Chapter 6 - Whispers of Rebellion in the South
Back in the capital, the capital was in a state of suppressed panic.
King Valerius paced the length of the Privy Council room, his boots clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. The reports from the northern border had trickled down through merchants and deserting scouts, and every word painted a picture of a disaster that threatened to unravel his entire reign.
"She has allied with the northern barbarians," Valerius snarled, slamming his fist down on the map table. "She stands at the head of a combined army, wearing the sacred relic of our house, and the high priests tell me they cannot reverse the binding?"
Aurelia stood by the tall, arched window, looking out over the silent, snow-covered gardens. Her fingers were clenched so tightly around her handkerchief that the delicate lace was tearing under her nails.
"The priests were fools, Father," Aurelia said, her voice cold, stripped of all youthful warmth. "They spent generations studying the wrong glyphs. They thought power was something you inherited by standing in the right room at the birth of a winter storm."
"And now she holds the north," Valerius muttered, his face dark with fury and a growing, gnawing fear. "If she marches south with Kaelen’s heavy infantry... our garrisons will not hold. The lords are already whispering in the taverns. They are calling her the True Heir."
Aurelia turned slowly from the window. Her violet eyes, usually so composed, burned with a bitter, consuming fire. For eighteen years, she had been trained for this throne. Every hour of her childhood had been sacrificed to law and strategy, while Elara had been left in the shadows. To have that stolen by a girl who didn't even want it—who had simply touched a piece of ice and walked away—was an insult that cut deeper than any blade.
"She cannot be allowed to march south," Aurelia said softly, stepping toward the war-table.
Valerius looked up, narrowing his eyes. "What are you suggesting?"
"We do not wait for her to come to us," Aurelia replied, a dangerous smile touching her lips. "If the northern barbarians want a war for the crown, we will give them one. But we will not fight them on the mountain passes. We will send our own secret envoys across the eastern trade routes to hire the Crimson Company—the mercenaries from the southern deserts. They care nothing for ice or prophecies. They care only for gold."
Valerius hesitated, stroking his graying beard. "Using foreign mercenaries against our own blood... if the people find out—"
"The people will only know what we tell them," Aurelia interrupted, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "They will hear that the second daughter went mad in the north, allied with foreign savages, and died trying to usurp the throne. And I, as the rightful heir, restored order to the realm."
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The king stared at his eldest daughter for a long moment, seeing not the sweet child he had raised, but a reflection of his own ruthless ambition. Slowly, he nodded.
"Draft the writs of hire," Valerius murmured, turning back to his inkwell. "Spare no expense. Buy every blade the Crimson Company has."
