Please Divorce Me, My Emperor

CHAPTER 12

Ironhold Fortress stood like a black tooth against the white slope of the Frostfang Mountains. Its massive stone walls were clad in ice, making them nearly impossible to scale, and heavy catapults lined its ramparts.

For three days, the imperial army besieged the fortress. Snow fell relentlessly, threatening to freeze the army’s siege engines.

"Their main gate is reinforced with ironwood," General Vance reported, pointing a gloved finger at the fortress entrance during an emergency council meeting. "Our battering rams can't break it before their archers rain fire down on us."

"We don't need to break the gate," Aurelia said, stepping up to the map. "Iron hold gets its water supply from a subterranean spring fed by a mountain peak. My engineers found the aqueduct outlet half a mile up the ridge."

Kaelen’s eyes lit up with instant understanding. "If we dam the runoff, the ice pressure inside the mountain channels will burst the rear fortress walls."

"Precisely," Aurelia smiled. "They built a fortress of stone, but forgot they are surrounded by ice."

That night, under the cover of a raging blizzard, Aurelia led a specialized unit of engineers up the mountain ridge to divert the freezing meltwater. Meanwhile, Kaelen commanded the main army below, launching a fiery diversionary bombardment against the front gates to keep the rebel attention fixed forward.

High on the ridge, Aurelia guided her engineers as they hammered massive iron wedges into the stone sluice gates. The heavy roar of trapped, pressurizing water began to echo deep within the mountain rock.

Suddenly, a horn blew through the storm.

A squad of rebel scouts emerged from the whiteout, swords drawn. "Empress!" the squad leader yelled, lunging forward.

Aurelia didn't panic. Drawing her light steel armed sword—the very weapon Kaelen had taught her to wield—she parried a wild s***h, turning her body into a blow and driving her blade smoothly through the attacker's shoulder guard. She kicked him back into the snow as her guards engaged the rest.

Down in the fortress, a deafening c***k echoed across the valley.

The subterranean pressure shattered the rear stone ramparts of Ironhold. A cascade of ice, rock, and water breached the inner courtyard.

"Charge!" Kaelen’s roar resonated through the valley as the imperial heavy cavalry poured through the newly created breach, taking the fortress in a single, decisive hour.

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With Ironhold fallen, the rebel resistance shattered. The rogue lords surrendered one by one, leaving only Lord Malakor—Valerius’s primary military commander—holed up in the remote Keep of the Grey Crags.

As the army prepared to march home, a messenger arrived under a white flag, bearing a letter bearing Malakor’s crest.

To Emperor Kaelen Solar Draconis,

The northern lords admit defeat. Lord Malakor requests a formal surrender at the ancient Peace Shrine of Saint Niven. He asks to yield his sword to the Empress, whose supply lines defeated his army without a single major field battle.

Come with ten honor guards only, as dictated by ancient northern custom.

"It's a trap," Kaelen said coldly, tossing the parchment onto the fire in the newly reclaimed Great Hall of Ironhold.

"Of course it is," Aurelia agreed, pacing the stone floor. "Malakor is cornered. He knows he faces execution for high treason. He has nothing left to lose."

"Then we ignore the summons and starve him out of his crag," Kaelen declared.

"No," Aurelia countered, stopping in front of him. "If we refuse a formal surrender at a holy shrine, the remaining northern houses will view us as ruthless conquerors. They will harbor smoldering resentment for generations. We must go—but we go prepared."

The Peace Shrine was an ancient stone pavilion perched precariously on a narrow mountain ridge, surrounded by sheer drop-offs into deep, snow-filled gorges.

Kaelen and Aurelia rode up the winding path with ten elite dragon guards behind them. Inside the shrine, Lord Malakor stood alone, a bitter smile twisting his weathered face.

"Your Imperial Majesties," Malakor sneered, unbuckling his sword belt. "How gracious of you to accept my... submission."

As Malakor knelt to lay his sword on the altar, a sudden rumble echoed beneath their feet. Heavy iron grates slammed down from the stone arches, trapping Kaelen, Aurelia, and four of their guards inside the pavilion, separating them from the rest of their men outside.

From the surrounding crags, dozens of hidden crossbowmen emerged.

"Did you really think I would die on a scaffold, Kaelen?" Malakor laughed crazily, pulling a concealed dagger from his boot. "If the North cannot be free, it will be the graveyard of the Solar dynasty!"