I was invited for the summit at Stonehall, it was being held because of my actions of gaining two new counties within in a year and the unrest that has caused the neighbouring Nobles.
The skies over Stonehall were gray—neither storm nor sun. Just a dull, heavy stillness. Like the gods themselves were holding their breath.
It was fitting.
This place, this summit, this moment—it was a powder keg dressed up in velvet.
Stonehall sat on neutral soil. Technically outside any duchy's borders. A holdfast of gray towers and silver banners, guarded by its own sworn order, the Keepers of Accord. They swore oaths to balance, not kings. And for that reason alone, both sides came.
I arrived with forty men, all handpicked. The Iron Fangs at my side. I wore black wool, silver trim, my house crest over the heart. Not armored, but not soft either.
Because diplomacy is just war with better posture.
---
Inside the great hall, the air was thick with incense and whispered politics.
There were lords from border counties, envoys from minor houses, and a handful of clergy keeping score behind solemn faces. Every smile was rehearsed. Every wine cup carried weight.
And then she entered.
Ser Althea Caldwyne.
The Duke's daughter.
Knighted in battle. Renowned in court. Dressed not like a lady but like a warborn noble—steel-trimmed blue cloak over fitted leathers, her braid coiled like a whip down one shoulder.
She moved like she had nothing to prove.
And yet everyone watched her.
Including me.
Our eyes met across the hall.
No smiles. No nods. Just calculation.
And something colder.
Something electric.
---
We spoke for the first time that evening, after the day's formalities ended. It was under the stone arches of the eastern courtyard, where the moonlight cast everything in silver shadows.
"I didn't expect you to come," she said without preamble.
"I didn't expect to be invited," I replied.
"You weren't. The summons was general."
"Then I took a liberty."
She gave the barest hint of a smirk. "Your specialty."
We stood a few paces apart, like duelists who hadn't drawn blades yet. Only words. Words that cut.
"I hear Greystone bleeds under your new rule," she said, voice neutral.
"Only those who wished me dead."
"Efficient."
"Necessary."
She tilted her head, studying me. "And Wyvrland? Still standing?"
"Stronger than ever," I said. "Even after the rot was cut."
Her gaze sharpened at that.
I wondered if she knew the names of the lords I'd had killed. If she'd read their letters. If she mourned them—or just took note of how quickly I'd moved.
"I hear you've made enemies in every direction," she said.
"And yet," I said, stepping closer, "none of them dare draw a blade."
She didn't move back.
But she didn't step forward either.
Good. Respect. Not submission.
"You think power is measured by fear?" she asked.
"No," I said. "But fear makes a good fence while I build something stronger."
---
There was silence then. Not awkward—just weighted.
The kind of silence where every breath is political.
Then she said, "My father considers you a disruptor."
"And you?"
"I think you're a storm still gathering."
I smiled. "Flatterer."
"I wasn't complimenting you."
---
That night, the hall was lit by hundreds of candles and crawling with diplomacy disguised as dance.
Each noble wore a mask—gold, bone, or glass. A foolish tradition, meant to symbolize "neutrality." But we all knew who each other were. The masks only gave license to speak more freely.
I wore black steel. Althea wore silver with a sapphire crest over her brow.
We did not dance.
We watched.
Lord Thren of Coldmere sidled up beside me, drunk on power or wine. "You've made quite the show this year, Vihan. But storms pass."
I sipped wine. "And some houses burn."
He left shortly after.
---
I caught Althea alone again on the balcony, looking down at the reflecting pools.
"You've gathered a crowd of anxious men," I said.
"Anxious men talk more than brave ones. I like knowing who dreams of knives."
"Do you?"
She turned to me.
"No one survives in my father's court without learning where the daggers sleep."
"And do you carry one of your own?"
She looked me dead in the eye.
"Always."
I believed her.
---
Terms Beneath the Veneer
The following morning, a council was convened in the western chamber. Representatives from seven major houses in the region attended, including envoys of the Duke Caldwyne and myself.
There was no war on parchment. But everything was framed in the threat of it.
Land borders. Tax rights. Trade routes. Supply chains. Religious influence. All contested with the grace of wolves circling a kill.
I said little. Althea said less.
But our silence spoke volumes.
One of the Duke's envoys—fat, smug, and careful—suggested Wyvrland should "cede certain mining routes for regional peace."
I leaned forward.
"Peace built on submission is just conquest in drag."
Gasps. Murmurs. The envoy turned purple.
Althea said nothing. But when our eyes met, there was the faintest curl of amusement at the corner of her mouth.
Later, in the halls, she caught me alone again.
"That was bold."
"Did I misstep?"
"No," she said. "You just drew your blade first."
"And you're waiting to draw yours?"
She looked down briefly, then up again.
"If I draw mine," she said, "I'll make sure it lands."
---
A Conversation in Steel
On the final night, as the summit wound down, I found her in the training yard alone. Sword in hand. Working through slow, precise motions.
I watched her from the shadow of the arch.
"You fight even in peace," I said.
"Peace is the most dangerous time," she replied.
"I'd ask for a spar, but—"
"But you're afraid to lose to a woman?"
I stepped onto the stone. "No. Just afraid it might ruin the mystery."
She tossed me a practice blade.
"Then let's ruin it together."
---
We fought under torchlight.
She was faster. Cleaner. More practiced.
But I was stronger now. Heavier in the hand. I moved with the confidence of a man who knew his blood could boil but not break.
We clashed in silence for minutes that felt like hours.
I lost obviously, she is one of the strongest knight in the kingdom afterall.
And when we broke,she nodded.
"You've improved."
"You noticed."
"I notice everything."
---
Before we parted the next day, I approached her one last time. No politics. No masks. Just truth.
"I want peace between our duchies," I said. "But I won't stop growing."
"You can't have both," she said quietly.
"Maybe. But I'd rather try than settle."
She looked at me a long time.
Then said, "The next time we meet, we might not be allies."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I held her gaze.
"I think about that every day."
She stepped back. Mounted her horse. And with one final look, rode off with her retinue, cloak snapping behind her like a battle flag.
---
Stonehall emptied by dusk.
And I stood alone in the place where wars are born behind silk and smiles.
No blood had been spilled.
Not yet.
But the knives had been shown.
And the dance had begun.