In Frosthearth…
While the royal bloodlines in the Crimson Crown's palace slept soundly in their silk-wrapped chambers, the atmosphere in the King's chamber was anything but peaceful.
Loud sounds erupted, startling the maids standing outside the King's door. Each crash sent shivers down their spines. The sound of broken glass shattering and the wooden furniture splintering against the walls was startling. Metal clanged violently and repeatedly. The sound echoed through the halls.
The tumult was so intense that it could be heard far down the corridor, leaving the palace maids and soldiers anxious and wide-eyed as they exchanged worried glances.
The illusionary cast was designed to send everyone back to their homes without realizing anything had changed. But something had gone wrong, interrupting the entire process, not erasing it from people's minds.
And King Godric was a tyrant—a tyrant king.
They had been mocked! They had been insulted! And the King, the ruler of the most powerful dynasty, had been humiliated.
King Godric stormed out of his chamber, leaving his private chamber in the kiosk. His robe, embroidered with golden sigils of the Crimson Crown, swept behind him as he marched toward his royal office chamber. His mind was burning with one demand—blood!
He would drown the lands in war if he had to!
The King did not hide his rage; it radiated through his body vibes. His face looked paler than before, not because he was shocked but angry. He clenched his fists so tightly that his hands trembled with the strain. His eyes narrowed in burning intensity while his muscles tensed with the emotions he was experiencing. Each long stride stomped on the floor as if it were the very ground of his enemies, ready to crush anyone who dared to oppose him.
He entered the chamber commandingly, and without missing a breath, he barked his order.
"ARNOLD!" His voice rumbled like an impending storm.
His royal advisor, Arnold Westbrook, immediately stood to attention.
"Summon every minister, every counsellor. And not just them." Godric's piercing blue eyes darkened. "Send an invitation to every warlord, Viking chief, and every mercenary with a taste for blood. I want every last one of them standing in my throne room within fifteen days. Not a day later. DO YOU UDERSTAND?"
Arnold swallowed his throat dry. "Yes... yes, Your Majesty." He bowed before swiftly exiting the room, his steps brisk, almost desperate to escape the suffocating wrath radiating off the King.
The heavy wooden doors shut behind him, leaving Godric alone in the chamber.
Even after Godric's rage remained, seething and scalding like a live volcano gurgling with the hot lava.
He paced from one corner of the grand office to the other, his hands flexing at his sides. When his fist struck the wall, it left a noticeable dent. His entire body shook with uncontained rage. The veins in his forearms stood out as he wrestled with the violent urge clawing at him from within.
His breath was slow, measured and dangerous.
Finally, in the eerie atmosphere of the dimly lit room, he growled heavily with unspoken vengeance.
"Ravencrest dogs..." His teeth clenched. "And Meribella Faye." His lips curled into a sneer, "I will quench my thirst with your blood."
Knock. Knock.
The sudden interruption at his door pulled him from his bloodlust. His gaze snapped toward the entrance. His jaw tightened from getting interrupted by someone. That person should have a good reason if they want to leave this room alive.
"Enter." His voice boomed, a command laced with authority and fury.
The doors creaked open.
A maid stepped in first, her hands trembling as she lowered herself into a deep bow. Behind her, Edwyn strode inside with a calm posture.
Unlike his father, Edwyn did not wear his rage for the world to see. He carried it silently, buried beneath layers of calculated restraint.
Yet, when he bowed to his father, it was with the same deference as always. The maid left wordlessly and on light feet as if she wanted to erase every evidence of her presence there.
"Father," he addressed, his voice steady. "I have come to speak with you regarding Meribella."
At the sound of that cursed name, Godric's patience snapped.
His icy gaze hardened, drilling into his son with a warning that was sharper than steel. His grip on the armrest of his throne-like chair tightened, his knuckles turning white.
"Crown Prince Edwyn," he intoned, his voice chillingly even. "If you dare to speak of that traitorous wench in my presence, then address me as your King."
Edwyn's expression did not change. But Godric wasn't finished. His blue eyes blazed with contempt as he leaned forward slightly.
"Tell me, did Meribella Faye make a fool of your intelligence so thoroughly that you come here—to me—to defend her?"
His voice echoed through the chamber like the crash of waves against the rock shore.
"Did you forget that I have another son?" His tone turned sharper, even crueller. "Or did you become foolishly fearless in front of your king?"
A moment of silence hung between them. Edwyn did not flinch. He remained calm. Then, slowly, he bent one knee and placed his hand over his chest in a deep bow—a gesture of submission and persistence.
"My King," he spoke carefully, choosing his words as if stepping through a field of blades. "I do not seek to defend Meribella. I understand your anger, and I acknowledge that it is justified."
Godric's gaze remained cold, unmoving.
Edwyn continued. "I am not here to question your decision nor to excuse what has transpired. I am only here to offer my observations. Some things do not make sense, and pieces do not fit. If you allow me to speak, I believe I can bring a few clarities to this matter."
A flicker of something passed through Godric's gaze. Perhaps curiosity. Perhaps disgust. Or both.
He regarded his son for a long, agonizing moment, weighing whether his words were worth his time—or if he should simply cast him aside like a pawn already sacrificed on the board. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the King haled.
"Speak."
Edwyn raised his head, his expression unreadable, but beneath the calm surface, a storm was brewing—a cold, calculated storm that could change the tides of war.
"I propose that we bring Meribella's entire family to Frosthearth—alive."
For a moment, the room went deathly silent. King Godric remained motionless on his gold-adorned throne, his piercing blue eyes scrutinizing his son. He didn't speak, nor did he nod in acknowledgement. Instead, he allowed silence to press against the room, an unspoken command for Edwyn to continue.
"If word spreads that the Faye family is in our custody, Meribella will come to us."
Then, a sharp laugh escaped Godric's lips, mocking, cruel, laced with sadistic amusement. "And what if she doesn't come? Why should I waste my manpower and money to bring those....."
Godric stopped mid-sentence, sensing it was pointless to waste words on beings he deemed unworthy of his breath.
Unfazed by the weight of his father's silence, Edwyn rose and took another step forward.
"She will come, my King. Her greatest flaw is her love for her family." A sharp glint flickered in his icy blue eyes as he watched his father for a reaction.
Edwyn wanted Meribella to come to him, and he knew the only way to achieve that was to make her believe her family was in danger. He needed answers. Not assumptions, not rumours, not the whispers of nobles who wanted nothing more than to see Meribella burn.
The letter had been in her handwriting. There was no denying that. The ink, the curves of her script, it was undeniably hers. The words were clear, damning even. But something wasn't right.
He remembered how Meribella looked at him, full of admiration and dedication, which promised a loyal wife. He couldn't be mistaken about it. He was sure.
If she had planned this betrayal and plotted it with the Ravencrest Lords, why would she have done it during the wedding—when she was so close to everything she had worked for? To earn respect in society for her and get her parents' Nobel status back.
She was supposed to be his. His....
"Once she believes her family is in danger, she will attempt to leave Ravencrest with or without permission from Raze Azkariel. And if Raze Azkariel has any personal interest in her—" Edwyn frowned, his jaw clenched at his last sentence. "—then he will follow her straight into our grasp."
Godric's fingers tapped slowly in a rhythm against the wooden armrest of his chair. His cold gaze remained locked onto his son, watching, calculating.
"And if she does not come?" Godric asked, his voice unreadable.
"Then we bring the war to Ravencrest land and burn Meribella's family right in front of her eyes."
The room remained silent for another moment before Godric finally leaned forward, resting his forearms on the armrest, his fingers steepled together in thought.
"In your talk, it seems like you assume she has been framed." His voice was sharp.
"I am assuming nothing, my King," Edwyn corrected, his tone respectful yet unwavering. "I am preparing for both possibilities. If she is innocent, we can use her to infiltrate Ravencrest's secret by sending her back. If she is guilty, she will lead Raze Azkariel and others straight into our grasp."
His following words carried the weight of an age-old wisdom, but the king said nothing further.
Edwyn took that as permission to continue. "My King, war is not won through brute force alone. A sharp lion does not chase the deer across an open field. It waits at the water's edge, knowing the deer must come to drink. Let us not be the fool who exhausts himself in an open battle when patience can deliver the enemy straight into our hands."
King Godric leaned back against his chair, regarding Edwyn in silence. It was a moment before he spoke.
"You suggest we use Meribella as the bait, her family as the trap, and the enemy's emotions as the noose around their necks?"
Edwyn's smirk deepened ever so slightly. "Precisely."
Godric tilted his head slightly, intrigued by his son's logic. "And you believe the lords of Ravencrest will let her leave?"
Edwyn nodded, his gaze sharp. "This is where we will put Meribella to the test. Either Meribella will find a way to escape, or she will come with the Lord, intent on waging war to rescue her parents."
A slow, calculating silence stretched between them before Edwyn continued, "We are far stronger here in Frosthearth, and we must not overlook what we witnessed in the church. They are not just ordinary humans. Here in our land, we will tear them apart."
The King studied his son for another long moment before finally speaking.
"I will allow it. But hear me, Crown Prince." His voice dropped, growing dangerously cold. "If she does not return within one month… I will not hesitate to burn her village to the ground."
Edwyn's fingers curled slightly, but his expression did not waver. "Understood, my King."
If the bait and trap had been set in Frosthearth, the Faye family now faced an uncertain fate before the villagers of Brindlewood.