VERNON
Vernon awoke in his room as sunlight streamed through, landing on his eyes. He lay naked beneath the blanket. Sitting up in bed, he glanced beside him, where Seraphina slept on her stomach. Gently, he brushed his fingers across her cheek.
Seraphina stirred and soon awoke. She sat up as well, her bare chest exposed, revealing faint bite marks scattered across her body. Vernon, gazing at her, leaned in for another kiss, his hand slipping under the blanket. Before he could go further, a knock echoed from the door.
Startled, Vernon and Seraphina exchanged worried glances. A voice called out from the other side.
"Your Majesty, Lord Darnell requests an audience," a servant announced.
"Tell him I'll be there shortly. Now leave," Vernon ordered.
As the sound of retreating footsteps faded, they both got out of bed and dressed.
At Lord Darnell's office, the lord waited alongside his wife and children, including his daughter Nina, who had dark brown hair and stood at 160 cm.
Moments later, Vernon knocked on the door.
"Enter," Lord Darnell called.
As Vernon and Seraphina stepped inside, Vernon's eyes momentarily lingered on Nina's face before his thoughts were interrupted by Lord Darnell's formal greeting.
"The House of Darnell greets the true heir to the throne," Lord Darnell said.
Seraphina glanced at him and responded, "Vernon may be the true heir, but he is not yet king. We need to focus on turning the true heir into the true king."
Lady Darnell chimed in, "That is precisely why we're here—to discuss the marriage, Seraphina."
Seraphina gave her a sharp look and corrected her, "It's 'Your Highness.'"
Sensing the rising tension, Lord Darnell intervened, "Let's proceed with the marriage terms."
Vernon, nodding, took hold of Seraphina's wrist and guided her to sit. Once seated, Vernon spoke firmly, "There's nothing to negotiate. The wedding will take place this week. I also want a list of resources the House of Darnell can provide for our journey to Indagia."
"Your Highness," Lord Darnell began, "my daughter has long dreamed of a grand wedding. We understand you're in a hurry, but rushing things—especially war preparations—can be disastrous."
Turning to Nina, he added, "I apologize for the haste."
He then continued, "Please share your expectations."
After a lengthy discussion, they agreed to hold the wedding in a month's time. Seraphina would return to Lord Edric's palace to begin preparations, while Vernon would remain in Darnell's territory to prepare for and strategize the upcoming campaign.
As the discussion came to a close, everyone left the room, leaving only Vernon, Seraphina, and Lord Darnell behind. Darnell, with a thoughtful expression, turned to them.
"Your Highness, may I ask how we plan to advance?" Darnell inquired carefully.
"By sea," Vernon replied.
"I don't mean the transport. Obviously, we'll reach Indagia by ship. What I'm asking is, of the nine lands, which one will we strike first?"
Vernon took a sip of wine, confidence gleaming in his eyes. "Ah, that. Coldcave. It's the shortest route from the Republic of the North to Indagia."
"And that's where the rebellion ends," Darnell responded without hesitation.
"Excuse me?" Seraphina interrupted.
"With all due respect, Your Highness, I believe you don't fully understand Coldcave. While its winters may be milder than here, the rapid climate shifts and the treacherous mountains make it nearly impossible to conquer. Only those born there can truly navigate its challenges," Darnell explained with a knowing smile.
"But we'll have the manpower," Vernon countered. "Support for Coldcave will take at least two weeks to mobilize. That's plenty of time to capture Frostspire Keep."
Darnell chuckled at Vernon's remark, causing Vernon and Seraphina to exchange puzzled glances.
"What's so amusing, Lord Darnell?" Vernon asked.
"Everything," Darnell replied, his expression turning serious. "You may be ambitious, but your planning lacks depth."
Seraphina, visibly irritated, started to rise, but Vernon gently grasped her hand, signaling her to let Darnell finish.
"Then tell me, what would you suggest?" Vernon asked with a cold smile.
"Your plan isn't entirely without merit. Let's assume we march with a force of around one hundred thousand soldiers. Coldcave's houses could barely muster thirty thousand in defense," Darnell said, pausing for effect before adding, "and we win."
"Then what's the issue?" Vernon pressed.
Darnell took a deliberate pause. "Rein Winterbane."
"He's old," Seraphina remarked sharply.
"His body may be, but his mind is as sharp as ever," Darnell retorted. Picking up a glass of wine, he continued, "When Rein Winterbane moves, even the heavens hold their breath. He'll slaughter us all without mercy."
"That's nonsense!" Seraphina snapped, storming out of the room in frustration.
Vernon, however, remained, his gaze fixed on Darnell. "Rein's younger brother raped your sister, didn't he?"
Darnell froze, the wine glass hovering near his lips. After a moment, he finally took a sip and nodded. "Yes."
"Then I imagine the Darnells hate the Winterbanes even more than the Valnherons," Vernon said.
"Yes," Darnell repeated.
"So, tell me—what should I do?" Vernon asked again.
Darnell stood and walked to the door, pausing as he opened it. He glanced back at Vernon, his expression grave. "Skaldrith," he said before walking out.
ANSEL
After Geralt's arrival party, exhaustion overtook Ansel, and he slept deeply, undisturbed until 11 a.m. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, but it wasn't enough to wake him. It wasn't until Geralt himself entered the room, his presence breaking the stillness, that Ansel finally stirred from his long sleep.
"Wake up, little princess," Geralt said with a smirk, sarcasm lacing his voice as he stood over Ansel's bed.
Ansel threw the blanket aside and glared at Geralt. "Now you don't even let me rest peacefully?" he muttered, his voice filled with annoyance.
Geralt raised an eyebrow and looked at him, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Rest? Tell me, what exactly have you done that requires rest?" he said.
"Just get out," Ansel replied, his tone sharp with irritation as he glared at Geralt.
"Is that how you speak to a king, boy?" Geralt said, his voice turning cold as he gave Ansel a hard look.
"A weak king," Ansel replied,
Geralt went blank for a moment, taken aback by Ansel's words. After a brief pause, he walked a few steps, grabbed a chair, and sat down in front of Ansel. "A weak father," he said, his voice steady as he locked eyes with his son.
He looked at Ansel and added, "You should be grateful that your father is not a father like mine."
"I've never met Grandfather, so I can't agree or disagree," Ansel replied, his tone laced with a hint of defensiveness.
"He never came to meet you," Geralt said.
"You're smart enough to recognize his lack of love for you just from that." He added.
"Or he didn't come because of you, Father," Ansel shot back.
"If what you said is true, then I'm happier than you," Geralt replied, a slight edge to his voice.
The room fell silent for a moment, the tension hanging in the air. After a bit, Geralt broke the stillness. "Bring that chair, and get some wine and a glass too," he instructed.
As Ansel brought the chair, he set it down and sat in it without waiting for Geralt's permission.
Geralt grabbed the wine, opened the bottle, and started drinking directly from it, showing little regard for decorum.
"He never cared about me, always hated me," Geralt continued, his voice thick with emotion. "Even during the war, when I fell into a coma for a month, he didn't come. He left me to die, but Rein was there for me."
"He always says the same thing: 'Stormrider fight with their brain, not with sword,'" Geralt spat, bitterness lacing his words as he recalled his father's disdain.
"He always loved Rein, though. A genius like him was exactly what my father wanted," Geralt said, his voice tinged with resentment. "But the day he denied my sister's proposal, he became my father's enemy."
"I may not have given you the love you wanted, Ansel," Geralt said, his voice thick with emotion.
"But trust me, in your darkest moments, you can always look to me." He added.
"You fell into a coma?" Ansel asked, his face clouded with confusion.
"Yeah. After I killed Vyreth, my body was wrecked. So when I went under, Rein pushed forward and took out Zephyros," Geralt replied, his tone heavy with memory.
"But... don't dragons usually stay with their riders?" Ansel pressed, trying to make sense of it.
"They do. Zephyros was right there when I killed his dragon," Geralt paused, his voice growing quieter. "After Vyreth died, I was on my knees—completely drained, all alone."
He took a sip of his drink, then added, "Zephyros started toward me, ready to finish it all. But then I blacked out. Next thing I know, Rein had killed him."
"That doesn't add up," Ansel said, frowning.
Geralt looked at him, his expression grim. "I know. I told Rein what I saw, but he said I was hallucinating. Still, I swear, I saw Zephyros—but he didn't kill me."
Geralt rose from his seat and moved to the door. Before leaving, he glanced back at Ansel. "You and that boy of Rein's... settle your differences. When war comes, the Winterbanes are our most trusted."
With that, he stepped out, leaving Ansel to his thoughts.