Chapter 85: A good deal

Chapter 85: A good deal
The biting chill of the early morning wind whipped across the Askari plains, carrying the sharp scent of pine and dry earth. The Dragon King rode ahead of the main hunting party, his massive black stallion navigating the rocky terrain with practiced ease. Behind him, the rhythmic thud of hooves signaled the approach of a single rider breaking away from the rest of the vanguard.

Ikarion didn't need to turn around to know it was Jarek. The scarred general pushed his mount forward until he was riding parallel to the King, his posture stiff, his face carved in stone.

For a long stretch, the only sound between them was the crunch of hooves and the wind.

"You handled the situation with my sister poorly yesterday," Jarek finally said, his voice a low, simmering growl that barely carried over the wind. "I am disappointed, Ikarion."

The Dragon King kept his golden eyes fixed on the horizon, his jaw locking. "You cannot possibly believe your sister was innocent in all of this, Jarek. She clearly provoked it."

"My sister isn't a saint," Jarek shot back, his grip tightening on his leather reins. "But she didn't deserve to be mauled by a feral wolf in the middle of our own camp."

"The wolf protected its master," Ikarion replied coolly. "And you have nothing to worry about. Misarya took care of Maya's wounds herself. Her flesh will knit back together."

Jarek let out a bitter, scoffing laugh. "How easily our Alirak bows to his foreign wife and her foreign magic..."

Ikarion slowly pulled back on his reins, bringing his stallion to a complete halt. Jarek’s horse stopped a few paces ahead, the general turning in his saddle to face the King. The air between the two men instantly plummeted to freezing.

"Do we have a problem, Jarek?" Ikarion asked, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet register.

Jarek didn't flinch. He had bled for Ikarion too many times to cower now. "I fought for you," Jarek stated, his chest heaving. "I bent my knee to a Riven-blood bastard when my own father refused, and I brought my entire tribe under your banner. And you are surprised that I'm pissed you couldn't protect my family from that valley witch?"

"I suggest you be very careful with your words right now," Ikarion warned, his golden eyes flashing with a lethal promise. "You wanted me to marry your sister to secure your family's place. I said no. You should have just accepted it."

"My sister deserved to be Queen!" Jarek snapped, his frustration boiling over. "She is of Askari blood! She knows our ways! She deserved that crown way more than the valley girl you dragged out of a fucking castle!"

"I don't like your sister," Ikarion stated flatly, stripping away the political courtesy. "And if you wanted her to marry me, you should have come up with a better plan than letting her disrespect and question the authority of my favorite girl. Halendarian or not, Misarya is the Queen. I suggest you focus on more important shit than my marriage, Jarek. Like your miraculously pregnant wife."

Jarek’s eyes darkened, the mention of his own wife striking a nerve. He leaned forward in the saddle, delivering the lowest, most calculated blow he could muster.

"Well," Jarek sneered. "You're right. My wife is pregnant. Unlike yours..."

Ikarion’s blood ran cold. "What did you say?"

"You're obsessed with your Halendarian Queen, I get it," Jarek continued, completely unyielding. "She is pretty. She has those beautiful violet eyes and everything. But so far, Ikarion, her womb remains empty."

The Dragon King's hand instinctively drifted toward the hilt of his star-forged blade. "We haven't been married for that long."

"For a King, it has been more than long enough," Jarek countered, his tone shifting from angry to brutally pragmatic. "All I'm trying to say is that I haven't heard of a single Alirak who has one, single wife. Sure, many chieftains have a favorite. I can easily believe that many choose to be faithful to one. But marriage isn't just about who warms your bed; it is about strengthening your political power. And you are wasting yours on a fake alliance with a kingdom that has absolutely nothing to offer us."

Ikarion stared at him, the harsh, undeniable reality of Askari politics hanging between them.

"Halen-Dar has nothing for you, Ikarion," Jarek pressed, his voice thick with the urgency of a looming war. "They won't fight for you. They won't bleed for you. You gave a valley master's teenage daughter an Askari crown... For nothing. And all you do is blame me for pointing that out. I'm no King, Ikarion. I could always afford to marry one barren woman. But sooner or later, you will have to make a choice. A very difficult one as it seems."

The silence that followed was deafening. The Warlord inside Ikarion knew Jarek was speaking the brutal, necessary truth of their people. But the man who loved Misarya-lir wanted to tear Jarek’s tongue from his mouth.

Ikarion let out a slow, controlled breath, tightening his grip on the reins.

"You are a good friend, Jarek," Ikarion said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "And I do not wish to hear a single word about this matter ever again."

Jarek stared at his King for a long moment, recognizing the absolute finality in the command. With a stiff nod, he averted his eyes. "Of course, my King."

Jarek spurred his horse forward, rejoining the hunting party in the distance, leaving the Dragon King alone in the biting wind.

Ikarion sat motionless on his stallion, his mind racing. He hated to admit it, but he wondered if Jarek was right. It was true—the greatest aliraks of history mostly had several wives, concubines, sex slaves, and even lovers. To command multiple women and produce a sprawling lineage was the ultimate display of Askari power and virility.

It was also a massive political headache that Ikarion had never particularly craved. He had never sought to be known for his gold or the number of women in his furs; he just wanted to show the plains he was capable of being a good, strong leader, capable of uniting tribes tribes that have been fighting for generations. But a dark, ambitious part of him did want to relish in that power as well. That was partly why it had been so incredibly easy to accept Master Loran's treaty in the first place: the prospect of a beautiful, high-born Halendarian bride to lay by his side and carry his heirs had sounded like the perfect, triumphant deal for a bastard King.

But things had changed. The valley girl was no longer just a treaty to him.

They fell in love.

After hearing Jarek's harsh words, all Ikarion could think about was the devastating reality of his options. His crown demanded an heir. The generals expected political alliances. But if he took a second wife now, or accepted an Askari concubine to appease his men... It would completely shatter Misarya's heart to pieces.

"What you must do to finish your conquest shall break her heart beyond all repair."