The heavy ironwood doors of the council chamber groaned open as Killan's party was summoned once again. This time, the atmosphere inside was heavier, sharper. The long table was occupied not only by Lord Elex and General Asta, but by several other council members, their faces weathered and stern, draped in furs and steel. Behind them stood several guards, silent and still as statues, their spears gleaming.
As Killan, Vignir, Harlan, and Santi approached the center of the room, his eyes caught on her.
At the head of the table sat a figure he recognized — but not as he had known her.
No longer the ranger from the fields, she was dressed in the full regalia of her station. A finely tailored cloak of deep blue, lined with silver thread, draped over her shoulders. At her chest, pinned with simple pride, was the crest of House Svedana: a mountain rising behind a veil of clouds, embroidered in shimmering silver and pale blue. Her dark hair, though still free, was neatly arranged, and her storm-gray eyes — those same piercing eyes — now held an unmistakable authority.
Killan's mind raced briefly. The lively, sharp-tongued woman who had walked beside them in the open wilds was none other than the Lady of the North. A clever game. A cleverer woman.
And now, an opponent — or an ally — he would have to tread carefully around.
Lord Elex stood first, offering the formalities of the North. His voice, firm and deep, echoed through the great hall.
"Killan, King of the South," Elex began, "allow me to formally present my Sister, Aya of House Svedana, Ruler and Keeper of the North, and our Sovereign Lady."
Aya inclined her head slightly, a stately gesture — neither warm nor cold, simply inevitable.
Killan and his men bowed low, the proper acknowledgment given.
"The honor is ours, Lady Aya," Killan said as he straightened.
The proceedings began with expected formality: cautious words exchanged about the state of their lands, reports of the growing tensions across the West, the crackling uncertainty in the air. It was only after the initial politeness wore thin that the conversation sharpened — and Aya leaned forward, her voice cutting clean through the chamber.
"Your Highness, if I may," she said, her tone like the cool mist before a storm. "There is nothing the South could offer us that would benefit our Kingdom's survival. We have a lot to offer you. You have nothing to offer us."
"We already have trade, knowledge, and steel," she continued, with Killan looking at her curiously as he heard his own words from her mouth. "Enough food, crops, horses, ironworks. Our army, if I recall correctly, is the largest among the warring Kingdoms."
Killan paused, assessing her.
"That is true," he said simply.
A few of the Northern council members shifted, some exchanging murmurs, surprised by his admission.
Aya pressed, her gaze steady. "Why not go to Peduviel?"
Killan allowed himself a small smile, not mocking, simply real. "My Lady, the Eastern Kingdom and House Ambrea are your vassals. To ask them first about an alliance would be... disrespectful."
"It doesn't matter to me," Aya replied, dismissing the matter with a wave of her hand. "The East is free to decide their affiliations."
The hall grew colder.
"And if you're going to ask us about the West—" Killan began.
Aya raised her hand, and with that single movement, he stopped speaking.
"Understood," she said. The West was a sore wound. They would not pick at it today.
Another beat of silence, where even the banners overhead — heavy cloths of blue and silver — seemed to hold their breath.
Then Killan stepped forward, past the line of his men, his voice lowering slightly, gaining an edge of intimacy without ever losing the weight of respect.
"May I speak with you alone, Lady Aya?"
A murmur rippled through the council. Asta's jaw tensed. Elex's dark brows twitched, but he remained still, giving Aya the decision.
Aya studied Killan for a long moment, her eyes unreadable, until finally, she set down her cup with a soft click and rose.
"Very well," she said. "Please leave us."
Once the council chamber had emptied, the grand doors sealed with a heavy thud behind the last guard, a quieter, heavier silence descended. The fire in the hearth snapped and hissed, casting long, shifting shadows across the stone walls.
Aya remained standing across from Killan, her posture composed but wary, like a blade hidden beneath velvet. Killan, for his part, removed his gloves slowly, tucking them into his belt — a small gesture to show he meant no threat here.
"You surprise me, Lady Aya," Killan began lightly, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. "Most rulers would at least entertain a marriage proposal from a Southern King. Handsome enough, or so I've been told." His tone was playful, testing the waters, though his eyes remained serious.
Aya arched an eyebrow, her arms crossing over her chest. "Is that how you win all your alliances, Your Highness? A few smiles and a well-placed compliment?"
Killan chuckled, low and genuine. "Not always. Though it tends to help."
Her expression softened just slightly, but her gaze did not waver. She took a few steps toward the hearth, the firelight gilding the silver embroidery on her cloak.
"You ask why I refuse," she said, voice lowering. "It is not simply because I am contrary, nor because your offer lacks merit."
She turned to face him fully.
"The last time somebody of my station married a man from beyond these lands," Aya said, each word measured, "it nearly destroyed House Svedana. The foreign bloodlines sought not unity, but conquest. Our women were treated as vessels — breeding mules, nothing more — their power stolen, their children twisted into weapons for other thrones."
Killan's brow furrowed slightly. He stepped closer but kept a respectful distance, his arms loose at his sides.
"I would not see my house... my people... shackled again by promises made in gold and broken in steel," Aya continued, the firelight dancing in her storm-gray eyes. "Our power is not meant to be bartered."
"And yet," Killan said carefully, "you sit here, burdened by enemies on your borders. Allies thinning. A legacy that, forgive me, must endure beyond you."
She turned fully to face him, storm-gray eyes fierce. "I will not allow history to repeat itself."
Killan inclined his head slowly, respect in the gesture.
"I understand," he said.
Aya inhaled slowly, the air between them taut with the weight of history and expectation.
"I am not blind to it," she said. "But marriage? Marriage has only ever been a collar in the North."
Killan considered her, long and thoughtfully. Here stood a woman who would rather face a hundred battles alone than wear a chain, however gilded.
He spoke again, softer. "You are not the only one carrying ghosts, my Lady."
There was a pause, not uncomfortable, but charged.
"You must have heard stories about us," Aya hesitated, tension tightening her shoulders. There was more she hadn't said — he could feel it.
"I have, yes," Killan nodded.
"Most of them are true," Aya continued. "The men from our line have unusually long lives, and the women... well, we have abilities that protect us."
Killan listened patiently, nodding thoughtfully at her.
"My refusal... well, that is the other reason," she admitted, voice low enough that even the fire seemed to lean closer to hear. "After my father's death, my abilities were sealed. I have no Summoning left in me. Some other power, maybe. But with that sealing came another curse: I cannot bear children."
The words hung between them, heavy and raw.
Aya's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Men do not want women who cannot give them heirs. Better to refuse before the rejection comes."
Killan was quiet for a long moment. She braced herself for questions, for pity, for the cold calculations of a King considering her worth.
Instead, his voice came, steady and warm.
"It must have hurt a lot," Killan said softly. "Are you alright?"
Aya blinked, startled. The question stunned her.
No pressing for details. No bargaining. No sigh of regret over lost heirs.
Just concern. Plain, human concern.
She had expected everything but that.
She stared at him for a moment, as if unsure she had heard correctly.
"I..." She faltered. "I manage."
"Good," Killan said, and offered a small, genuine smile. "Then it changes nothing."
Aya laughed then — a soft, disbelieving sound — and shook her head. "You are a strange man, Killan of the South."
"Strange enough to stand against old ghosts," he said, rising to his feet, his tone turning just slightly formal once again. "And stubborn enough to offer you a proposal anew."
He drew a slow breath.
Killan gave a faint smile. "Power can be taken. Thrones can fall. But strength, Lady Aya — true strength — is carried here." He touched a fist briefly to his chest. "And you have that in abundance."
For the first time, a flicker of something unguarded crossed Aya's face — a flicker of gratitude, perhaps, or something she wasn't ready to name.
"I came here," Killan continued, "not to take from you. Not to chain you. I came seeking an alliance, a chance to save our people."
His words were deliberate, and Aya heard the difference. Not a Queen to bear heirs. Not a Summoner to serve his Kingdom.
"And if you still refuse me," Killan said with a small shrug, "then at least you will know I asked for the right reasons."
"I understand your reluctance," Killan continued. "And I am not here to bind your house to ruin or steal your birthright. I am here because without each other, neither of our kingdoms will stand long against what is coming."
Aya's gaze narrowed slightly. She searched his face — for arrogance, deceit, desperation — but found none. Only a quiet certainty.
"And if you were to marry me?" Aya asked, almost challenging. "What would you demand?"
Killan tilted his head, his smile returning — tempered by something more real this time.
"Nothing you do not freely give," he said simply. "No claims to your power. No claims to your house. Only a future forged side by side, if you will it."
Aya held his gaze for a long moment, the fire crackling between them.
"If I refuse?" she asked.
Killan's expression was respectful, but resolute.
"Then I will still fight beside you," he said. "As a friend, if not a husband."
The room felt smaller now, the walls pulling closer around the two figures standing on the brink of something neither could yet name.
Aya's fingers brushed absently against the silver clasp at her chest— the mountain crest of her house — a silent acknowledgment of the weight she bore.
"You are persistent," she said at last, a small, reluctant smile ghosting across her lips.
Killan inclined his head. "Only when the cause is worthy."
Aya stood in silence, the firelight between them shifting, uncertain.
Perhaps the world outside would still burn. Perhaps the West would rise against them. Perhaps tomorrow they would be enemies again.
But for this moment, Aya saw Killan, this Southern King — truly saw him — and for the first time, the idea of alliance did not taste like chains.
The council awaited her answer by dawn. Yet as Aya stood alone before the dying embers of the hearth, Killan's words still lingered in her mind, heavier than any crown.
In the cold corridors of the North, honor was measured not by what one seized — but by what one dared to trust.
And trust, she realized bitterly, might be the heaviest burden of all.