Page 83 of The War of Four Winters

"I won't," I replied simply.

He stopped at the doorway, not turning back. For a moment, he was perfectly still, as if running final calculations. "You received the worst traits of both bloodlines. Her sentimentality. My stubbornness." He delivered this assessment as if discussing the breeding of horses, with neither anger nor disappointment.

"Her vision," I corrected. "Her courage. Her conviction that our people deserve better than fear and cruelty disguised as tradition."

He turned just enough to give me one final assessment, his expression as coldly perfect as a winter moon. "Disappointing, but not unexpected. Guards, prepare the prisoner for formal presentation. The Assembly awaits."

As he departed, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me. My father had offered me the very thing I had once believed I wanted most: his recognition, his approval, his acceptance. But the price he demanded was one I could never pay.

Whatever came in the Assembly chamber hours from now, I would face it knowing that I had remained true to the man I had become. To the world we were fighting to create. To the love that had transformed me from ruler to something far more significant: partner, protector, father to boys who deserved better than the world my father had built.

Guards reentered the preparation chamber, arranging themselves around me. "Time to go," the senior officer announced, his expression carefully neutral.

I squared my shoulders beneath the Deepfrost insignia, standing tall despite the chains that bound me. Whatever judgment awaited in the Assembly Hall, I would face it as Ruith Starfall, rebel king, consort to Prince Elindir, father to Leif and Torsten. Not as the Primarch's errant son begging forgiveness for challenging the world as it was.

The future we envisioned might not come in my lifetime. Might not come for generations. But someone had to take the first stand, had to show that another way was possible. If my death served that purpose, then so be it. The seeds we had planted would grow regardless, nurtured by those who shared our vision.

As they led me from the preparation chamber toward the Assembly Hall where my fate would be decided, I thought of Elindir one last time. His final words echoed in my mind, sustaining me as we approached the massive bronze doors of judgment.

Trust that you're not alone in this fight.

For the first time in my life, I chose to trust completely in someone beyond myself. Whatever came next, we would face it together, even if separated by chains and circumstance. In that trust lay a different kind of freedom than my father could ever understand.

Elindir

Theeasternhorizonheldjust the faintest hint of dawn as we approached the Redrock compound. Unlike the elegant wooden structures of D'thallanar's inner rings or the vibrant diversity of the Craiggybottom merchant quarter, House Redrock's territory resembled something transported from another world entirely. Rich terracotta walls rose against the lightening sky, intricately patterned with geometric designs inlaid with colored tiles that caught the first rays of morning light. Arched doorways and latticed windows spoke of a culture formed in desert heat and coastal winds rather than the forested mountains that dominated most elven lands.

"The only southern clan never fully integrated into northern culture," Aryn murmured as we paused in the shadow of a building across from the compound's main entrance. "While other houses adopted Deepfrost aesthetics and traditions, the Redrocks maintained their ancient ways, drawing from their unique position straddling riverlands, coast, and high desert."

I studied the compound with growing curiosity. Two guards stood at an arched gateway framed with intricate tilework, their armor unlike anything I'd seen elsewhere in D'thallanar. Where other houses favored elaborate ceremonial breastplates of silver or gold, these warriors wore light, flexible armor of overlapping leather scales dyed the deep red of their namesake, reinforced with slim plates of copper and bronze that caught the growing light. At their hips hung curved blades with distinctive swept hilts.

"How do we get inside?" I whispered. "They're unlikely to welcome a pair of disguised clerks seeking an audience before dawn."

Aryn's lips quirked in the ghost of a smile. "House Redrock values two things above all else: honor and directness. Their dueling traditions demand an honest declaration of intent before blades are drawn." He adjusted his cloak, letting his silver hair show more prominently. "We approach openly, state our purpose, and request audience with their representative. No subterfuge."

"That seems... risky," I said, thinking of the Primarch's guards searching the city for us.

"Less risky than being caught in a lie by people whose cultural foundation rests on personal honor." Aryn straightened his posture, ice-blue eyes harder than usual. "Follow my lead. Speak only when addressed directly. And whatever happens, show no fear."

He stepped into the open street without further explanation, moving with such confidence that I scrambled to follow. The guards at the entrance immediately straightened, hands moving to their weapons as we approached.

"Halt," commanded the taller of the two, a male warrior whose intricate facial tattoos in blue ink suggested high rank. "State your business with House Redrock."

Aryn stopped at a respectful distance, offering neither bow nor formal salute, but meeting his gaze directly. "I am Aryn, brother to King Ruith Starfall, representative of House Duskfell in the Assembly. I seek audience with Lady Sariel of House Redrock on a matter of mutual interest."

The guard's eyes narrowed as he studied Aryn's silver hair, the distinctive features that marked him as Tarathiel's blood, despite his rejection of the Primarch's house. His gaze shifted to me, assessing with professional detachment.

"And the human?" he asked, the question holding neither disgust nor particular interest.

"Elindir of Ostovan, consort to King Ruith Starfall," Aryn replied before I could speak. "He comes as a royal representative in matters concerning today's Assembly vote."

I expected surprise, perhaps even hostility at this reveal of my identity. Instead, the guard simply nodded once, as if confirming something he had already suspected. He turned to his companion and spoke in the distinctive dialect of the southern territories, the words too quick for me to follow despite my study of elvish tongues.

After a brief exchange, he faced us again. "House Redrock does not receive visitors before the river prayer." His tone softened marginally. "However, given the circumstances, I will inform Lady Sariel of your arrival. You will wait here."

He disappeared through the arched gateway, leaving us under the watchful eye of his companion. The remaining guard's expression revealed nothing, but his gaze remained fixed on us with unnerving intensity, particularly on me.

"Is it true?" he asked suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

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