Lord of the realm

"What can I say?" Jaenor smirked, giving another playful squeeze. "You've got an ass worth dying for."

Then, with a low chuckle, he added, "Besides… I'm an ass man."

"An assman?!"

Emma shook her head, laughter soft and warm.

As she smiled, she thought to herself, it had been years—too many years—since she had felt this kind of joy.

And then suddenly she heard a knock on the door, and the maidservant announced that Lady Morgana was requesting them to come out quickly.

"OH! I forgot about her completely; she came in the morning and saw us," Emma said, a little anxious about how she would react.

"So what?" Jaenor said casually.

They both came out of the chambers.

-

Jaenor sat in one of the high-backed chairs, his hair still damp from his bath, while Emmanuelle occupied her customary seat with the kind of regal composure that had served her well through decades of political maneuvering.

The tension between them was palpable—not unpleasant, but charged with the awareness of boundaries that had been crossed.

Morgana entered the hall with measured steps, her gentle mask firmly in place despite the turmoil of emotions churning beneath the surface. She had spent the better part of an hour composing herself after the Beaumonts' visit, and her earlier discovery in Emmanuelle's chambers remained an unspoken presence in the room.

Morgana informed them about the visit from Baron and his wife. And about the ball to which they invited Morgana and her lover.

"Well," Emmanuelle said finally, her voice carrying the kind of dry humor that had always marked her approach to awkward situations.

"I suppose we should address the rather obvious elephant in the room."

Morgana raised an eyebrow but said nothing, settling into her own chair with careful precision.

"What you saw this morning," Emmanuelle continued, her gaze moving between Morgana and Jaenor, "wasn't planned, and it certainly wasn't... well, let's say it wasn't a calculated move or anything. But given the rumors that are already circulating about you two, perhaps we should consider whether there might be practical advantages to... expanding the fiction."

"Emma," Morgana began, her voice carrying a warning note.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," the duchess replied with a wave of her hand.

"I'm not suggesting anything unseemly. Merely pointing out that if the gossip mills are already convinced of certain... arrangements... then perhaps we should consider all our options."

Jaenor shifted in his seat, his legs crossed, his posture relaxed.

Emmanuelle's smile was gentle but unmistakably predatory.

"Simply that rumors, once started, can be... redirected. If people believe you're Morgana's lover."

"Absolutely not," Morgana said firmly, her gentle composure cracking slightly.

"Emma, what happened between you and Jaenor is your own affair, but I won't have our family name dragged through drawing-room gossip about who's sleeping with whom."

"Family name?" Jaenor asked quietly, his eyes focusing on Morgana with sudden intensity.

Morgana realized her slip immediately but forced herself to continue as if nothing had happened. "The point is, we have more immediate concerns than managing social scandal. The Beaumonts' visit wasn't merely social—they're fishing for information, and they've trapped us into a public appearance that could expose us to exactly the kind of scrutiny we've been trying to avoid."

Emmanuelle's expression grew more serious.

"Tell me about this invitation."

Morgana related the details of the Beaumonts' visit, emphasizing their barely concealed hunger and the implied threat behind their insistence.

As she spoke, Emmanuelle's face took on the calculating expression that had made her such an effective ruler of the duchy.

"Refusing would indeed draw unwanted attention," the duchess mused.

"And you're right—there was something aggressive about their approach. The Beaumonts have always been ambitious, but this sounds more... personal."

"That's what concerns me," Morgana replied.

"I've dealt with political maneuvering before, but this felt different. More intimate, more dangerous."

"On the other hand," Emmanuelle continued thoughtfully, "appearing at their ball might actually serve our purposes. It would solidify the fiction of Jaenor's role, and it would give him a chance to observe the local nobility—knowledge that could prove valuable given his... heritage."

Jaenor had been listening to this exchange with growing understanding. The careful way they spoke around certain topics, the weight they gave to concepts like 'heritage' and 'family name'—pieces of a puzzle he was only beginning to comprehend were falling into place.

"If attending this ball serves our larger goals," he said finally, "then I'm willing to do it. I can play whatever role is required."

Morgana studied his face, seeing the determination there mixed with something that might have been resignation.

"Jaenor, you don't understand what you're agreeing to. These people will scrutinize every word you speak and every gesture you make. One mistake could unravel everything we've worked to protect."

"Then teach me," he replied simply.

"You've both mentioned my heritage, my bloodline, and the importance of maintaining certain fictions. If I'm to be part of this family—whatever that means—then I need to understand the rules of the game we're playing."

Emmanuelle and Morgana exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them. Finally, Morgana nodded slowly.

"Very well," she said.

"We'll attend their ball. But first, you'll need to learn how to navigate noble society without revealing more than we intend."

***

Back at Berdhshire Fortress, the morning brought urgent correspondence that shattered any hope of peaceful routine.

Darian stood in the war room, reading the dispatch from General Kaider with growing concern. The message was brief but troubling: reports of Dark Radin spirit sightings in the southern hills, civilian populations fleeing their villages, and a request for immediate investigation by available heroes.

"We don't have a choice," Darian said grimly, setting the message on the table where Taeryn, Rena, and Baren could read it.

"General Kaider specifically requested our assistance, and Dark Radin spirits aren't the kind of threat that can be ignored."

Taeryn picked up the dispatch, his face creasing into a frown. "Six separate sightings in as many days. Either there's a single pack moving through the region, or..."

"Or something is calling them together," Baren finished, his draconic instincts making him particularly sensitive to supernatural threats.

"Either way, people are dying."

Rena studied the map attached to the message, tracing the reported sighting locations with her finger.

"The pattern suggests they're moving toward the Slaup Hills. If they establish a permanent presence there..."

"They'll cut off the trade routes," Darian concluded.

"We can't allow that to happen."