Page 55 of The War of Four Winters

"Very well." Vinolia's wrinkled hands moved to the bone comb in her hair, fingers caressing it absently. "You will renounce all claims to the throne and surrender Calibarra intact. All who have taken up arms against the Primarch will be executed publicly. The rest will be either sold into slavery or imprisoned based on their usefulness."

"And the humans I've freed?" I asked, though I knew the answer.

"Property returns to its rightful owners," Tarathiel replied coldly. "Those whose masters can be identified will be returned as chattel. The rest will be auctioned to the highest bidder."

"And when will my execution be scheduled?" I asked directly. "The day after my public surrender, or will you drag it out for maximum effect?"

My father's eyes met mine, no denial in them. "You will be given a trial before the Assembly like any other criminal."

"And what of the human consort?" Vinolia asked, something hungry in her ancient face. "I understand he's quite... remarkable."

The rage that flashed through me was primitive and absolute. I forced it down, maintaining the mask of diplomatic calm. "Elindir is a free man and recognized consort to the crown. He's not part of any negotiation."

Tarathiel's smile was thin and cruel. "The human will be returned to his brother, King Michail. It seems the only reason he's invaded our lands is to retrieve his precious sibling. Once we hand over your pet, he'll withdraw his forces." His eyes hardened. "Your attachment to the human has endangered our entire realm. Another failure of judgment to add to your list of crimes."

"You actually believe Michail would withdraw his forces just for Elindir?" I couldn't keep the disbelief from my voice.

"What I believe is irrelevant," Tarathiel replied. "The arrangement has already been negotiated. The human will be exchanged. You see, everything is negotiable, Ruith. Everyone has a price."

I met his gaze, seeing nothing of myself reflected there. "Not everyone."

"Such nobility," Vinolia mocked. "Tell me, rebel king, how many will starve while you cling to principle? My storms grow stronger each day. No supplies will reach Calibarra. No messengers will break through. Your people pay the price for your pride."

She was right, and the knowledge burned. But I needed to keep them talking, to give Katyr time to locate the phylactery. I glanced around the hall, noting the positions of guards, the battle mages with their hands never far from their taps, the slaves standing unnaturally still against the walls. No route of escape presented itself, but I hadn't expected one so soon.

"You speak of my pride while staging this elaborate display," I said, gesturing to the feast and finery. "All this pageantry for a defeated rebel? It suggests you fear me more than you admit."

Tarathiel's eyes narrowed. "Fear? No. Disappointment? Beyond measure." He leaned back. "You had such potential, Ruith. Intelligence. Strength. Tactical brilliance. You could have been my heir in truth, not just in name."

"I chose a different path."

"You chose weakness," he spat. "Abolishing slavery. Elevating humans. Dismantling traditions that have sustained our people for generations."

"I chose change," I corrected. "The kind that ensures our people survive the coming generations rather than rotting from within due to our own cruelty."

Katyr had moved slightly to my left, positioning himself nearer to Vinolia while attention remained focused on my exchange with Tarathiel. I kept my eyes on my father, drawing his focus.

"Survival requires strength," Tarathiel said. "Strength requires order. Order requires hierarchy. These are natural laws you cannot change, no matter how many rebellions you lead."

"I've seen a different kind of strength," I replied. "In Elindir, in the freed slaves who chose to fight for a world where blood doesn't determine worth. In the humans and elves working side by side to build something better than what came before."

"Sentimentality," Vinolia sneered. "Such a human weakness. Is that what your consort has taught you? To think with your cock instead of your head?"

I didn't rise to the bait. "He taught me that freedom creates stronger bonds than chains ever could."

"Enough philosophy," Tarathiel cut in. "You will sign the terms or watch your rebellion starve. Those are your choices, Ruith."

I unrolled the parchment, scanning its contents without truly reading them. Each moment I delayed was another moment for Katyr to maneuver closer to Vinolia and her phylactery.

"These terms are as harsh as expected," I said, looking up from the document. "May I consult with my advisors before responding?"

"There is nothing to consult about," Tarathiel replied. "You will sign, or you will watch everything you've built crumble to dust."

"Even diplomatic negotiations allow for consultation," I countered. "Unless you fear what we might discuss?"

Tarathiel's jaw tightened, but Vinolia waved a dismissive hand. "Let them talk. It changes nothing."

She leaned forward with a knowing smirk. "While you deliberate, perhaps you'd like to hear how your beloved consort fares? We've had reports from Homeshore."

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