Chapter 177: A Fractured Kingdom
The Ocean Kingdom received Kael and his companions not with fanfare, but with a wariness that spoke volumes. The gates had groaned open at his command, yet the soldiers on the walls had looked down with eyes sharpened by suspicion, not respect.
Inside the walls, the sea air thickened with brine, gulls crying overhead as spires of white stone and glass rose like frozen waves. The city bustled, but unease clung to its people — merchants whispered, children pointed, and fishermen paused mid-step, their gazes darting toward Kael and Umbra as if the great beast's very shadow promised upheaval.
King Thalren met him in the courtyard of the royal keep.
The monarch was clad not in ceremonial finery but in a deep blue tunic, the crest of his house embroidered subtly on the chest. His crown was absent; instead, a leather circlet bound his long silver hair, practical and almost militaristic. His face bore the weary weight of command, but his sea-green eyes burned with sharp intelligence.
"Kael," he said, voice low but steady, "you came quickly. That speaks to your resolve."
Kael dismounted, Umbra bowing low before settling near the edge of the courtyard. Fenrik and Rogan dismounted their direwolves, standing silently at his side.
"We don't delay when threats fester," Kael replied, his tone even. "Speak your plan."
They were brought into a private chamber of stone and steel, maps sprawling across the long table at its center. Servants lit lanterns, then quickly retreated, leaving only the king, Kael, and his chosen companions.
Thalren's finger traced the outline of his city as he spoke. "The traitor has grown bold. His agents spread whispers of weakness, that I have lost my grasp on power, that bringing you here was a mistake. They sow fear in the streets, waiting for the moment to strike. And now, with your presence, they will see opportunity."
Kael folded his arms. "So you mean to use me as bait."
The king met his gaze without flinching. "Yes. You are the dragon in the courtyard, the flame they cannot resist testing. Their greed, their fear, their hate — it will draw them into the open. And when it does, we strike. Together."
Fenrik grunted. "Risky. The kind of plan that either smokes them out… or burns us all alive."
Rogan's calm voice followed. "Then we stand close to the fire and prepare to cut quick."
Thalren inclined his head. "Just so. I trust you'll see the merit."
Kael's eyes lingered on the maps, the narrow streets marked, the guard rotations inked in neat lines. His jaw tightened. "It will work. But not without risk. If you're wrong about how deep this rot runs, the strike could gut more than your traitor. It could tear your city apart."
Thalren exhaled slowly, fatigue flickering across his face. "I am aware. And I am willing to take that risk. For my people, for my kingdom — for the future of our alliance. A festering wound cannot be left to heal on its own. It must be cut out."
Kael gave a single, sharp nod. "Then I'll be your knife."
Later, Kael found himself in quieter halls, away from the maps and lanterns of strategy. The royal chambers were warm, filled with the subtle fragrance of sea herbs and polished wood. Queen Selendra greeted him with a weary smile, her long dark hair braided with silver beads, her hands still carrying the faint smell of ink from the letters she had been writing.
"You must forgive my husband," she said softly. "The weight of betrayal gnaws at him. He hasn't slept properly in weeks."
Her daughters, Lyssia and Maeryn, sat curled together by the fire, sewing with nimble fingers. Lyssia, the elder, met Kael's gaze with polite curiosity, her eyes sharp in a way that spoke of inherited cunning. Maeryn, younger, offered him a timid smile before ducking her head.
Aerion, the king's son, leaned against the window frame, arms crossed. He was tall for his years, his jaw set in frustration. "Father thinks he can solve everything with swords and traps," he muttered. "But the people see only that he brought you here. They whisper, they doubt, they turn their backs. A king should be unshakable, not—"
"Aerion." Selendra's voice cut gently, but firmly. The boy fell silent, though his eyes still smoldered.
Kael studied him for a moment before speaking. "A king is not unshakable. A king bends so his people don't break. That doesn't make him weak. It makes him human."
The words lingered in the chamber, heavy yet simple. Selendra inclined her head with quiet gratitude. Aerion's scowl softened, if only slightly.
Lyssia spoke next, her voice clear. "We've never seen him so angry, so—" she hesitated, searching for the word, "—so wounded. It's not just the traitor. It's what it means, to him, to us. He's trying to build something new with you, Kael. And someone within his own walls would tear it down before it's even begun."
Kael's eyes flicked to the fire, watching its restless dance. "That is why it must be rooted out. Not just for him. For all of you."
Maeryn's soft voice added, "Will you keep him safe?"
Kael looked at her then, the smallest of the royal children, her eyes wide with fear and faith. He did not smile, but his voice was steady when he answered. "I will."
When Kael returned to his quarters that evening, Fenrik was sharpening his axe, and Rogan was cleaning his blade with slow, deliberate strokes. Both men looked up as Kael entered.
"Well?" Fenrik asked, smirking faintly. "Are we to play the bait on a hook, or the hammer on the anvil?"
Kael set his clawed gauntlets down on the table. "Both."
Rogan nodded once. "Then we'd best be ready for either."
Kael's gaze drifted to the window, where the sea stretched out like endless steel under the fading light. His claws flexed unconsciously. He had promised the queen, the children — but more than that, he had promised himself.
This traitor would not live to see another sunrise.