The morning of the third day broke cold and still, the manor's grounds blanketed in a thin veil of mist that clung to the trees and stone walls. Alaric stood near the window of his temporary quarters, the faint chill seeping through the glass as he gazed out at the horizon. His sharp features were lined with tension, his posture rigid as his thoughts churned. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders, made worse by the uncertainty of what his father's response—or lack thereof—might mean.
Behind him, Lysandra leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed and her sharp eyes studying him in silence. She had noticed how the past few days had frayed his edges, his usual composure cracking beneath the strain of waiting. He was a man of action, not one to linger idly in uncertainty, and she knew it was eating at him.
"Still nothing?" she asked, her voice breaking the silence like a blade cutting through fog.
He turned his head slightly, acknowledging her presence with a faint shake of his head. "Not yet," he replied, his tone measured but heavy.
Lysandra pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the room with her usual fluid grace. "It's been three days, Alaric. Either the message was intercepted, or your father's taking his time weighing the politics of this mess."
"Or worse," he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. He turned to face her fully, his blue eyes meeting her gaze. "If Selric's reach is deeper than we thought, the court could be divided. My father's response—or inaction—might be tied to more than just logistics."
Lysandra studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. "And what if he doesn't respond at all?" she asked bluntly.
Alaric's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then we move forward without him," he said firmly, though there was a flicker of doubt in his voice that he couldn't entirely suppress. "This isn't just about Voltaria anymore. If we wait too long, Selric will gain ground, and the necromancer's forces will grow stronger."
Before she could respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Alaric's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, his posture straightening. "Enter," he called out.
The door opened to reveal one of Alaric's knights, Sir Edran, his expression grim but purposeful. In his hand, he held a sealed letter bearing the royal crest of Voltaria. "Your Highness," Edran said, stepping forward and presenting the letter. "A courier pigeon arrived moments ago. This is from the king."
Alaric took the letter, his hands steady despite the storm of anticipation roiling inside him. The wax seal was unbroken, the familiar emblem of his house gleaming in the morning light. He nodded to Edran, dismissing him with a quiet, "Thank you."
As the knight left, Alaric glanced at Lysandra, who had moved closer, her arms still crossed but her attention now fixed on the letter in his hand. "Well?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and a hint of impatience. "Are you going to open it, or are we going to stand here all day?"
Alaric exhaled slowly, breaking the seal with a practiced motion. The parchment was crisp, the ink dark and precise, his father's unmistakable handwriting filling the page. His eyes scanned the letter, his expression shifting subtly as he read—first tense, then grim, then resolute.
"What does it say?" Lysandra asked, her tone quieter now, her sharp gaze fixed on Alaric as he unfolded the letter. She didn't miss the way his jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening as his eyes scanned the neatly written lines of his father's response.
Alaric exhaled slowly; his tone measured as he spoke. "My father acknowledges the situation and our actions so far. He's sending reinforcements to secure the manor and the surrounding region. His knights will take over Halvard's estate and sweep for any lingering threats."
"That sounds reasonable," Lysandra said cautiously, her eyes narrowing. "What else?"
Alaric hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing, his voice dropping slightly. "He's also requesting that I, the royal knights, along with the Shadow Blades, return to the castle without any further delay."
Lysandra's brow furrowed, her arms crossing as her posture stiffened.
He glanced up at her, his expression grim. "There's been an increase in activity along the northern border—Eldren forces moving in ways that can't be ignored."
Lysandra's brow furrowed, her sharp instincts kicking in. "Things must be worse than he's letting on. Movements along the northern border don't usually warrant this kind of urgency. Not unless the peace is already starting to crack."
Alaric nodded, his jaw tightening. "That's what I'm afraid of. My father's always careful with his words, but the fact that he's prioritizing the border means he's feeling pressure. If Eldren's forces are being mobilized, it's either a calculated show of strength or a prelude to something worse."
"Or both," Lysandra said darkly, her arms crossing as she leaned against the edge of the table. Her mind raced, connecting pieces of the puzzle. "Selric's been stirring up paranoia in the Eldren court for months. If he's manipulated them into thinking Voltaria is a threat, they could be preparing for a preemptive strike."
"And if Voltaria retaliates," Alaric added, his tone heavy, "Selric gets exactly what he wants—a full-blown conflict that weakens both kingdoms."
Lysandra's fingers tapped against the hilt of her dagger as she considered the implications. "We're running out of time, Alaric. If Selric's working both sides of the border, this isn't just about the necromancer anymore. He's playing a much bigger game."
Alaric's gaze hardened; his resolve clear. "Then we need to act quickly. Selric is the key to all of this. If we can expose him and dismantle his network, we might prevent this from spiraling into war."
"But we need more proof," Lysandra countered, her tone sharp and unyielding. "What we have now ties Halvard to the necromancer and hints at Selric's involvement, but it's not enough to sway the court. If Selric's claws are deep enough, we'll need something undeniable. Your father might trust you, but the court won't act on suspicion alone."
Alaric exhaled slowly, his hands resting on the table as he weighed their options. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him; the tension etched into his features. "You're right," he admitted. "But we can't afford to defy the king's orders outright. His reinforcements will secure the manor and the region, but he's made it clear—we need to be at court."
Lysandra raised an eyebrow, her skepticism clear. "You think the court is the answer? If Selric's already working behind the scenes, he could have allies there, too. How do we know this isn't exactly what he wants—getting you distracted with court politics while he consolidates his power?"
Alaric's jaw tightened, but his voice was steady. "Because the court is where the threads of this conspiracy lead. If Selric's influence has spread to Voltarian nobles, we need to uncover it. Being there gives us the chance to expose him from within."
Lysandra tilted her head, her smirk faint but wry. "So instead of hunting him in the shadows, we step into the lion's den and see how many of his allies we can smoke out?"
"Exactly," Alaric said, a faint edge of determination creeping into his tone. "Selric thrives on manipulation and secrecy. The court is where his web of lies can be unraveled—if we play our cards right."
For a moment, Lysandra studied him, her sharp gaze weighing his words. She hated the idea of leaving loose ends at the manor, of walking away without the satisfaction of rooting out every last piece of evidence. But she also knew the wisdom in his plan. If Selric's network extended to Voltaria's nobles, the court was the only place they could uncover the full scope of his influence.
"Fine," she said at last, her voice laced with reluctant agreement. "We go to court. But if this turns into a dead end, I'm coming back here and tearing Halvard's estate apart until I find what we need."
Alaric's lips twitched into a faint smile, though the tension in his eyes remained. "Fair enough. But I don't think it'll come to that. The court will reveal more than Selric expects—it always does."
Lysandra nodded, stepping back toward the door, her movements sharp and deliberate. "Then let's not waste any more time. If we're doing this, we need to be ready for whatever game he's playing."
Alaric watched her for a moment, a quiet respect mingling with the weight of his own resolve. "We'll make him regret ever starting this," he said softly.
She glanced back at him, her smirk faint but edged with determination. "Damn right we will."
With that, they left the room, the decision made. The weight of their mission pressed heavier than ever, but they both knew the importance of what lay ahead. The court was no less dangerous than the battlefield, and Selric's web of deceit would not be easy to unravel.