Chapter 12
12
S kylar’s boots echoed against the marble floor as she strode into the war council chamber. The oak doors groaned shut behind her, sealing off the bustling corridor. Inside, tension thickened the air, mingling with the scent of fear barely masked by expensive perfumes.
A hush fell over the room. The sudden silence pressed against her eardrums, broken only by the soft hiss of torches. Skylar felt a dozen gazes tracking her movement, her skin prickling under the scrutiny. She fought the urge to fidget, acutely aware of every crease in her attire.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Arye near the entrance. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, the fabric of his dark tunic stretching taut across his broad shoulders. Even from this distance, his gaze burned into her, cold and intense.
Skylar took her place standing beside Captain Knox at the long oak table, acutely aware of Arye’s looming presence several paces behind her, his stance unchanged. Her fingertips brushed against the worn wood, feeling the grooves that whispered tales of wars past. The scent of beeswax polish mingled with old parchment, an aroma uniquely tied to moments of grave decision.
King Lyinell sat at the head of the table opposite the entrance, his golden crown glinting in the flickering light. Shadows danced across his face, deepening the lines of cunning etched into his features. His eyes, cold as a winter storm, swept over the assembled advisors before settling on Skylar. She held his gaze steadily, refusing to be cowed by the man who had commanded her father to his death. She wasn’t sure if it was her bindings or the weight of her family’s curse that was constricting her chest.
“Duke Anathemark,” the King’s voice was smooth as silk but laced with steel. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence. I trust your dear mother is as radiant as ever?”
Skylar inclined her head slightly, keeping her expression neutral even as her heart raced. “Yes, Your Majesty. The Dowager Duchess sends her regards.”
A lie, of course. But the King didn’t need to know the truth of her mother’s condition or the worry gnawing at Skylar’s insides.
“How touching,” King Lyinell’s lips curled into a predatory smirk. “Now, perhaps we can finally attend to the matter at hand. Captain Knox, your report?”
He stepped forward, his expression grim. The scar along his jaw stood out starkly against his tanned skin. His voice was a low growl that vibrated through the air. “The captives have been most… informative.”
Skylar’s eyebrow arched. “What have our… guests revealed, Captain?”
His hand tightened on his sword hilt, leather creaking in the tense silence. “Thorncrest’s ambitions haven’t waned, Your Grace. They still aim to rule over Regalclaw, claiming we’re—” He broke off, glancing uneasily to his right.
“Weak?” King Lyinell supplied, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“Unstable,” the Captain answered, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “They say we’re vulnerable without a holy tree of our own.”
The King snorted derisively. “If we were so weak, why would the Thousand-Year King seek our protection during Aequilibrium’s Year of Silence?”
The question hung unanswered. Skylar felt the shift in the room, the palpable tension as everyone weighed their words. She resisted the urge to turn and seek out Arye, to draw strength from his presence. But she could feel him far behind her, the heat of his stare searing into her back, making her skin prickle and her pulse quicken.
Advisor Hannington cleared his throat. The sound cracked through the strained silence like a whip. “Your Majesty, if I may… Thorncrest’s perception of our strength, misguided as it may be, could lead them to rash action. We must consider all possibilities.”
“Let them try,” Captain Knox growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. “We’ll show them just how ‘weak’ Regalclaw steel can be.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, a buzzing of angry wasps.
Skylar raised a hand, silencing the growing clamor. The room fell quiet immediately, as if she had cast a spell. Pride fluttered in her chest, quickly followed by a wave of guilt.
How much of their respect was earned, and how much was tied to her title?
“Before we entertain thoughts of war,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within, “let’s consider all the information we have. Historian Flint, have you found something about Thorncrest’s holy tree?”
Flint startled, nearly knocking over an inkwell. The sharp scent of spilled ink cut through the air, mingling unpleasantly with the musty odor clinging to him. He tugged at his collar, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “Y-yes, Your Grace. We’ve uncovered disturbing information.”
“Out with it, man,” the King demanded, impatience clear in his tone. His fingers drummed an agitated rhythm, each tap sending a jolt of tension through Skylar’s body.
Flint swallowed hard; his words quavered. “According to one of the captives, their Tree of Life has begun to bear fruit. The Spinewoods have been experimenting with them.”
A collective murmur rippled through the room. Skylar’s brow furrowed, foreboding settling in her gut like a lead weight. “Experimenting how?”
Leaning in close, Flint whispered, “They claim that the fruit can turn humans into… into monsters. Beings of immense strength and ferocity.”
“Did their tree ever have fruits before?”
“No, Your Grace,” the historian shook his head and pointed at one of his scrolls. “Never.”
The room erupted into chaos. Voices overlapped, rising in volume until the chamber rang with the cacophony. Each shout hurt Skylar’s senses.
“Silence!” King Lyinell’s voice boomed, cutting through the noise like a blade. He turned to Skylar, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Duke Anathemark, what do you make of this?”
Skylar inhaled slowly, tasting the tension in the air. “If true, it could alter the balance of power dramatically,” she began, her mind racing. “We need to confirm?—”
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed. Skylar felt it before she saw it—a shift in the energy, like the calm before a storm. Flint, standing across the table from her, visibly tensed, his eyes darting nervously to a point behind her. To her left, she caught King Lyinell’s subtle grin, his gaze fixed on something—or someone—over her shoulder. Arye.
Without turning, she sensed his commanding presence filling the space as he pushed away from the wall. His footsteps echoed as he approached the table where she and the others stood. She heard each slow step. His movement was fluid, graceful, yet laden with purpose.
As Arye came to a stop beside her, taking his place to the right of his father, his arm brushed against hers, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The touch sent a jolt through her, a spark of electricity that made her skin tingle. Heat bloomed where their bodies had connected, spreading through her like wildfire. Her breath caught in her throat, memories of that night in the inn flooding back with startling clarity.
Unbidden, the image of the stranger’s body beneath hers flashed through her mind. But in her fantasy, it hadn’t been a nameless man writhing in pleasure. It had been Arye, his storm-gray eyes dark with desire, his lips forming her name, begging for release. She could almost feel the heat of his skin, taste the salt on his neck, hear the low rumble of his voice in her ear.
Skylar silently cursed her traitorous thoughts, her skin prickling with sudden warmth. She clenched her jaw, willing the sensation to subside. Her nails dug into her palm as she pressed them hard, using the sharp pain to ground herself back in the present moment, only to find he had been watching her. There was anger there, and determination, but also something softer, more vulnerable. It was like looking into the eye of a hurricane, calm at the center but with destruction looming on all sides. Before she could decipher it, he turned away, addressing the council with a voice that brooked no argument.
“We will not be cowed by their threats or their supposed magical fruits,” Arye declared, his words ringing with authority. The air around him vibrated with intensity. “For now, we maintain peace. But let it be known—any aggression from Thorncrest will be met with the full might of Regalclaw.”
“And what exactly does that entail, Your Highness?” Advisor Hannington pressed, his tone cautious. “Surely we must prioritize diplomatic options at all cost?”
Arye’s eyes flashed, a dangerous glint that sent a shiver down Skylar’s spine. When he spoke, his voice was low and intense, filled with a cold fury that made several advisors shift uneasily.
“Diplomacy has its place, Advisor,” Arye said, each word precise and cutting. “But make no mistake—if they dare to strike, we will not hesitate. Their precious tree, their kingdom, their very way of life—all of it will burn if they force our hand.”
A heavy silence followed his words. Skylar watched as a slow smile spread across King Lyinell’s face, pride and satisfaction evident in his expression. The resemblance between father and son was striking, reminding her of her mother’s warning. Arye was different from his father, she knew that. But in moments like these, the similarities were undeniable.
“Well said, my son,” the King nodded approvingly. “And with Duke Anathemark at our disposal, the Spinewoods would be foolish to test us.”
Skylar’s pulse quickened. The cursed creature stirred within her, its presence a heavy burden in her chest, its beak pulling and gnawing at her heart. Images of the battlefield erupted in her mind—the sickening crunch of bones, the screams of the dying, the intoxicating rush of power that threatened to consume her very soul.
Skylar was about to speak when she noticed Arye subtly straighten his spine. His eyes never left the King, but she could read the tension in every line of his body.
“No,” he said, glancing at Skylar for a moment with such fierce determination it made her catch her breath. “My men can handle this without resorting to the Divine Beast. We don’t need to rely on such measures.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Skylar felt a rush of conflicting emotions—gratitude, frustration, and a deep-seated fear of once more failing her kingdom. The memory of fallen soldiers, their lifeless eyes accusing her of hesitation, surged into her thoughts…
No. She won’t hide behind Arye ever again.
Captain Knox’s expression lit up at Arye’s declaration, a fierce grin spreading across his weathered face. “Of course, Your Highness!” he exclaimed, thumping his fist against his chest. “No need for fancy beasts when we’ve got the finest soldiers in the land!”
“And risk more lives unnecessarily?” Skylar found herself saying, her voice cutting through the excited chatter, all attention turning to her. She could feel Arye’s gaze burning into her, his silent warning, but she forced herself to continue. “Your Highness, Your Majesty, while I appreciate the faith in our military strength, I cannot in good conscience stand idle if our kingdom is threatened.”
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Her duty pressed down on her, threatening to crush her beneath its burden. But she straightened her spine, feeling the familiar pressure of her chest bindings as a reminder of who she was—who she had to be. Her heart raced, but her resolve remained unshaken as she faced the King.
“As long as I am able to summon the Gryphon, I swear to use its power to protect Regalclaw,” Skylar declared, the gravity of her oath evident in every syllable. “I will not hesitate again, no matter the cost.”
King Lyinell nodded, a dangerous gleam in his eye that made Skylar uneasy. It was the look of a predator that had just cornered its prey.
But it was Arye’s reaction that she sought, her heart pounding as she met his gaze. What she saw there made her breath catch in her throat. Arye’s eyes burned with an intensity she’d never seen before. His jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his neck straining against his skin.
The air between them crackled with unspoken words. Skylar could almost taste the tension, metallic and sharp on her tongue. She waited, half-expecting him to use the pact and command her to stand down, to forbid her from using her powers ever again. A shiver of anticipation raced through her body, every nerve ending alive and alert.
But the command never came.