"Show your faces," Edric ordered, his voice slicing sharply across the heavy hush.
Hood by hood, the hoods were dropped. Gasps echoed from the periphery of the tent. Not nameless vagabonds or desperate mercenaries, these were Moonstone’s best. A battalion commander from the border regions. Two members of the Moonstone royal staff. Lords who governed eastern municipalities, whose reach extended to the end of the kingdom. Faces that were supposed to be only in the halls of Moonstone power, not here under Vellore’s king’s tent.
Garry’s eyes narrowed, then raised again, more slowly, as if measuring the worth of each man in front of him. "You bring me high-value guests, Edric."
"They’re yours now," Edric replied bluntly.
The ten men stood at attention, their stances poised between defiance and surrender. A few exchanged Garry’s look for only a moment before glancing away. They knew the price of this decision. To stand here was to renounce their allegiance to Moonstone—and to wager their futures on the Duke of Starlight’s honor. The vow was made plain: when Moonstone fell, Garry would set Edric upon its throne, and those who stood with him now would be rewarded beyond their dreams. Those who did not... their fates were already sealed, their blood already spilled upon the earth.
Garry motioned the others aside with a hasty flip of his hand. "We will talk later. For now, sit, my friend."
Edric nodded, his smile weak. "Lead on."
Garry led him to a low, padded chair in the middle of the tent, the kind reserved for guests of honor—or threats. Spiced wine hung in the air as Garry poured two mugs, his movements slow, as if each movement had significance. He handed one to Edric, and smiled like a man greeting a trusted friend, not an enemy.
Now—tell me," Garry said, his voice low and smooth. "What are your king’s plans?"
Edric’s lips twisted in a dry, almost mocking smile. "That idiot? He’s still doing nothing—just making his own soldiers die."
"Good," Garry said without a pause. "That means we can keep pushing until Moonstone breaks completely.
Their gaze met for a heartbeat, as keen as honed steel. And then they clinked their cups, the soft sound of metal ringing on metal in the thick silence, and drank together—two sworn adversaries drinking wine as if they’d been comrades forever.
Behind them, the ten men who had trailed Edric stirred in their chairs. They comprised ambition, desperation, and greed, tied to him for motives that had very little to do with loyalty. Some had seen him butcher forty rebels one night, the blood still wet on the earth when he presented the rest with an option—kneel or be killed. Only the ten had knelt.
Sitting back in his chair, Garry looked over his shoulder at them. "Will they be reliable? One loose mouth could destroy us."
"They are sworn by blood oath," Edric replied suavely. "They won’t betray us."
Garry’s grin widened, the kind that didn’t reach the eyes. "As I had hoped of you.
They drank again, huddling closer together, their words falling to a whisper as they talked of the morn’s unveiling. By sunrise, every man and woman in Moonstone would know Edric as Vellore’s partner—and as the one who would take its throne. They mapped out each moment in frigid calculation: who would be killed, who would be broken, and how to strike so that the foe would have no time to draw breath.
Standing guard around them were Garry’s men and Edric’s ten hooded attendants, motionless as statues, their faces inscrutable, as if any whisper of breath might break the taut cord of partnership being woven in that tent. The only noise was the soft gurgle of wine pouring into cups. Their tones fell lower, their words trailing off into controlled, near-intimate cadences.
Finally, Garry settled back and lazily flipped his hand. "Enjoy my gift. The three women await you in your tent."
"I will this night," Edric said, his voice soothing, nigh warm. "And on the morrow... let the Starlight Duke blaze bright. Then, side by side, we will ride straight into Moonstone’s heart."
"And then," Garry said, with a narrow smile, "the land will be ours."
Their palms pressed into a tight handshake—two predators sealing a bargain neither would honor. Edric’s smile hung a beat too long, Garry’s lips curving in response. Then they released one another. Edric spun around, his cloak rippling with the movement, and disappeared into the darkness. His ten men waited a heartbeat before falling into place behind him, silent as shadows.
When the flap of the tent dropped shut, Garry’s face blackened. The grin leached from his lips, hardening into something cruel and vicious. His eyes flashed like metal on the anvil.
One of his generals hunched forward, voice low. "Your Majesty... why have faith in this traitor? If he betrayed his own king, he may betray you also."
"I know that well enough," Garry whispered, his voice smooth as silk and deadly. "But I want him—for the nonce. When this land is mine, when I’ve squeezed from him every ounce of utility he has to offer, I’ll slay him myself. There’s no room in my court for a serpent such as he. But first, he will serve me to take it all."
The general tilted his head. The rest of Garry’s men around the table exchanged knowing glances, some allowing the hint of small smiles to spread across their faces. Garry’s own smirk slowly came back, twisting at the corners until it was nearly pleasant once more.
"Order in another dancer," he finally said, reclining with an air of indulgence. "I still plan on having my fun this evening.
One of his captains stood up at once. "Yes, Your Majesty." With a smart bow, he departed the tent to retrieve new entertainment.
Outside, Edric’s pace was slow as he divided the camp, the moonlight glinting off the hem of his cloak. Whatever heat had kissed his voice before was now absent; his face was stone. His men grouped off one by one, silent orders sending them into the darkness to assume positions within Moonstone lands.
He understood Garry’s true nature—sweet words on the tongue, poison in the blood. He was not deceived about their partnership. The man would betray him the moment Moonstone fell. But Edric’s own schemes were as deep-seated: Leon’s killing, Nova in his hands to make his bride, and a crown on his head. Until then, politics required a smile. When the game was up, there was only one king to be left.
That was the reason he strode without a trace of fear through Garry’s encampment—because Garry would not have the courage to touch him until his task was completed.
His mind cleared as he approached the entrance to his personal tent. Two guards stood at stiff attention. Edric waved them away with a sweep of his hand. "You may go."
They bowed and backed away, leaving him by himself. He took a slow, deep breath before pushing back the flap and entering.
Warm air closed around him, heavy with the strong scent of perfume. Lantern light bathed the room in gold, catching on the glow of skin on the bed. Three women awaited him there—completely naked, eyes blurred by wine and lust. The gentle light drew the contours of their hips, the rise of their breasts, the subtle sway of their bodies as they moved toward him. Their lips parted slightly, eyes half-closed, dark with purpose.
They were flesh made temptation.
Edric’s breath slowed, deepened, each breath filling with the fire they bore. Saying nothing, he rolled his shoulders back and let his cloak fall free, the heavy wool spilling across the ground in a pool of darkness. His eyes never left hers as he covered the ground—each step unhastened, measured, the subtle dominance in his pace answered by the slight, treacherous curve of his mouth.
The initial giggle shattered the silence when he reached them—soft and breathless, almost nervous. Fingers found him immediately: one palm pressing against his chest, feeling the constant throb beneath, another hand sliding up the jawline, tracing it as if memorizing it.
Edric’s response was silent. A rumble, primal and low, came from his throat as he caught them both, moving them back until the mattress hit their bodies. Air between them shattered into heat and motion—laughter giving way to gasps, gasps dissolving into breathless sighs. His hands wandered with confident, taking possession intent; his mouth followed, savoring skin that grew hotter with each caress.
The tent was its own universe—full of the rustle of sheets moving against bodies that tossed and turned, the combined sound of subdued moans and suppressed laughter. Out there, the war persisted. In here, there was the heat of their affair and the gradual, agonizing sinking into a night that was theirs alone.