Chapter Nineteen
1766 Words
Chapter 19
Not only war waited inside, but politics. And I’d just been thrown into both.
The doors groaned shut behind us, sealing the war council away from the corridor. Lord Raven’s private chambers pressed in like a sanctum of stone and fire. At its center loomed the war table—dark granite fused with obsidian, a raven carved deep into its surface. A ring of sapphire and silver inlay circled the emblem, torchlight catching so it seemed to pulse alive.
Around it stood chairs unlike any throne. Heavy, high-backed, obsidian-framed, built for endurance. Cushioned and contoured, they supported body and mind through hours of counsel. These weren’t ceremonial seats; they were tools of war, meant to keep the Lords sharp when decisions carved the fate of worlds.
Fire from the hearth cast restless light across the table, making the raven ripple as if it breathed with us. The rest of the room lay half in shadow, lit by wall sconces and shifting holographic glow. Maps bloomed into the air, silver lines tracing troop movements, orbital diagrams spinning above us. Ghost-blue silhouettes of ships rotated against the walls, continents unfolding like living parchment. It was Tal’Vel’s paradox made flesh: a Viking fire-ring of warlords gathered by torchlight, surrounded by Stark-tech visions that could unmake a world.
Even here, in the shadow of war, I caught the smallest human detail: more than one Dom had sent for seconds—and sometimes thirds—of Ciara’s honey-dust cakes.
Raven cleared his throat, and the chamber stilled. Submissives slipped to the corner, kneeling on cushions so they wouldn’t touch cold stone. Among them were two figures that drew my eye: Ciara, leash coiled tight in her hand, her body bruised but disciplined, and Gabriella kneeling straight beside her. Gabriella’s stillness was perfect, posture unbroken, yet she radiated an awareness that made it clear she was taking in every word.
“All right,” Raven said, voice low but carrying, “settle in. We begin.”
He let his eyes pass over the table before he spoke again. “The bluff we’ve been running on the House of Vulkarin has been called. I’d hoped for more time to build—new weapons, stronger armor—but that time is gone. What we face now is war. Full-scale. And I can’t stand here and promise we’ll win it.”
The weight of his words sank into the chamber.
Judy entered, moving straight to his side. In her hand was a folded note. No one questioned the breach of protocol. Raven read it, nodded once. “Keep me updated.” She bowed and slipped out.
He raised the note. “From one of our top spies in Vulkarin. Codename Wrong Way. He claims to have the battle plan for Earth.”
A Dom I didn’t know leaned forward, Cajun drawl in his voice. “And this spy—who is he, Lord? How do we know his word’s worth the risk?”
Raven’s gaze fixed on him. “The spy’s real name is on a need-to-know basis, Sir Beauneaux—and you don’t. That’s why we use code names. As for loyalty—remember the bomb found in the new submissive’s quarters last year? We knew to search because of him. Wrong Way has risked his life more times than I’d dare. And if you can’t trust his word, then trust mine.” His tone sharpened. “Or do you challenge that too?”
Beauneaux dipped his head. “No offense meant, Lord. Question asked, answer’s enough.”
Raven dismissed him with a flick of his hand and turned to me. “Wildcard. You’re fresh from Earth. Look at this plan. Tell me what you see.”
He passed the paper to Derek, who slid it to me without reading.
The handwriting was tight, efficient. And the plan was simple—too simple. Detonate a string of nuclear warheads high above Earth’s atmosphere. No fallout. No radiation. Just an electromagnetic pulse so massive it would fry every circuit, every engine, every device.
The chamber shrank around me, as though the walls themselves understood. Even the submissives’ breathing hushed, their bodies perfectly still. Gabriella did not move, her discipline flawless, but I sensed she already knew where this led. Ciara, beside her, clutched her leash tighter, knuckles pale against the dark leather.
I remembered the training briefings from my service. EMP. Lights out, forever. One flash, and Earth would tumble from Wi-Fi to witchfires. Jets, tanks, satellites, phones, hospitals, comms—dead in the water. After that, Vulkarin’s troops would take whatever they wanted.
Seven billion souls. None of them knew. Only this room.
I set the paper down. “My Lord… it’ll work. Better than they think it will.”
Raven’s jaw tightened. “Not the answer I hoped for.”
“Not the one I wanted to give,” I said. “But truth’s truth. One blast in orbit, and Earth’s open for the taking.”
Gabriella’s voice cut soft through the tension, her first words all night. “EMP leaves ground forces intact. Vulkarin would count on it. Fast occupation.”
She fell silent again, eyes lowered, but the weight of her remark lingered.
“Then what are our options?” Sir Nadir asked. “I speak only for my House—but the House of Nadir follows you wherever you lead.”
A chorus of agreement rippled around the table. Raven’s eyes softened for a moment, then hardened again.
“Our choices are few,” he said. “Strike before they strike Earth. Wait and fight them here. Let Earth fall, then counter. Or—if anyone sees a fourth path—I’ll hear it.”
None of those came with dessert.
Beauneaux’s voice broke the quiet, calm and measured. “Sir… you ever think on surrender? Don’ sit easy with me neither. But maybe it keeps the House from burnin’.”
Even the fire seemed to hold its breath.
Raven’s reply was quiet but razor-sharp. “Say that again.”
Beauneaux didn’t flinch. “Vulkarin’s got more of everythin’—men, armor, skyfire. Pride won’t hold the walls. Better half a loaf in peace than none at all. I only raise it ‘cause it’s my duty to put every option on the table.”
Raven’s voice cracked the stillness, low and rumbling. “Respectfully noted. Respectfully refused. We do not bend. Not now. Not ever. Not while I breathe.” He leaned forward, eyes burning. “And what of Earth? Would you toss your birthworld to Vulkarin like table scraps? Would you sell out your kin to save your skin? Earth is blood of our blood. They don’t even know the danger they face. It is our duty to protect them. That’s the oath. And I’ll die on my feet before I watch us crawl.”
The submissives bent lower, foreheads to cushions. Ciara’s shoulders shook faintly, but Gabriella’s hand shifted just enough to steady her, firm and grounding.
Derek’s voice carried from Raven’s side. “And if you do, Lord, you won’t stand alone.”
The room murmured agreement, banners nodding as one. Whatever Beauneaux had said, no one moved.
The Cajun Dom lowered his gaze. “Didn’ mean it as disrespect. Just thought the House should weigh every option.”
“And you have,” Raven said coldly. “But surrender will never be one of them. If any man here feels otherwise, take your banner from my gate tonight.”
No one moved.
Raven exhaled, long and controlled. “Good. We reconvene in an hour. Bring me something better than surrender.”
Chairs scraped stone. The banners rose, filing toward the doors. As I turned to go, Raven’s voice stopped me.
“Wildcard. Stay.”
Of course. The three words every soldier loves to hear.
The chamber emptied. When the last banner had gone, Raven turned back to me. His eyes were rimmed red, face lined with the weight of command.
Derek returned quietly, carrying a chess set cradled in both hands. Obsidian like the table, polished so dark it swallowed the firelight. The pieces were heavy, hand-carved: raven pawns, rider knights, cloaked bishops, kings and queens crowned with the BlackWing crest—every cut deliberate, every surface weighted.
He set it before Raven. The pieces clinked against granite, iron on stone.
“Derek says you play chess,” Raven said.
“With respect, my Lord,” I answered, “Derek tossed me around the board like a rag doll.”
Raven gestured to the set. “White’s yours. Make your move.”
I studied the board. The choice was obvious. “Knight takes Queen.”
“That’ll cost you your knight,” Raven said evenly. “You’re sure?”
I nodded. “Knight’s a fair trade for a Queen. Small loss for major power. My Lord… why chess now?”
The fire cracked, scattering light across the raven crest. The knight gleamed. For a moment I wished it were only a game, not a life. Please, let this just be a metaphor.
But Raven wasn’t talking about wood and stone.
His gaze locked to mine, iron-heavy, unyielding. His voice carried a weight I hadn’t heard before.
“Because I fear I must ask you something dreadful.”
My throat tightened. “Of me, Sir?”
“Yes.” His hand hovered over the knight, not moving, as if even touching it was a burden and his eyes carried grief like a burden too old to name. “You see the meaning already. A knight laid down so a queen may survive. Wildcard…” His voice roughened, sorrow tangled with iron. “I fear I must ask you to be my Knight.”
The words hit harder than any blow. A suicide mission. A sacrifice dressed as honor.
Beside me, Ciara stirred for the first time all night. She gasped, leash trembling in her hand. Her head shook violently, hair falling across her face as she mouthed the plea she dared not voice aloud. No.
Her shoulders quaked, her forehead pressed to the cushion, rebellion hidden. But I felt it in every tremor that traveled the leash into my hand.
Gabriella’s touch found her then—fingers brushing against Ciara’s knuckles, firm, steady. A silent command: breathe. Endure. Hold.
The fire roared, shadows rippling across the raven crest as Raven’s hand lingered on the knight.
“Do you understand?” he asked softly.
Ciara’s plea echoed in me. Gabriella’s steadiness anchored it.
And I did—though every part of me wished I didn't.
- Writer
