Lord of the realm

Chapter 179: The houses loyal to us

"Where are we going?" Morgana called out, her voice barely carrying over the wind.

Jaenor turned slightly, and when he spoke, his voice carried clearly despite the conditions—some trick of his merged power allowed him to project sound directly to his companions.

"Home. The true Arkwright seat. Drakenten."

Understanding rippled through the group.

Ba’narussa banked, adjusting their heading. Below, the landscape shifted—gentler farmland giving way to hillier terrain, forests growing thicker, and roads becoming less frequent. They were entering the southern territories, where civilization thinned and the wilderness reasserted itself.

After perhaps two hours of flight—a distance that would have taken days by horse—the duchy of Drakenten came into view.

The estate grounds were extensive—perhaps a hundred acres of walled land containing not just the main house but also stables, barracks, training yards, workshops, and numerous outbuildings that served the household’s needs.

And surrounding it all, the duchy itself—farmland and forest and small villages that had sworn fealty to the Arkwright family generations ago.

This was Jaenor’s birthright. His inheritance. The place his bloodline had ruled from for half a millennium.

Ba’narussa began her descent, spiraling down in wide circles that gave everyone below plenty of time to notice her approach.

And notice they did.

The reaction was immediate and dramatic.

People in the town stopped what they were doing and stared upward. Shouts of alarm and wonder echoed through the streets. Those with any military training scrambled for weapons, though what they thought they’d do against a divine beast was unclear. Others simply ran, seeking shelter from whatever this massive creature might do.

At Arkwright House itself, the response was more organized but no less shocked. Guards rushed to defensive positions. Someone rang warning bells. Figures appeared on the walls and towers, looking up at the approaching dragon with expressions that mixed terror and awe.

Ba’narussa ignored all of this, continuing her controlled descent toward the largest open area within the estate grounds—a training field perhaps two hundred feet across, currently empty of people who’d wisely fled when they saw what was coming.

She landed with surprising gentleness for something so massive, her legs absorbing the impact, her wings folding against her body as she settled onto the ground. The field’s grass was immediately flattened under her weight, and the ground itself cracked slightly, but there was no destruction—she’d controlled her landing perfectly.

For several moments, absolute silence reigned.

Ba’narussa remained still, her seven heads raised and alert but not aggressive. On her back, Jaenor and his companions began climbing down, using her scales as handholds to reach the ground safely.

The silence held until all of them were standing on solid earth. Then, slowly, cautiously, people began to emerge from buildings and cover.

Guards approached first—a dozen men in armor bearing the Arkwright sigil, which showed a serpent wrapped around a sword against a field of deep red. Their weapons were drawn, but they held them uncertainly, clearly unsure whether attacking would be brave or suicidal.

Their captain—the old man, Reginauld—stood in front, slowly recognizing the people on the strange beast.

Jaenor stepped forward, separating himself from his companions. He stood straight, his bearing showing confidence without arrogance, and when he spoke, his voice carried clearly across the field.

"Hey there, old man, it’s been a while."

The captain’s eyes widened. Behind him, other guards exchanged glances—shock, disbelief, and something that might have been hope.

"Young master..." he seemed like he was about to cry. After they left for the ball, the news of him being the heir of Arkwright had spread around, and he was more than happy. He was elated that Jaenor had announced his right in front of so many people.

As soon as they all saw him, they went on their knees, bowing to him.

"My lord. Welcome home. Welcome home at last."

One by one, the other guards followed suit. Then servants began emerging from buildings, and they too knelt. Within minutes, perhaps a hundred people were kneeling in respect to the young man who’d appeared on a legendary beast.

Jaenor felt something complicated twist in his chest. These people didn’t know him. Had no reason to trust him beyond his bloodline and the dramatic nature of his arrival. But they were showing respect anyway, honoring old oaths and ancient loyalties.

He could work with that.

"Rise," he said, using the authority his merged power gave him.

"All of you, stand. I’m not here to demand subservience."

They stood, though many still looked in fascination and terror at the massive creature before the estate.

Reginauld bowed deeply. "My lady."

Emma stepped forward with elegant sharpness, nodding once, then twice—already shifting into command. With a flick of her wrist, she ordered the maids to prepare a feast worthy of nobles and a bedroom fit for honored guests. The servants scattered like leaves in a sudden wind, eager to obey.

Meanwhile, Rena, Taeryn, and Baren stood frozen, jaws unhinged, eyes wide. They had traveled with Jaenor, laughed with him, argued with him... but none of them had expected this.

They had no idea he held such a status, no idea he walked among them wearing the skin of a humble boy when, in truth, he was someone far above their world.

Jaenor turned toward the massive beast beside him—his companion, his shadow, his silent guardian. The creature’s eyes met his. He gave a single nod.

That was enough.

The colossal beast dissolved into smoke—black, silver, and shimmering like starlight. It evaporated into the air with a deep, echoing hum that vibrated through the courtyard stones. Gasps exploded from every direction—the guards, the maids, the old steward, and even Reginauld himself stiffened in shock.

Rena’s hand flew to her mouth.

Taeryn stumbled back.

Baren whispered, "What in the gods’ names...?"

And Jaenor simply walked forward as if nothing unusual had happened.

Doors opened.

Servants bowed.

The estate swallowed them in warm lantern light, soft carpets, and the scent of roasted herbs.

-

The next morning arrived with a soft veil of golden light spilling over the Arkwright estate. The gardens shimmered beneath a thin layer of mist, roses glowing like jewels trapped in their own breath, and the distant forest hummed with early birdsong. The balcony where Jaenor stood caught the warmth of dawn first, bathing him in a pale halo that made his silhouette look almost ethereal.

He rested his forearms on the stone railing, eyes half-closed, letting the morning wind carry the scents of dew, pine, and distant river water. After everything that had happened—after revelations, shock, and the stunned reactions of the previous night—the silence felt almost foreign.

He breathed in deeply.

This place felt ancient. Familiar. Like a memory he never lived but somehow inherited.

Footsteps approached behind him—soft, measured, carrying the grace of someone who had walked these halls far longer than any of them could fathom.

"Jaenor," Emma said, her voice gentle yet edged with authority only a woman of her standing could wield.

He looked over his shoulder. His grandmother was dressed in a dark sapphire gown trimmed with silver thread that glimmered under the morning sun. Her hair, though streaked with age, was styled immaculately. Her gaze held both warmth and calculation, the eyes of a matriarch who had seen kingdoms rise and fall.

Jaenor straightened. "Grandmother."

She came to stand beside him, hands clasped before her, studying his face like she was looking for pieces of someone long gone.

"There are people waiting to see you," she said finally.

Jaenor frowned slightly. "People?"

Emma nodded. "People loyal to House Arkwright. Old families. Old names. They have served our bloodline for generations."

Her eyes softened, though her tone carried weight. "When the news spread that the lost heir had returned, they have been requesting an audience since last night."

Jaenor exhaled slowly, gaze turning back to the horizon. "Loyalists... to me?"

"To this house," Emma corrected, "and therefore, to you."

He didn’t respond immediately. The wind tugged at his hair, and for a moment the only sound was the distant calls of hunting horns in the forest.

He did not feel like an heir. He barely felt like he belonged. And yet—this place, this bloodline, these people—they were all threads tugging him into a life he had never asked for but was unmistakably his.

Emma touched his arm, gently but firmly. "They wish to pledge themselves. They have waited years for a rightful heir. They waited through war, famine, and silence."

Her voice lowered. "Your grandfather was loved, Jaenor. And those who followed him... they have longed for someone to carry his shadow."

He glanced at her. "And you want me to meet them."

Her lips curved slightly. "I believe you should. Whether you wish to rule or not, people will still look to you. Better to know who stands at your back."

Jaenor considered that for a heartbeat.

Then he nodded. "Very well. I’ll meet them."

Emma’s expression flickered—relief mixed with a hint of pride. "Good. I will bring them to the great hall. Prepare yourself, my child. They will expect a leader."

She turned and left with the same dignified stride she’d arrived with.