Chapter 17 – The Silk and the Snare
Chapter 17 – The Silk and the Snare
The envoy arrived at dusk.
The moment his banner crested the hill, the village began to shift. Doors closed. Windows narrowed to slits. Children were called inside without raised voices — not from fear, but memory. The last time Valaris sent riders, blood followed. And though three months had passed, the silence had not healed. Among the villagers, the sight of crimson cloaks stirred memories no hearth could warm. To them, red did not mean royalty — it meant ruin. Some looked away. Others gripped old blades they hadn't touched since the fires. The air thickened with old dread.
Tension hung in the air, not loud but present — like a string pulled too tight.
His cloak bore the colors of Valaris — deep crimson trimmed with silver — and his boots were too clean for someone who claimed to have crossed the eastern wastes. The horse he rode was fine-bred, its coat polished, its breath unlabored. He did not arrive like a man stepping into danger.
He arrived like someone expecting an audience.
The diplomat's horse slowed as the gates loomed ahead — blackstone and ashwood, standing tall like silent sentinels. No guards moved. No greeting came.
He cleared his throat. "I come under the Duke's seal."
From the shadows above the wall, something shifted. Not steel — but eyes.
A moment passed. Then another. Until finally, with a slow groan of wood and iron, the gates began to part. Not wide. Just enough for him to pass.
And as he entered, he felt it — he was not welcome.