Chapter 175: Bait and Blossoms
The Hollow had settled into its late autumn rhythm, the air cool and crisp, smoke curling from chimneys as families prepared for the winter stores. The traders from Thalren's kingdom had come and gone smoothly, leaving behind goods, salt, and foreign wines. For all appearances, life within the Hollow thrived.
But peace rarely lasted.
It was Varik who carried the letter this time, his expression grim as he placed the sealed parchment on the council's table. Kael broke it open, scanning the sharp lines of Thalren's hand.
The words were blunt. Unforgiving.
The traitor eludes us still. Shadows within my walls grow bolder, whispers gnaw at my council's trust. They are certain you — demonborn and dragonblood — are the crack in our alliance.
I propose this: draw the serpent into the open. Come to my kingdom again, openly, with no veil of secrecy. Let them strike at you. We will have our trap ready.
It is dangerous, yes. But effective. If you are willing to risk yourself, the traitor will show their hand.
Kael's claws dug faintly into the parchment as he read. When he finished, silence hung in the chamber.
Fenrik was the first to break it, his voice sharp. "He wants to use you as bait. Like a worm on a hook."
Thalos frowned, arms crossed. "He's not wrong. Kael draws blades like a flame draws moths. But it reeks of desperation. If this fails, it's not just Kael who suffers — the Hollow suffers, too."
Lyria's eyes never left Kael's face. "You're not entertaining this." Her tone was flat, but beneath it trembled anger barely leashed.
Kael set the parchment down carefully, as though it might burn. His expression was unreadable. "I'm considering it. Because if Thalren can't hold his own kingdom, this alliance won't last. And if the traitor festers… then the Hollow's prosperity festers with it."
The council erupted in low murmurs, dissent and worry sparking like embers. Rogan slammed a fist on the table, cutting through the noise.
"Listen. The king may be reckless asking this, but he's not a fool. He knows what Kael represents. If Kael refuses, they'll whisper cowardice. If he accepts, they'll whisper danger. Either way, his reputation burns brighter."
Varik nodded, grim agreement on his face. "Better it burn in our favor. If Kael takes this risk — and survives it — then even his enemies will have no choice but to respect him."
The murmurs quieted. All eyes turned to Kael.
He leaned back, steepling his fingers, his tail flicking once behind his chair. "I'll answer Thalren soon. But I won't decide on desperation alone. This needs thought." His gaze swept across the council. "We prepare. Quietly. If I go, I don't go alone."
That afternoon, Kael walked the Hollow's winding paths, mulling Thalren's words. It wasn't until he reached the central square that laughter pulled him from his storming thoughts.
Azhara sat at the edge of a fountain, a basket of herbs beside her. Around her, a small cluster of Hollow women chatted — seamstresses, smiths' daughters, farmers' wives. They were women who often found excuses to linger near Kael when he passed, giggling about his scars and strength when they thought he couldn't hear.
Now they circled Azhara like curious sparrows.
"So, you've been living with him almost a year now," one of them — a smith's daughter with braided hair — teased. "What's he like when no one else is watching? Does the great Kael actually smile?"
Azhara blinked, her pale white eyes widening slightly. "He… does. Sometimes. Usually when he thinks no one sees. It's small. Quick. But real."
That earned a round of dreamy sighs.
"And what about his voice?" another woman asked. "Always so deep and commanding. Does it soften when he speaks to you?"
Azhara tilted her head, thoughtful. "Not softer. But gentler, maybe. Like he wants me to hear every word."
The women all exchanged knowing looks, a few giggling.
"Sounds like someone's smitten," one teased.
Azhara froze, her basket of herbs halfway to her lap. Her scarred horns caught the afternoon light as her lips parted. "Smitten? I… don't know." Her voice trembled with honesty. "I don't know what love feels like. But Kael gave me freedom when no one else would. He trusted me when I didn't trust myself. I want… I want to give something back. I just don't know what."
The circle grew quiet at that, the teasing melting into something softer. The smith's daughter leaned forward, eyes warm. "That's more than most ever give. Whatever it is you feel — gratitude, devotion, maybe more — it's yours to learn. No one can tell you otherwise."
Azhara looked down at her hands, twisting the hem of her tunic. For the first time since she had stepped through the rift, she allowed herself to smile, small and uncertain.
Kael, unseen at the edge of the square, lingered in the shadows of a stall. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but the words struck something deep. Gratitude, devotion, love — tangled threads he didn't know how to untangle himself.
When he turned away, his thoughts were heavier than before.
That night, Kael sat alone with Lyria in their chamber, Thalren's letter spread once more on the table between them.
"You heard what the council said," Lyria murmured, arms folded as she leaned against the wall. "Even Rogan, who trusts you like blood, had doubts. And now Thalren wants to throw you to the wolves. You can't tell me this doesn't sit wrong."
Kael's gaze lingered on the parchment. "It does. But it also sits right. If this traitor keeps breathing, every step we take forward can be undone in an instant. Sometimes the only way to flush out a snake is to stick your hand in the den."
Lyria's jaw tightened. She pushed off the wall and stepped closer, placing her hand firmly over his. "Then when you do, Kael, you won't do it alone. Not again."
Kael turned his hand, clasping hers. "Not again," he promised.
The Hollow slept peacefully beyond their walls. But within, choices loomed — between bait and trap, between gratitude and love, between trust and the threat of betrayal.
And as Kael closed his eyes that night, he wondered which storm would break first.