Chapter 677: History Sent A Raven

DRAKENFELL — BELLATRIX’S PARLOR - ONE DAY LATER

Onyx’s gold eyes were wide open, every trace of fake sleep abandoned. His small body was rigid in the queen’s lap, his wings pressed tight, his tail wrapped around her forearm. The dragon was terrified and the terror was aimed at the eastern sky.

Avalon, who had been dozing on his cushion near Petra, lifted his head. His silver eyes locked on something out the window. A low, rattling hiss left his throat that Petra had never heard and never wanted to hear again.

"My son has scared these poor babies with that schedule, Petra. Look at them."

"They do seem stressed, Your Majesty," Petra agreed.

Bellatrix gave Onyx a flat look. "My son doesn’t come in this Parlor. Neither does my husband. This is a safe space."

Petra poured the wine. The pouring was the only thing keeping her face professional. The words "safe space" coming from Bellatrix Drakenfell was a new development and also slightly funny.

"You are very progressive, Your Grace."

"I know."

"Shall I light the calming candle, Your Grace?"

"Yes. Safety requires atmosphere."

The baby dragons exchanged a look that said they were happy with the arrangement. But that wasn’t what they had both sensed.

There was something wrong that neither of them could name but both felt.

✦✦✦

DRAKENFELL — DRAGON TRAINING FIELD

A raven cut across the training field at speed.

It circled once, banked, and dropped a sealed letter at Tiberon Drakenfell’s boots.

Gavriel’s head turned the second the letter hit the dirt. The green Fae magic in his body pulsed once, low, a single flare behind his ribs. That was wrong.

"Don’t touch that, Alpha. There’s something off with that," he called to Tiberon as he closed the distance. "I feel it."

"You feel it," Tiberon repeated.

Gavriel didn’t hesitate. "Yes, Alpha."

Tiberon looked at Gavriel for a full three seconds.

This was not his Gamma making a suggestion or the Gamma who cracked jokes and deflected tension. This version had his feet planted and his chin forward and his eyes burning at a frequency that said I am certain.

"Your Fae magic?"

"Yes, Alpha."

"You are on borrowed time with Hyran Thornfell. Keep saying things like that and there will be nothing I can do," Tiberon said flatly.

Gavriel’s mouth opened, then closed. He didn’t understand that statement. But the letter in front of Tiberon’s boots felt more urgent. His eyes landed on the wax seal.

Emerald green. Stamped with a crest that every person on this field would recognize and none of them would like.

"Viremont."

"Yes. Hyran is coming to scan it."

A portal opened on the field before Tiberon finished his sentence.

Hyran Thornfell ran through, hands already glowing gold before he reached the letter. He knelt. Scanned the parchment. Scanned it again.

His hands paused on the third scan.

"That’s not something I’ve seen in twenty years." He looked up at Tiberon. "No dark magic. But it’s a blood seal."

"Blood seal?" Gavriel asked, brows knit.

"The sender had to use his own blood to seal it. It will only dissolve for the intended person," Hyran replied as he picked it up and turned it over. "Addressed to Tiberon Drakenfell."

He held it out to Tiberon.

The blood seal dissolved the second Tiberon touched it, the wax softening and absorbing into the parchment like it had never existed, leaving clean edges and an open fold.

Gavriel watched Tiberon’s eyes scan the letter. His face was moving in calculation. He knew that look.

"It’s a formal parley request. Signed by Reginald Viremont. Ironveil Pass. One hour," Tiberon said after a moment.

"The one-hour window is telling," Hyran commented. "That is a man who cannot wait, which means whatever he knows has a clock on it and the clock is running."

"Prepare a security detail. I will attend under the standard protections."

Gavriel’s blood ran cold.

"Tell me you’re not going." He already knew the answer. He could see it in Tiberon’s posture, in the way the letter had already been folded and pocketed, in the way the king’s shoulders had shifted from receiving information to acting on it. The decision was made. Gavriel was talking to a wall that had already moved.

"Parley under blood seal is sacred under the old laws," Tiberon stated. "I will honor the protocol. What I will not honor is the man behind it. Reginald Viremont is a wanted criminal who slithered back to a crown he forfeited and is conspiring with the Emperor to kill my daughter-in-law."

"I don’t trust it," Gavriel insisted.

"You have made that clear."

"I’m making it clearer. This is Reginald Viremont. That blood seal is meant to show good will. He stopped caring about sacred laws the day he betrayed the packs of Skardos."

Tiberon’s eyes landed on him. The look was measured. Patient. The look of a king whose Gamma had earned the right to speak but whose speaking was reaching its shelf life for this particular topic.

Gavriel’s throat was dry. He swallowed once.

"Wars end in one of three ways, Gavriel. Victory, surrender, or a parley where the losing side pretends surrender is something else. Reginald just chose the third. The blood seal tells me he means it. The one hour tells me he cannot afford to wait," Tiberon stated. "That is my final decision."

Tiberon turned his back and walked. Hyran followed.

Gavriel stood on the training field and watched them go. The two most important strategists in Drakenfell were in alignment on this. The logic Tiberon used sounded like the logic another king had used in a past life. A king whom Gavriel had watched get murdered on a field under false parley. General Willow’s forces attacked Aelindris while their king died.

That might have been a past life and thousands of years ago, but every part of Gavriel Sterling knew this was history trying to repeat. Viremont or the High Emperor or whoever was behind that was going to kill Tiberon and they were going to attack Drakenfell. Gavriel knew it the way he knew his own heartbeat.

His legs moved before his rank could stop them. Alpha speed. In a blur, he was across the field. He planted himself in front of Tiberon so fast Hyran’s hand flared gold on reflex.

"Alpha, your decision is wrong."