Chương 115: Chapter 48: Thaerón IV Volgthar

Hardly had they sat down, Selena in the center of one of the sofas, Fjora and Samira flanking her in a submissive posture, when the atmosphere of the room changed. There was no noise of doors, no announcement. Simply, a presence materialized in the threshold of a side door that Selena had not noticed. It was the King.

Thaerón IV Volgthar was a tall man, close to six feet, and although he was around sixty years old, he did not give the impression of decline, but of an accumulated density, like steel tempered by decades of use. His face was elongated and austere, with an aquiline nose that drew a sharp profile. His beard, short and perfectly trimmed, grizzled like his hair, framed an arch of thin and serene lips.

But it was his eyes that captured and chilled: of a light gray, piercing as glacial ice, surrounded by a network of fine wrinkles that spoke not of laughter, but of perpetual concentration, of decisions weighed over thousands of sleepless nights. His hair, almost completely silvered with faint light brown roots, was gathered in a small and precise ponytail at the nape of his neck.

His skin was pale, of a marbled whiteness that spoke of a life spent among stone, parchment, and the shadow of thrones, far from the vulgar sun. Every one of his movements, from the way he crossed the room to the manner in which he set his gaze upon Selena, denoted a calculating precision. Nothing was casual or superfluous. He was dressed not in sumptuous gala vestments, but in layered robes of dark and royal colors: a base of deep crimson, another of dark forest green, and an over-tunic of exquisite decorations.

The details embroidered with gold threads were not mere ornaments; they represented the Flow of the Eternal Sap, the sacred symbol of the church of Aelthra, a silent but powerful declaration of his alliance with the dominant ecclesiastical power. Upon his head rested the royal diadem. It was a braided band of platinum and gold, of a deadly elegance. Embedded within it gleamed pieces of natural "glass" extracted from the silicariel, representing the blessing of the goddess.

In the center, dominating everything, was a blood-red gem, an immense ruby the size of Selena's thumb, which seemed to pulse with every ray of light. Each turn of the diadem held other lesser gems, among them sapphires, emeralds, and topazes, all placed at a studied distance, like constellations of power. Selena observed and let nothing escape. Her gaze lowered to his hands, which the King kept calmly crossed in front of his body.

On the thumb of his right hand, he wore a signet ring, the same one that stamped royal documents, with the Dune Felis carved into a dark onyx. But then, her vision fixed upon something absent. On that same hand, where the pinky finger should be, there was only a smooth curvature of paled skin, a small, perfectly healed stump. The lack of the finger was as deliberate in its cleanliness as everything else about the man, a mute history of loss, of a price paid, carved not in gold or marble, but in his own flesh.

The presence of the King had already filled the room with a charged stillness, but when Selena shifted her gaze toward the men flanking him, the air seemed to become even denser, more personal. At his right side, a step back but in a position of unmistakable familiarity and power, stood a man who awakened in Selena a whirlwind of blurred but intense memories: the first month of disorientation in this world, the somber Solendra mansion in Terracanto, the feeling of being an intruder in someone else's skin.

It was Valerius, her uncle. Time had not softened his imposing nature; it had chiseled it. His broad shoulders, held with a rigidity that spoke of decades of military discipline, seemed to carry the weight of responsibility for an entire house. But when his eyes locked onto Selena, there was none of the severity of his face, no coldness or calculation; it was contrary to any reaction she expected. The man once again demonstrated a deep, raw love, devoid of the ability to show itself with gentleness.

Upon seeing her, Valerius's thin lips curved into a smile. It was not wide, nor easy, but a tense and genuine gesture that briefly illuminated his face like lightning on a stormy night. It was the smile of a soldier who sees, at last, someone for whom he has fought in silence. To the left of the King, completing the trio of power in the room, stood the third man. His height was slightly less than that of Valerius and the monarch, but no less imposing for it.

He was slender, but his slenderness was that of a well-tempered steel blade, suggestive of a physical form maintained with rigor. His paleness was remarkable, not the cold, marbled whiteness of the King, but a matte white complexion, like that of someone who has spent too much time in the most demanding work. His eyes, of an indeterminate color in the dimness but which Selena sensed to be light, were fixed upon her with an absolute, analytical concentration, as if he were dismantling each of her thoughts.

His hair, dark brown, was sprinkled with a few strategic gray hairs that gave him an air of premature maturity, although his face could not be more than forty-five years old. He did not smile. He made no gesture. He simply observed, and in his silence there was a pressure distinct from royal authority or family love: it was the pressure of pure evaluation.

An almost imperceptible gesture from the King followed the moment; it had been a slight movement of his hand with the noticeable lack of a pinky visible, yet just that gesture was enough to indicate that they should sit. The monarch occupied a majestic carved ebony armchair that was not opposite the sofas, but in an intermediate position, dominating the space between both groups. Valerius and the pale man sat on the purple sofa opposite Selena and her companions.

The contrast was deliberate: on one side, the heiress and her loyal slaves, a warrior, a scholar; on the other, the pillars of the established power, one familiar, the other a mystery. The King crossed his hands over his lap, the central ruby of his diadem catching a glint of light from the lamps and casting a bleeding red dot onto the marble floor. When he spoke, his voice did not resonate with the grandiloquence of an orator, but with the grave and serene weight of one who is accustomed to his words becoming law.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. —Selena —he said with determination. The use of her name without titles was a message in itself, a forced intimacy, a reminder that before him, everyone was just that, humans without titles, only names in the infinite coming and going of people. —I have summoned you here to communicate two things of utmost importance for the kingdom. The first of them…

He paused, and his gray eyes drifted toward Valerius. —I will let Valerius say it. Since, as duty and tradition imply, only a direct relative can give such news. He ceded the floor with a nod, and an expectant silence, an air heavy with contained emotions, filled the room. The sound of the water from the outdoor fountain, filtering through the high windows, seemed to pulse like a distant heart. Valerius leaned slightly forward, his large hands, marked by old scars, interlacing tightly.

When he spoke, his voice was raspy, but now tinged with a rare vulnerability, a tenderness struggling to break through the hard crust of the power he held. —My beloved niece —he began, and the words sounded strangely formal in his mouth, as if he had rehearsed them. Selena forced herself to contain her emotions, but within her chest reigned a single thing: discomfort. —I am glad… I am enormously glad to inform you that, after many decades of…

of seeking to create my own family, I have managed to get my wife with child; it is a blessing granted by Solendri, I have no doubts of it. He paused again, swallowing hard. Selena could see the effort in his throat, the tension in his shoulders. This news, for a man like him, was more than an announcement; it was the confession of a long-buried desire, of a hope that had survived in the shadow of his duty toward her and the house.

—She is already five months along —he continued, and this time his voice gained a bit of firmness, of contained pride. Although she could only look at him, her eyes reflecting empathy, the feeling did not leave her chest. —And I know… I know you will be glad for us. He fell silent, his steel eyes begging for understanding, searching Selena's face for something more than the political calculation that no doubt both knew would follow.

The King resumed speaking with the smoothness of a surgeon taking up the scalpel after another has made the first incision. —It is because of this —he declared, his grave tone impregnating every word with legal weight. Valerius swallowed, his mouth making a slight, almost imperceptible grimace.

—That I, Thaerón IV Volgthar, according to the laws of the kingdom, as well as dictated by morality and tradition, shall give official way to the transfer of your title of Hereditary Duchess of Solendra to the biological child of Valerius… the day they are born. He paused for emphasis, took his white porcelain teacup, and drank a sip, observing her over the rim. —Provided, of course, that you agree. The proposal floated in the perfumed air. It was not a question, but a poisoned formality.

"Morality" and "tradition" were hammers with which destinies were forged. Selena's consent was a decorative piece, yet a necessary one, in the mechanism. Selena did not flinch. She had expected something like this ever since she learned of her uncle's petition to the king; furthermore, she rejoiced from her heart. She let the silence stretch for a few more seconds, measuring the breathing of the men in front of her, feeling the alert stillness of Fjora and Samira at her sides. Then, she spoke.

Her voice was clear, serene, without a trace of the trembling she could feel in her own vitals. —I have never appreciated the title of Hereditary Duchess —she said, and the words rang with a cutting honesty. The man who was a mystery raised an eyebrow; it had been the only minimal gesture reflected on his face until now. Selena continued. —In fact, I despise it a little. Valerius lowered his head, a quick gesture of pain or shame.

The King did not move, he only tilted his neck to one side, almost as if wanting to hear more. —But —Selena continued, keeping her gaze fixed upon the monarch— I need compensation, announced before the King and recorded as a royal decree. That the economic and infrastructure changes I have driven, favoring Terracanto, continue their course without interference from the new administration my uncle designates for his heir.

And that I, as the former Hereditary Duchess, retain full and lifelong access to the personal patrimony of House Solendra. Not to the lands or the administration, but to the resources, archives, and real estate that will allow me to… continue with my studies and my life, independently. Her words, cold and calculating, turned the emotional announcement into a transaction.

She did not reject the news out of rancor but rather negotiated from the position she had left that of the heiress who voluntarily yields but demands a price for her withdrawal. It was then that the third man, the one of matte paleness and analytical gaze, spoke for the first time. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it cut the air with the precision of a scalpel. —You are smart —he said, and there was no admiration in his tone, only a cold statement of fact.

Valerius and Selena opened their eyes; they had not expected that. But that man continued. —Perhaps that is why the Echo loves you and desires you. The mention of the Echo, of the cursed power she carried inside, caused a silent shiver to run down Selena's spine. He is not just anyone, he knows. The thought arose with force. The King, far from being uncomfortable, seemed amused. A slight, almost playful smile drew upon his thin lips, as if everything were aligning perfectly with a game that only he fully knew.

—Agreed —he conceded, with a magnanimous tone that was in itself a demonstration of power. Thaerón measured her for a second; Selena did not detach her eyes from his. —Furthermore, I will grant you the title of Countess under the endorsement of my power as monarch, thus belonging to the nobles who retain power within my circle. An honorary title, with its prominent prerogatives in court, but… It was then that his voice adopted an aura of almost paternalistic complicity. —Rest assured that I understand you, child.

Furthermore, since you will not be the hereditary duchess of the grand duchy of Solendra, you are informed that your rank within the house must remain as duchess, but without access to inheriting the grand duchy. You will hold both titles: countess of the Volgthar royal court, duchess of the grand duchy of Solendra. I will not give you lands to manage. I will not tie you to feudal responsibilities that you despise. I will give you something more important.

He paused, letting the vague and intriguing promise float in the air. —And with it comes my second request. But let us not get ahead of ourselves. First, let us sign the decrees of your resignation and your… compensations. Then we shall speak of what the kingdom, as well as a few other matters that I personally expect from a Countess as talented and conscious as you. The expectation remained in the air; Selena would not know what those other matters were.

However, the deliberate mention by the king had left upon her the deep impression of the man she had until now only read about in letters. Now, she knew he was a strategist playing with an advantage over most, who would make decisions without hesitation, and that every one of her considerations had already been addressed by the mind of the monarch.