It had been the Ketheri who had struck them hardest, many years ago. The Ketheri who had wielded their fire-magic like a scourge, burning through orc ranks, leaving ash and ruin. That was the war that had taken both of Draak's wives—Kardoc's mother slain in a clan battle turned to slaughter, Rakhal's mother burned down on the plains by magefire.
The memory of that war lived in the scars across his father's body, in the silence that often claimed him when their name was spoken.
Eventually, the orcs had driven them back. But it had been no triumph—just survival. Led by Draak himself, the orcs had ground the Ketheri down through sheer attrition, bleeding for every step, paying for every skirmish in rivers of their own.
It had stolen countless lives and left wounds that had never healed.
"If the clan is united with the Maidan, the war will end," Rakhal said, his voice low but unyielding. "The Ketheri will arrive and find no battle to fight. Instead, Maidan will send them home. The queen knows what's at stake. She is no fool. She also wants the bloodshed to end."
His father's expression was carved from stone, but Rakhal pressed on.
"This is the only way. Kardoc will not be involved. He will marry a princess from another clan, as is expected, and continue the bloodline. He will have his warriors, his glory."
He took a step closer, shadows curling faintly at his feet.
"I will be consort to the queen. I will work to make the Maidan understand the benefits of a union. And..." his voice sharpened, deliberate, "I will keep their mages in check."
The words hung heavy in the dim chamber, bold as treason, daring as prophecy.
"Where is the queen now?" Draak asked quietly, his eyes narrowing, cunning gleaming behind the scarred mask of his face.
Rakhal stilled. He knew the danger in this moment—knew his father could give a single command, and soldiers would storm his chambers before dawn's light fully broke. He could not afford to show weakness.
"She is safe," was all he said. His voice did not waver. "Her cooperation is fully guaranteed. All you need to do is provide me with a guard. Two units of soldiers, and Commander Shazi. I will go to Istrial and deliver the terms. Tonight."
"You?" Draak's eyebrows rose, the barest flicker of surprise. "You're a warrior, not a diplomat."
"It matters not," Rakhal replied, his tone flat. "The terms are simple. There is nothing to negotiate."
The king hesitated, skepticism twisting his scarred mouth—but there, in his dark gaze, a glimmer of something else. Promise. Interest.
Rakhal leaned into it. "I know the Maidan better than you realise. I've walked among them. Invisible. Watching. Killing. I've seen their soldiers die, but I've also seen their despair. I've heard their voices, their fears. I've walked through their markets and taverns unseen. Their lives are steeped in exhaustion. They want an end as much as we do."
"Iwilldeliver," he said, each word like iron. "The war must end, father. I've had enough."
"You'vehad enough?" Draak's lip curled. He scoffed, low and derisive.
Draak's jaw worked as though chewing on something bitter. He turned away, stalking to the window, broad shoulders tight with barely contained fury. When he spoke, his voice was a low growl.
"You've never defied me. Not once in all these years."
"I've never had reason to," Rakhal replied steadily. "Until now."
Silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. The king's massive hands curled into fists, then relaxed, then curled again. His breath came in controlled, measured exhales that did little to hide his rage.
"The Ketheri," he murmured at last, almost to himself. "Alwaysthe Ketheri." His scarred hand rose to touch the ridge of an old burn along his jaw—a memento from their last war.
Finally, he turned back. "Two units. No more. And Commander Shazi, as you requested." Each word seemed pulled from him unwillingly, like teeth from reluctant gums. "But hear me well, son—if this fails, if the humans reject this union, you will still complete your original mission. The queen dies. There can be no half measures, not with the Ketheri coming."
Rakhal inclined his head. "Understood."
But deep within, he knew that was not the path he would take.
He wouldn't fail.
Holding his exhaustion tight within him, clamping down on the shadows that clawed for release until they threatened to burst forth, Rakhal looked down at his father.
"I won't fail," he said, voice low, steady as stone.
