Chapter Thirty-Seven – The Fire and the Fool

Lysara stood at the edge of the stone hall, her voice clear and fierce: "I gave you a choice, Kael. Now I'll take what I came for with steel."

Kael's smile didn't fade. "Then come back with steel. Because your words won't break this throne."

Without another word, Lysara turned, her crimson cloak sweeping behind her like wildfire. The dark riders mounted in silence and disappeared into the mists. The gates of Arakor slammed shut behind them.

Later that night, Kael sat under the stars in the palace garden. The silence was interrupted by a low hum—a strange man wrapped in fur and feathers, playing a tiny flute made of bone.

Kael raised a brow. "Who are you supposed to be? A lost minstrel?"

The man grinned, revealing teeth too white to be honest. "A friend. Or a bad habit. Depends on your memory."

Kael laughed. "I've had worse habits. Come, friend. Let's see how well you dance."

By dawn, the palace echoed with laughter. Tavo had arrived first—Kael's old friend from the southern coasts, already drunk, waving a roasted duck like a sword.

"I brought food!" he announced, falling into a fountain.

Ilya followed, elegant as always but muttering. "If he sets one more thing on fire, I'm going to marry a goat and live on a mountain."

Rashad entered last, arms crossed, already regretting the reunion.

Kael clapped his hands. "My generals! My tormentors! Let's drink to a coming war, a vanishing empress, and my excellent taste in friends."

Everyone cheered. The table was loud, chaotic, filled with toasts and dancing.

But deep in Kael's eyes, the shadow of Lysara's words still lingered.

To be continued...