Chapter 98: Chapter Ninety-Eight

She held it between her fingers, a cruel smirk tugging at her lips. "Proof," she murmured, tucking it away.

When she returned to Ian, she would show him. She would let him see that Willa was gone, that his tethered connection had been severed forever. She wanted to watch the light drain from his dark purple eyes.

She straightened, adjusting her stance, before casting a satisfied nod to her remaining soldiers. "We’re done here. The alliance is no more." Her words carried weight, finality. The soldiers who remained nodded, falling into formation as they prepared to leave.

But Peyton’s mind had already shifted to the next step. If she wanted true control, if she wanted Ian at her feet and the tether truly hers, there was only one obstacle left—the King.

"It’s time," she whispered to herself. "Time to make them believe I know where the lost child is." Her smirk deepened.

She had spent years manipulating truths, bending lies to her will. Now, all she had to do was convince the King that the answers he sought had been in her grasp all along.

And once the King was gone, she would reign.

The Council chamber was alive with hushed murmurs as Peyton strode through the doors, her pink eyes glittering with triumphant satisfaction. The scent of battle still lingered in her wake, the remnants of the stronghold’s destruction clinging to her like a trophy. She approached the central table where Dominique and the other Council members sat, dropping into her seat with a smirk.

"It’s done," she announced, her voice dripping with superiority. "The alliance is gone. The stronghold is no more." Some advisors exchanged glances, wary yet intrigued, while Dominique remained unreadable, his red gaze carefully neutral.

"And now," Peyton continued, pulling the strand of Willa’s hair from her pocket and holding it up like proof of her dominance, "it’s time to deal with Ian."

A few advisors stiffened, uncertain where this was leading.

Peyton leaned forward, her voice lowering into something more insidious. "The King still searches for the lost child, the one missing all these years. It’s time we start pretending we know exactly where that child is. It’s time we make him believe that Ian is his son."

"Once he believes, he’ll turn his attention away from us. And when the time is right, I’ll ensure Ian belongs to me alone."

Dominique clenched his jaw, the weight of her deception settling into his thoughts. The Council, despite their concerns, knew better than to challenge Peyton outright. And so, her plan was set in motion.

Far from the ruins Peyton believed she had created, the alliance moved through the dense forest, slipping into their new temporary refuge. Their injuries were real, their exhaustion tangible, but they had survived.

Tiffani led the final group into the fortified cavern, ensuring that every person made it through without detection. Emma and Karen worked swiftly to tend to the wounded, their magic already soothing cuts and burns from battle.

Willa leaned against the cavern wall, her purple eyes scanning the faces of those who had made it. Ollie stood beside her, his presence steady despite the weight of everything they had endured.

"We did it," he murmured, exhaling softly. Willa nodded, though her focus remained sharp. "We bought ourselves time. But Peyton won’t stop. She’ll think she’s won, but she’ll keep reaching for more."

Aldric stepped forward, his silver gaze narrowing. "Then we take the next step. We rebuild, we strengthen, and when the time comes, we strike back."

A hum of agreement passed through the group. They had suffered, yes—but they had not been defeated. The tether still pulsed within them, stronger than ever. The alliance would rise again. And when they did, Peyton would learn the truth.

Her victory was nothing but an illusion.

The Council chamber was tense, thick with the weight of their next move. They had waited years—decades—for this moment, maneuvering in the shadows, orchestrating secrets, ensuring their grip over the kingdoms remained absolute. And now, it was time to bring the King to his knees.

A delegation of advisors, each carefully selected, moved through the grand halls of the palace, their steps measured, their expressions grim. When they entered the throne room, the King sat at his place of power, his emerald eyes sharp as they took in the gathered figures before him. One of the lead advisors stepped forward, bowing deeply before delivering the news they had crafted with precision.

"Your Majesty," he began, his tone deliberately measured. "We bring grave news—news that touches the deepest wounds of your past." The King narrowed his gaze. "Speak plainly."

The advisor straightened, exhaling before delivering the blow. "Your son—your lost child—he lives."

The words struck with quiet force, and the chamber seemed to shrink under the weight of them. The King’s breath caught, his emerald eyes darkening as shock flickered through them. "What did you say?"

Another advisor stepped in, carefully adding layers to the deception. "We have reason to believe he was taken, hidden beyond your reach. His existence has been buried for years, but now, signs point to his survival. The truth has been concealed, but we… we can help you uncover it."

The King’s hands clenched, his pulse hammering as memories surfaced—memories of grief, of the day his child was stolen, of the decades of empty searches and unanswered prayers.

"Where is he?" The question was sharp, dangerously edged with desperation. The advisors exchanged practiced glances, ensuring the moment unraveled just as planned.

"He is within reach," the lead advisor murmured. "But delicate matters surround his existence. We must move carefully, Your Majesty. We must reclaim him with discretion."

The King’s breath was uneven, his mind racing. For the first time in decades, hope flared—dangerous, reckless hope. And the Council watched, satisfied, as the spiral began.

The throne room was silent except for the King’s sharp, uneven breaths. His emerald eyes burned with desperate resolve, his grip tightening on the armrest of his throne.

"Tell me everything," he ordered, his voice low but thunderous.

The Council members exchanged calculated glances, ensuring the deception unfolded precisely as intended. The lead advisor stepped forward once more, his expression appropriately solemn.

"We have spent years searching, tracing fragments of hidden truths," he began smoothly. "And while much was obscured, one certainty remains: your son was stolen, taken beyond the reach of your kingdom." The King’s jaw clenched. "By whom?"