Eldhaven stood beneath a gray sky, not broken, but bruised. Flags hung limp over the city walls, the scent of ash still faint in the air. But there was cheering—soft, cautious cheering—as Uthred, the Flame King, rode through the gates.
Beside him rode Vale, sword at her hip, a fresh scar along her cheek. Behind them marched the remnants of the army that had shattered the Frost Reign. They carried no banners. Their scars spoke for them.
Uthred did not raise his hand. He did not smile.
Too many were missing.
Too many fires still burned in his memory.
Maera met them in the palace courtyard. Her robes were darker now, her hair streaked with silver. She bowed, but her face was tight.
"There's been unrest," she said without preamble. "Lord Caedros holds private councils. Merchants speak of food being hoarded. And last week... an assassin breached the eastern gate."
Vale stiffened. "Did he reach the inner ward?"
Maera nodded. "He was found dead. Poisoned before we could question him."
Uthred dismounted, his cloak dragging ice and mud across the marble.
"Gather the council," he said. "Tonight. No delays."
The council chamber smelled of incense and betrayal.
The table was long, carved from dragonbone oak. Around it sat nobles, generals, and merchants—some loyal, some watching like jackals.
Lord Caedros sat nearest the fire, his fingers adorned with rings, his smile perfectly polite.
Uthred took his seat at the head, Vale at his right. Maera stood near the ledger scroll, Jorlan behind them both with arms crossed.
"The Frost Reign is broken," Uthred said. "We lost hundreds. We brought back peace. Now I hear whispers instead of gratitude."
Caedros leaned forward. "With respect, Your Grace, peace is not enough. Bread is scarce. Roads are raided. And the merchants say taxes rise while coin disappears."
"Then tell the merchants to stop hoarding grain in their vaults."
A few heads turned. The insult had teeth.
Maera placed a scroll on the table. "Seventeen trade guilds have filed grievances against House Drennan for obstruction and black market dealings."
Caedros raised an eyebrow. "Many grievances. No evidence."
Vale slammed her palm on the wood. "Do not mistake mercy for weakness. We've fought gods. We'll break liars."
Uthred stood.
"Enough. Tomorrow, we ride to the grain vaults. If there is hoarding, it ends. If there is resistance... so be it."
He paused.
"And if another blade crosses our gates unannounced, I will personally burn the house that sent it."
That night, Uthred walked the palace alone.
The halls were colder. He remembered running through them as a child. Now, they felt like tombs with banners.
He entered the royal solar. Vale sat near the hearth, reading a missive. She looked up.
"You should rest."
He shook his head. "I don't sleep well in peace."
She rose. Walked to him. They stood close.
"Do you regret coming back?" she asked.
"No. I regret what we'll lose next."
She touched his hand. "We won't lose each other."
He turned, pressing his forehead to hers.
"Swear it."
"I already did. In blood. In fire. In your name."
They kissed, slow and fierce, a quiet war of its own.
Neither saw the figure watching from the shadowed corridor.
The next morning, Uthred led a detachment of guards to the grain vaults in the southern district. There, beneath the old trade houses, they found exactly what Maera had predicted:
Barrels of wheat stacked to the ceiling.
Casks of oil marked for foreign sale.
And ledgers detailing secret deals with unnamed parties beyond the Sea of Runes.
Caedros arrived an hour later, flanked by house guards.
"This is theft," he spat.
"This is betrayal," Uthred replied. "And you'll answer for it."
That night, a feast was called to celebrate the return of the king. Uthred allowed it—his spies watching every cup, every plate.
Midway through the meal, a page collapsed.
Then a steward.
Poison.
Panic erupted. Uthred leapt to his feet, drawing his blade.
Caedros was already gone.
The palace went into lockdown. Jorlan tripled the guard. Maera initiated emergency writs of investigation. Two lords were detained before sunrise.
Uthred stood in the war room, staring at a map not of enemies—but of his own court.
Vale entered.
"Caedros fled east. He's heading for the coast."
"To what?"
She handed him a report. "A meeting. With envoys from the Dust Empire."
Uthred cursed. "We crushed the Frost Reign and let a snake into our bed."
The next day, Uthred summoned his council.
"We ride east," he said. "We root him out. We end this before it begins."
Vale placed her hand over his.
"There's something you should know first."
He looked into her eyes. She did not blink.
"I'm pregnant."
Silence.
Then: "You shouldn't come."
"I'm not asking."
They rode together at dawn.