I hear a whisper, then two figures, cloaked and masked, kneel before me. My spies. The scent of incense hangs heavy.
"My lord," one says, "We've returned from the north. Orien was… begging."
I raise an eyebrow. "Begging?"
The other nods. "Yes, sir. He pleaded with General Dren and the others. Offered the prisoners like tribute. He talked of loyalty, desperation, and how much Prince Rin 'needed' their alliance."
I lean back, a small, satisfied smirk forming. "So," I murmur. "My dear prince is paranoid. Still afraid. I thought he might've grown up… but no."
I wave a hand, dismissing them. As the door closes, I stand, walking slowly to the window of my tower chamber, gazing down at the city bathed in dusk.
He's still just a boy in a prince's skin. Hiding behind titles, pretending to trust,yet terrified of betrayal.
I exhale sharply through my nose, a hint of contempt in the breath.
That's why he asked for my daughter. Not for love. Not even for politics. But fear. He's still afraid of standing alone.
And yet, as I turn back to my wineglass, the smirk returns.
Good. Very good. That fear will serve me. In the end, the one laughing will not be the Solas family. It will be mine,Varros.
-----------
Weeks pass like silent soldiers marching through the palace. Aiven returns, resuming their roles in operating the event. The blood collection, the brutal stage, the endless cycle of slaughter,it all runs smoothly beneath my invisible hand.
I, meanwhile, am busy elsewhere.
I train constantly, refining my body, sharpening my senses, and pushing my blood purity toward the elusive 60%. But progress stalls. I lack just a bit more,something powerful, something raw.
Yet I'm not worried.
"Soon," I whisper, sweat dripping from my brow in the dim training chamber. "Very soon."
By day, I am the perfect husband. I let Selvara choose our meals, our clothes, our music. I walk with her beneath the gardens, hold her hand when she's anxious, and smile gently when she speaks.
She begins to laugh more. Sleep better. Even trust me.
But every night, when the lights dim, I work in silence.
I had planted a Blood Wing Fragment inside her weeks ago,not in her soul, but nestled within her lower abdomen, quietly absorbing and interacting with her life force.
It does not harm her. Yet.
Each day, I feed it a thin thread of my energy,subtle, invisible. Over time, the growing energy will mimic the early signs of pregnancy. Her body will shift, her pulse will change, and eventually, the rumors will spread.
A child. A Solas heir. A Varros heir. A future no one can touch.
A child that does not exist, I think, staring at her while she sleeps. But a story that I will make real… until I decide otherwise.
Selvara stands nervously in her father's study. She clasps her hands tightly, as if holding back a storm.
"Is he mistreating you?" Varros asks.
She hesitates. "No. He's been kind. Gentle, even. He listens to me. Takes care of everything I ask."
Varros narrows his eyes. "No beatings? No shouting?"
She shakes her head.
He sits back, expression unreadable. "Hmph. That's… surprising."
She smiles faintly, but her eyes are dim. She doesn't mention the dreams. The strange warmth in her belly. The sensation that something foreign lives within her.
Maybe I'm just healing, she tells herself. Maybe this is what love feels like.
She doesn't know.
And I, watching from the shadows of the hallway with my energy sense, smile coldly.
Later that night, I stand alone beneath the stars, wings spread out like a shroud of silver-white feathers. I close my eyes, sensing the energy in my veins.
59%.
Still.
So close, but the push hasn't come yet.
I clench my fist and exhale slowly. "No matter. The seed has been planted. The Varros line is bound to me now. And soon…"
A small flame bursts in my palm,a faint echo of the new energy forming inside me.
"… soon, I will rise above them all."