Chapter 56: The Weight of the Crown

The corpse of Lord Avery Harland hung from the city gates as the sun climbed over Rookhaven. The blood on his chest had dried overnight, the words I AM THE DUKE still visible beneath the morning light.

The nobles would wake soon—some to fear, some to rage.

Jarek?

He was waiting.

A City Holds Its Breath

Sylva stood at the balcony of Vale Manor, watching the streets below. Even from here, she could hear the hushed murmurs of merchants, the nervous glances of city guards, and the growing silence that came with uncertainty.

Tobias lounged beside her, chewing lazily on an apple. "Well, that should stir the hornet's nest."

Sylva shot him a look. "That's an understatement."

"They needed to know," Jarek said, stepping onto the balcony. His gaze was locked on the distant city gates. "I won't let them play their games unchecked."

Sylva crossed her arms. "They'll retaliate. Lord Harland wasn't the only one who wanted you dead."

Jarek smirked. "Then let them try."

A knock came from behind.

One of Jarek's men stepped forward, bowing his head. "My lord. The nobles request an emergency meeting."

Tobias snorted. "I bet they do."

Jarek chuckled. "Let's not keep them waiting."

The Gathering Storm

The great hall of Vale Manor was not as crowded as the last meeting.

Some nobles had chosen not to attend, their absence speaking louder than words. But the ones who came? Their faces were masks of politeness, their postures rigid with unease.

Lord Callahan, ever the diplomat, was the first to speak. "Duke Thorn, this… this act of brutality—"

Jarek held up a hand, stopping him.

"Spare me the lecture," he said. "Harland tried to kill me. I simply returned the favor."

Lady Renwick's lips pressed into a thin line. "And what of the city? Rookhaven is not some back alley ruled by blades. It is a city of trade, of order. You have made it clear you will not be challenged, but at what cost?"

Jarek leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest. "Let's be honest, Lady Renwick. If it had been one of you in my position, would you have done any different?"

Silence.

Then Lord Callahan sighed. "That is not the point."

Jarek arched a brow. "Then what is?"

"The perception of your rule," Callahan said. "You have power, but power is not enough. A ruler must inspire loyalty, not just fear."

Jarek studied him. "And how do you propose I do that?"

Callahan smiled faintly. "You need allies."

Jarek smirked. "I have allies."

Tobias grinned from across the room, tossing his dagger in the air. Sylva remained quiet but watchful.

Callahan shook his head. "You have fighters. But allies? Those who can secure your rule beyond the battlefield?" His gaze was knowing. "You need more than a sword."

Jarek exhaled, rubbing his chin. "You're saying I need a political marriage."

Lady Renwick nodded. "It would strengthen your position. Show the city you intend to rule, not just conquer."

Jarek chuckled. "And who do you suggest?"

Lord Callahan's smile widened. "Perhaps my daughter."

The room fell silent.

Sylva's gaze sharpened. Tobias nearly choked on his apple.

Jarek studied Callahan. The man was dangerous—not in the way a killer was, but in the way a schemer played the long game.

A marriage to his daughter? That would tie the old nobility to Jarek's rule.

It was a power move.

One Jarek hadn't expected.

He leaned forward. "And what would you want in return?"

Callahan spread his hands. "Peace. Stability. The nobles need reassurance that you are not merely a warlord."

Jarek tilted his head. "And if I refuse?"

Callahan's smile never wavered. "Then the city will remain… uncertain. Trade will suffer. The nobles will remain divided."

Jarek chuckled. "So it's an alliance, or a cold war?"

Callahan nodded.

Jarek considered it. Marriage was politics. He didn't care for it, but he cared about ruling. And if this was what it took…

"I'll think about it," Jarek said.

Callahan nodded. "That is all we ask."

But Jarek wasn't foolish.

This wasn't just about securing an alliance.

Callahan wanted influence over him. A foothold in Jarek's rule.

And Jarek?

He wasn't about to let anyone hold a leash on him.

A Private Conversation

Later that night, Sylva found Jarek in his chambers, staring at a map of Rookhaven.

"You're actually considering it?" she asked.

Jarek smirked. "Why? Jealous?"

Sylva rolled her eyes. "I just don't trust Callahan."

"Neither do I," Jarek admitted. "But he's right. The nobles need reassurance."

Sylva exhaled. "And you think marrying his daughter will give you that?"

Jarek leaned against the table. "No. But it buys me time."

Sylva studied him. "And if they try to use her against you?"

Jarek's eyes darkened. "Then I'll remind them why I rule."

The Fire in the Dark

While Jarek plotted his next move, another force moved in the shadows.

Somewhere in the city, in a hidden chamber beneath a lavish estate, a group of nobles gathered in secret.

They were not pleased.

"He's a brute," one spat. "We cannot let him rule unchecked."

"We won't," another said, voice cold. "The Black Wolves failed. But we have other means."

A candle flickered. A plan was formed.

Jarek Thorn had declared himself the Duke of Rookhaven.

But his enemies?

They weren't finished yet.