Lord of the realm

Chapter 202: This is life!

She looked at him with something like hunger, not physical, but intellectual.

"You represent change. Disruption. Something genuinely unpredictable is entering a system that’s been stable to the point of stagnation. Win or lose, live or die, you’re going to reshape things. And I wanted to see that up close, wanted to be part of it rather than just reading reports months after events concluded."

"So this is entertainment for you," Jaenor said flatly.

"This is life," Gwendolen corrected with surprising passion.

"Real stakes, real consequences, forces powerful enough to actually matter. Do you have any idea how rare that is? How most of what occupies my time is managing minor nobles’ squabbles and resource allocation debates that ultimately change nothing significant?"

She stopped walking, turning to face him fully.

"You fought the mother supreme. That’s not entertainment; that’s the kind of event that shapes history. And I’d rather be here, in the middle of it, than safe in a palace reading secondhand accounts."

The raw honesty in her voice surprised him. This wasn’t manipulation or calculated revelation—this was genuine feeling breaking through her carefully maintained control.

"You’re not what I expected," Jaenor admitted.

"Good," Gwendolen said.

"Predictability is death. The moment people can anticipate your every move is the moment you become irrelevant."

She glanced up at the sky, noting the sun’s position.

"We should return. My guards are probably having collective anxiety about how long I’ve been out of visual range, and your companions are likely worrying I’ve done something nefarious."

They began walking back toward the village, retracing their path through the eternal snow.

As they approached the village edge, Gwendolen spoke once more.

"I meant what I said earlier. I want genuine alliance, not controlled servitude. That will require trust, which takes time to build. But I’m willing to invest that time if you are."

"What would that alliance look like practically?" Jaenor asked.

"Coordination on demon threats, intelligence sharing, mutual support when interests align. I’d ensure imperial resources flow to your duchy and territories you protect. You’d consult with me on major decisions that affect imperial interests. Neither of us is subservient to the other, but both benefit from cooperation."

"And when our interests don’t align?"

"We negotiate, compromise where possible, and agree to disagree where we can’t. As long as we’re not actively working against each other, temporary divergence is manageable."

It was, Jaenor had to admit, a reasonable proposal. Not perfect, still carrying risks, but better than the alternative of operating in complete isolation.

"I’ll consider it," he said.

"Give me time to think through implications."

"Of course," Gwendolen agreed.

"Take whatever time you need. Though I would appreciate a response before I depart, which will be in two days, after I’ve assessed the local demon situation."

They’d reached the village proper now, where both sets of guards waited with obvious relief at their princess’s return.

Gwendolen paused before joining her soldiers.

"Thank you, Lord Arkwright. For the walk, the conversation, and for not simply accepting my initial offers. It’s refreshing to deal with someone who actually thinks rather than just reacting."

"Thank you for your honesty," Jaenor replied.

"Even when that honesty revealed how little you usually employ it."

She laughed, that genuine sound again, and departed toward her temporary quarters.

Jaenor stood watching her go, his mind working through everything she’d said and everything she’d carefully not said.

Morgana appeared at his elbow, seemingly from nowhere.

"Well? How did it go?"

"Complicated," Jaenor said.

"She’s dangerous, manipulative, and possibly the most intelligent person I’ve ever spoken with. But she’s also offering something potentially useful."

"And you’re considering accepting?" Morgana’s tone was carefully neutral.

"I’m considering not rejecting it out of hand," Jaenor corrected.

"There’s a difference. But I need to think, to discuss with all of you, to understand the full implications."

"Good," Morgana said.

"Because rushing into agreements with people like Gwendolen is how you wake up six months later wondering how you lost control of your own life."

They walked back toward the meeting hall together, and Jaenor’s mind continued churning.

The Princess was a problem, potentially an asset, but definitely a problem.

And he suspected their relationship was going to get considerably more complicated before it got any simpler.

But that was a concern for later.

Right now, they still had demons to fight and a village to protect.

Everything else could wait.

*

The morning after Gwendolen’s arrival, Morgana found herself in the meeting hall watching Jaenor sleep.

He’d finally collapsed after the Princess meeting, his body demanding rest that could no longer be postponed.

The fight with Draelusa, the flight here, the confrontation with the Brotherhood, the political maneuvering with Gwendolen, and not to mention the sleepless session with his mother, it had all accumulated into exhaustion that even his enhanced constitution couldn’t ignore.

He slept on a simple cot near the fire, his breathing deep and steady, his merged power cycling automatically even in unconsciousness.

Rosaine had taken up position in a chair nearby, keeping watch over him with fierce protectiveness.

Morgana stood at the doorway, feeling something twist in her chest.

Guilt, primarily.

And frustration at her own uselessness.

Jaenor had fought a Sin lord. Had driven off a demon legion. Had protected this village through sheer force of will and overwhelming power.

And what had she done? Healed minor injuries. Provided advice. Stood behind him while he faced threats that should have killed him.

She was his aunt. She should have been fighting beside him, sharing the burden rather than letting him carry everything alone.

"You’re thinking too loud," Rena said quietly from behind her.

Morgana turned to find the smaller woman approaching with that same look of determination she’d been wearing increasingly often.

"I’m thinking we’ve been useless," Morgana said bluntly.

"All of us. We’ve let Jaenor fight every major battle while we watch from the sidelines like frightened children."

"I’ve been thinking the same thing," Rena admitted. She looked past Morgana to where Jaenor slept.

"He’s trying to protect us. Taking on everything himself so we don’t have to risk ourselves. But that’s not sustainable, and it’s not fair to him."

"No, it’s not," agreed a deeper voice.

Baren emerged from the shadows near the hall’s entrance. He looked different this morning—energized in a way he hadn’t been since arriving. His reunion with Ryanna had clearly restored something in him and reminded him of what he was fighting for.

But there was also determination in his expression that bordered on dangerous.

"The scouts reported demon movements last night," Baren continued, moving to join them.

"A war party, perhaps two hundred strong, probing the northern defensive line. The militia and Brotherhood forces engaged them, drove them back, but casualties were taken. More will come."

"And Jaenor can’t fight every battle," Morgana finished.

"He’ll burn himself out trying."

"So we handle this one," Rena said firmly.

"The rest of us, plus whoever else is willing. We deal with the demon threat while he rests."

Taeryn appeared from the sleeping quarters section of the hall, having clearly overheard the conversation.

"Count me in," he said without hesitation.

"I’ve been sitting on my ass watching Jaenor do everything. Time I actually earned my place in this group."

Darian emerged as well, his black armor already strapped on, his sword at his hip.

"I’m with you," he said simply.

"This is what I do—fight battles that need fighting. Let me do my job."

Raelana was the last to join them, her witch’s robes exchanged for more practical combat gear. She looked nervous but resolute.

"The Brotherhood won’t like me participating," she warned.

"Their soldiers might refuse to coordinate if I’m leading forces."

"Then we don’t coordinate with them," Morgana said.

"We handle this ourselves. Prove we’re capable of contributing rather than just depending on Jaenor’s power."

She looked at each of them in turn, her companions, her friends, people who’d followed her nephew into increasingly impossible situations.

"This is dangerous. The demons won’t be pushovers, and we don’t have a divine beast or merged powers to fall back on. Some of us might not come back."

"Better to die fighting than live as dead weight," Baren said grimly.

"Dramatic, but accurate," Taeryn agreed.

Rena moved closer to Morgana, placing a hand on her aunt’s arm.

"We can do this. We’ve all trained and all fought before. We’re not helpless just because we’re not as powerful as Jaenor."

Morgana looked one more time at her nephew, sleeping peacefully for the first time in days. Rosaine met her gaze and nodded slightly, permission from the woman who’d helped raise him, acknowledgment that letting him rest while they handled threats was the right choice.

"Alright," Morgana said.

"We gather what we need, inform the militia command where we’re going, and move out within the hour. We find those demons, and we end them before they can threaten this village again."

They assembled at the northern edge of the village as dawn fully broke.

Six people, armed and armored, carrying supplies for extended engagement.