hall froze once more.
Edric walked back to the throne as though the conversation were nothing but dust.
But before he sat, Maelyra spoke one last time.
"Father…"
He stopped.
She hesitated, and for the first time her voice lost its blade.
"When this war ends… you may still have a domain.
But you will have no men."
Edric did not answer.
He only sat.
As though the weight of a thousand deaths was lighter than the weight of yielding.
Outside, the rain continued.
And in the camp, in the mud, men like Rowan gripped their swords and pretended not to tremble.
War did not ask whether it was just.
War only came.