Chapter 36 Oaths
Chapter thirty-six
Oaths
-Kael-
The letter arrived at dawn, borne by a raven with violet-threaded feathers, Thauren’s personal sigil, a Leviathan, stamped into the wax.
Kael broke through the hardened seal with swift precision, his eyes darting over the lines — each letter stoked the tension mouthing in his spine.
Every word feeding his fire, by the time he reached the end, his fury was unmistakable.
Aid will be yours, it read, but my price is simple. She comes to Virellia when this war against Calanthe is won. The Veil Breaker, will become a symbol and shield for my people. A tether of power to my throne.
Kael's fist clenched around the parchment, crumpling it.
The flames in the hearth surged in response, roaring higher as he hurled the letter into the fire.
His shadows exploded outward, slamming against stone with a wail of fury — they curled and snapped like beasts unchained— living extensions of his rage.
Thauren's arrogance had always ran deep. But he'd lost his senses to assume Kael would even deign him a response to his cumbersome proposal.
“She is not a piece for trade,” he growled.
Corin and Riven sat to his right, their jaws taunt, eyes dark with restraint. The claim on their soon-to-be queen was an insult neither took lightly.
To his left, Valea scoffed outright, the sound sharp as steel.
"What in the realms is he thinking, that we would fight to get her back just to hand her off — to him —another insufferable king?" She questioned. Kael caught the slight tilt of her head, the twitch of her brow, she'd never admit it aloud but he knew she had come to care for Maris.
“Prepare the war table,” Kael commanded. “Summon all nobles— every vampire lord, every fae matriarch, every nightbound warrior loyal to Nythra. We will meet tonight.”
Riven inclined his head. “Even House Morran?”
“If they refuse,” Kael said coldly, “burn their lands, kill them for defiance.”
The generals rose, bowed before their king and faded into the echoing halls.
Kael stood for a breath, staring down at the flames, the blackened crisps of parchment. He looked toward the window, toward the mountains to the west, and beyond it to where the sea cliffs rose in Nerium.
Valea followed his gaze, she spoke firm and true. "We'll get her back, Highness. He will bleed."
She turned her head and he met her gaze. "You are not the only one willing to draw blood for her."
Kael growled and turned —cloak billowing behind him, he had war to plan.
The great hall of Calyrix had not been this full in over a century.
It stank of clashing perfumes, iron-polished armor, and old bloodlines clawing to stay relevant.
Fires roared in blackened hearths along the curved walls, casting flickering shadows on the marble map table that stretched the room’s center.
Every mountain ridge, and river vein of the continent carved into its surface —stained with age, scorched at the edges from past councils that had not ended in peace.
Kael stood at the head of it, his hands flat against the stone, silver eyes scanning the faces of every noble, general, and emissary who dared meet his gaze.
Fae lords with gossamer cloaks and starlit tattoos. Vampire nobles with onyx rings and long-forgotten coats of arms. Nightbound leaders like statues carved from obsidian.
And among them… House Morran.
One of the oldest families. Reclusive. Wealthy. Cowards.
Lord Gerris Morran wore his disdain like a badge, leaning lazily in his carved chair as if Kael were some petulant child with delusions of war.
“We do not believe this is our fight,” he said smoothly, voice like rotted silk. “Calanthe is your obsession —not ours. We have remained untouched by these petty squabbles for centuries.”
A rumble echoed through the chamber. The twin generals tensed. Corin’s eyes narrowed. Riven’s hand drifted to his sword.
Kael smiled.
Slow. Cold. Deadly.
“I see,” he said softly, stepping from the head of the table.
The other nobles parted as he moved, his steps deliberate, quiet.
“I suppose when the gods cursed our lands,” Kael continued, “you must have mistaken that plague for everyday aliments. When our fields died, simply bad weather. When the nightmares began crawling past the Veil tearing apart our soldiers and villagers in their sleep — maybe you assumed them to be kin of your household.”
He stopped before Lord Morran’s chair.
“You must have been very warm in your manor to miss all the screams.”
The lord lifted his chin, defiant. “We’ve buried our own. But we do not spill blood for ghost stories and rivalries, especially human consorts.” He attempted to strike a verbal blow, but missed.
Kael’s hand moved so fast, half the room gasped.
The blade was short. Black as pitch. A dagger honed from volcanic glass, a gift to a former king long ago. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t blink.
He drove it into Lord Morran’s throat with the ease of gutting a pig, his shadows pulse out like blades serving his head cleanly.
The noble around the table choked in horror, blood spraying in pulsing streams down the table, staining the edge of the map. But not a soul in the room dared lift a hand.
When the prick's head hit the floor with a sickening thud and his headless corpse slumped in the chair — Kael turned to the younger man standing near the gore.
A boy, barely seventy-five winters stood before him pale with horror. As Kael's gaze found the boys eyes, he recognized that same burn in his stare— one he once saw in himself.
“Your father was a coward,” Kael said flatly. “I will not suffer cowards in my court.”
The young man swallowed deeply. “And if I choose the same stance against?”
Kael stepped forward. “Then, when I kill you I'll simply make your sister the next heir, maybe your cousin. Or your wife’s dog — the possibilities are simply endless.”
The newly appointed lord, clearly deciding he'd rather survive the night, dropped to one knee before Kael. Seething he drew a blade across his palm, the cut deep and clean. Blood welled and spilled down his wrist as he extended it to his king— an offering. A blood oath of unyielding loyalty.
“I swear it, my king. House Morran stands with the Crown of Nythra.”
Kael didn't move at first, only glanced down at the bloodied hand with cool amusement, Then his lips curved into a smile.
"Good choice," he mused dryly. "Honestly, you're better off in this arrangement freed from the chains of that decrypted bastard."
He turned back to the room, bloody blade raised in question, “Are there any others wishing to declare neutrality?”
Silence.
"Very well." He declared walked back to the head of the table, Morran’s blood still dripping from the blade.
He slammed it into the map, where the borderlands bled into Calanthe.
“This is where we strike.”
The echoes of Morran’s death had only just settled. The corpse's blood barely cool when the war chamber’s heavy double doors groaned open without summons.
The guards at the threshold stepped aside, wide-eyed and uncertain.
Every noble head turned.
A cold wind swept through the stone room, briny and sharp carrying the scent of storm-slick leather.
Just as he'd thought his hands were done with bloodshed for the night— Thauren, King of Virellia walked through the threshold.
He strode into the chamber like a tempest given form —tall, bronze-skinned, wrapped in sea-forged armor that shimmered like a battered pearl beneath moonlight.
His long obsidian hair was pulled back in coiled knots, beard glisting with mist, sea-glass green eyes assessing everything with a ship’s ease and a regal calculation.
A jagged scar curved along one forearm like a lightning bolt carved in flesh.
Kael didn’t rise.
“You weren’t invited,” he said evenly, silver eyes meeting Thauren’s.
“And yet,” Thauren drawled comically, voice low and ocean-deep, “here I am. Since you never replied to my letter, I thought I’d come for your answer in the flesh and see what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
The nobles bristled. Several bowed. Others whispered.
Thauren ignored them all.
He stopped a few paces from Kael’s table, letting his gaze flick lazily across the bloodstain that still marked House Morran’s corner.
“Cleaning house?” he mused.
Kael gave a nod. “He refused to fight. So I gave him death.”
Thauren smirked. “Your subtlety never fails to impress.”
Riven stepped forward. “Why are you here, Thauren?”
The Sea King’s eyes gleamed. “Because I’ve got ships. I’ve got trained men. And I’ve got a long memory.”
He tilted his head.
“Surely, we can come up with a way to save such an unusually gifted mortal.”
The silence turned razor-sharp.
Kael’s shadows twitched at his back.
“You came to barter,” Kael said.
“I came to observe,” Thauren countered. “To see if the war is worth bleeding for.”
Kael’s jaw ticked. “And?”
Thauren’s gaze grew harder, he pressed the pads of his fingers to the table taking in the map. “And to see how desperate you’ve become.”
Kael’s shadows surged like smoke curling toward a fire.
Thauren didn’t flinch.
“I know how he operates. I know how he seduces —manipulates. Twists good things into weapons.”
There was venom behind those words.
Kael saw it then the crack beneath the sea king’s mask.
Thauren walked gracefully to the far end of the table and placed a single object down: a carved silver ring, shaped like a lily blooming beneath a crescent moon.
It glinted.
“ My sister,” Thauren said. “Elenwe.”
”As you well know—fell into his serpent coil.” He said coldly with a wink.
A ripple sparkled through the room, all in the room knew of the death of Elenwe and at whose hand it came.
Kael didn’t move.
“She was radiant,” Thauren continued. “Too kind for the world she was born into. She believed in peace, believed in even you.” He scoffed. “Then Alarik took her to that cursed ball. Used her as a symbol.”
Kael’s hands clenched.
“And you drove the blade,” Thauren said, voice hardening. “She should never have been there. He tainted her by bringing her into his schemes. He wanted to make her a pawn in his sick attempt at unity.”
Thauren stepped closer.
“I don’t care what the gods did to you. I know what they did to me. To her. I want his kingdom broken. I want him ended.”
Kael’s silver gaze locked on his.
“And you’ll help?”
“If I get what I want.”
“Which is?”
Thauren grinned.
“As I said in the letter before, when the war is over… Maris comes to Virellia.”
”But due to your obvious… affections, betrothal and all. I won't force her to live in our kingdom. She will only need to be bound to an oath. Ever at the ready, should we need a powerful force to defend us from the horrors that slip through the veil.” He said with a smile.
”I thought this way everyone wins.”
The room exploded in outrage.
Valea stood draw her sword. The general inched closer from behind.
“She’ll be treated with honor,” Thauren replied, calmly. “She’ll be safer with me than with a man who can’t keep her in his bed —much less his court.”
Kael didn’t move. His face didn’t change but the air around him rippled with rage.
“You’ll have your deal,” he said coldly.
“And if I win it,” Thauren said, stepping back, “I’ll have my reward.”
The Sea King turned, cloak swirling like storm clouds as he walked out.
The chamber remained silent for a long, long time.
Then Kael spoke, voice a whip crack.
“Prepare the armies.”