Chapter 3 of 3·6 min read·That evening at the border castle
The Length of an Emergency
Cedric had arranged the meeting in a room with one narrow table and no portraits of either royal family.
I approved of the omission. It was the first honest thing the room had done for us.
“Schedule B,” I said.
Cedric stood at the far side of the table, his hands resting lightly on its edge. He had changed out of his riding clothes, though a faint streak of road dust remained at one cuff. “I have it.”
“Then I would like to read it.”
He glanced at the Valemont secretary seated by the hearth. The man rose and placed a folded document on the table. Its paper was older than the treaty draft I carried, and the seal pressed into the bottom was intact.
I did not touch it at once. “Is this the original?”
“It is the copy approved by Aurelion’s council,” Cedric said. “The original is in our capital.”
“That is not quite the same answer.”
“No. It is the answer I can give you.”
I broke the seal and opened the page. The clause was short. That made it worse. Aurelion’s appointed captains would take custody of the eastern gates and their garrisons. Custody would last until the emergency had ended, as certified by Aurelion’s war council.
I read it again, in the old language, then turned to the secretary’s translation. “This is the whole schedule?”
“Yes, Highness,” he said.
“There is no fixed term.”
“No.”
“And Valemont has no vote on whether the emergency has ended.”
He looked at Cedric. The prince answered for him. “That is how the proposal is written.”
The courtesy in his voice did not make the words less clear. I placed the page flat on the table. “Then you are asking my kingdom to hand over its gates for as long as your council believes it needs them.”
“We are asking for control of the gates while the eastern roads remain vulnerable.”
“That is not a limit. It is a description of the reason you want control.”
Cedric lowered his gaze to the paper. He didn’t try to charm the sentence into something kinder. “The border has been raided twice since winter. Aurelion believes the next attack will come through those roads. Our army can hold them. Yours cannot—not without leaving other parts of Valemont exposed.”
“Your army can hold them because the gates are ours.”
“That is also true.”
Next
By noon tomorrow, Elara must decide whether Cedric’s council will accept shared limits on Aurelion’s control—or whether she will refuse the only aid currently offered for Valemont’s exposed border.
Behind me, Rowan shifted his weight. He had kept to the wall, close enough to hear and far enough not to appear part of the discussion. His bandaged hand rested at his side.
I looked at Cedric. “What does Aurelion offer in exchange for custody?”
“Food, engineers, and troops to reinforce the border. Our mages’ guild has offered to repair the ward-stones along the old road.”
“Offered, or promised?”
“Offered.”
“So the gates are a condition. The aid is a possibility.”
Cedric’s mouth tightened. “The aid is a commitment I can argue for. I cannot promise what the council has not approved.”
There it was: a distinction that mattered, spoken without ornament. I respected him for making it. I disliked how little it gave me.
“Why was this schedule absent from the papers sent to me?”
“I don’t know who removed it.” He paused. “I knew the terms were open-ended. I should have told you before you arrived.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I hoped we could discuss the need first.”
“And the wording later?”
“I thought you might be willing to consider it once you understood what we fear.”
I held his gaze. “I understand what you fear. That does not make an indefinite occupation acceptable.”
“I did not say it did.”
The secretary’s quill hovered over his paper. I wondered whether he was recording every word, or only the parts useful to someone else. At court, silence often belonged to whoever wrote the minutes.
I pulled the schedule closer. “If Valemont agrees to Aurelion troops at the gates, then the term must be defined by both kingdoms. Three years without an incursion, perhaps. Or a review every six months, with Valemont’s council represented. Aurelion cannot be the sole judge of when its own authority ends.”
Cedric took a breath through his nose, then let it out. “I can bring that to the council.”
“Can you support it?”
“I can support a shared review. I don’t know whether I can get them to accept the three-year condition.”
“Then I will need an answer before I agree to anything.”
“You will have one by noon tomorrow.”
He said it as a promise and a warning, both made politely. His council would not wait forever; neither would an army gathered near a weakened border. The treaty had turned the gates from a line on a map into a door that could be held open from the wrong side.
I slid the schedule into my folder. My hand had begun to ache from holding it so firmly. “You want to marry me, Prince Cedric.”
“I do.”
“And you want my kingdom to accept terms I could not defend to its people.”
“I want both kingdoms to survive.” He spoke more quietly now. “I know those are not always the same thing.”
For a moment, I could see what lay behind his careful manners: not innocence, and not indifference. A man trying to keep his own country alive while asking mine to bear a cost he could not promise to repay. It did not make the offer fair. It made him harder to dismiss.
“I will not sign this schedule,” I said.
“I expected you wouldn’t.”
“Did you?”
“I hoped you might surprise me.”
“That is an unwise basis for a treaty.”
“I’m beginning to see that.” His smile was faint and tired. “You’ll have your answer tomorrow.”
The secretary gathered his notes. Cedric waited until he had gone before he spoke again. “I should have brought you the schedule the moment you arrived.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I could have made him work harder for the apology. It would have been satisfying, and perhaps useful, but neither of those was the same as justice. “Then do better with the answer.”
“I will try.”
When Cedric left, Rowan came to the table. He looked at the folded schedule in my folder, not at me.
“Do you want the door watched?” he asked.
“Is it not already?”
“Not from the hall.”
“Then yes. Please.”
He went to the door and spoke to the guard outside. His voice stayed low, practical. When he came back, he stopped beside the table rather than returning to his place by the wall.
“What would you have done?” I asked.
“About the gates?”
“Yes.”
“I’d keep the keys out of their hands.”
“That may be easier to say when you are not responsible for the roads, the food, and the people living behind them.”
He considered that. “Maybe.”
It was not agreement. It was, at least, a sign he had heard the part that did not fit neatly into a soldier’s answer.
I drew the chair back and sat. The paper in my folder seemed heavier than it had a moment ago. “If we refuse, the border stays exposed. If we accept, we may never get the gates back.”
Rowan’s gaze rested on the bandage around his palm. A small red mark had begun to spread through the cloth. “You don’t have to decide this minute.”
“No. I have until noon tomorrow.”
“Then take tonight.”
There was no promise in it that he could fix the matter. He had offered something more useful: no argument about whether it was mine to decide.
I pressed the heel of my hand against my eyes, then dropped it before the gesture could become a performance. “I need a clean copy of the schedule, and the maps of the eastern roads. If I am to refuse them, I want to know what they are risking by waiting.”
“I’ll get the maps.”
“And Rowan—”
He paused at the door.
“Stay close tomorrow. Not because I need you to answer for me.”
“I know.”
He left to fetch the maps. The schedule remained in my folder, every word of its short clause perfectly clear. By noon, Cedric would return with an answer from his council. I had until then to find a way to keep Valemont’s gates without pretending the danger beyond them was someone else’s problem.