Chapter 4 — The Ruthless Warlord of Blackspire
The name Kael Draven Blackspire was never spoken aloud in House Ashmere.
It lingered instead like smoke after a fire, like a blade left resting against a throat long after the cut had already been made.
Elowen first heard it whispered in the servant corridor.
" the Void King himself," one of the kitchen maids murmured, voice trembling as she scrubbed a pot already worn thin. "They say he slaughtered an entire battalion without lifting his sword."
"That's nothing," another replied, leaning closer. "My cousin served near the border. Said Lord Blackspire walked through magic like it was fog. Spells died before they touched him."
Elowen paused mid step, her hands tightening around the folded linens she carried.
Void King.
The words sent a chill crawling down her spine.
She had heard many names for powerful men lords, generals, heroes. But Void King was not a title given lightly. It was a name born of fear.
"He doesn't take prisoners," a third voice added. "Doesn't negotiate. Doesn't smile."
"Doesn't love," the first maid whispered. "They say his heart stopped beating years ago."
Elowen slipped away before they noticed her, heart pounding far harder than it should have. She told herself it was foolish to listen to rumors. The world was built on exaggerations especially when it came to powerful men who frightened others simply by existing.
And yet…
She had never heard fear sound quite like that before.
By nightfall, the name had reached the dining hall.
Lord Ashmere sat at the head of the long oak table, wine glass in hand, his expression smug in a way Elowen had learned to recognize well. It was the look he wore when he believed fortune favored him and that someone else would pay the price.
Lady Ashmere dabbed her lips delicately with a napkin, her gaze flicking toward Elowen where she stood quietly near the wall.
"Elowen," she said coolly. "You've been listening."
It wasn't a question.
Elowen lowered her eyes. "I hear what I am told, my lady."
A faint smile curved Lady Ashmere's lips. Not kind. Never kind.
"And what have you heard of Lord Blackspire?"
The name settled into the room like a curse.
Maribel, Elowen's half-sister, leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, I've heard plenty. They say he executes his own servants if they displease him."
Lord Ashmere chuckled. "Nonsense. No man rules alone without loyalty."
"Loyalty born of terror," Maribel countered sweetly. Her eyes slid toward Elowen. "Imagine being married to such a man."
Elowen said nothing.
She felt the weight of their gazes pressing down on her, testing, measuring.
Lord Ashmere took a long sip of wine. "Fear is power, Maribel. And power is protection."
Lady Ashmere nodded. "Especially for a border lord."
Maribel frowned slightly. "But Father, surely there are… gentler men. Rich men."
Lord Ashmere's eyes gleamed. "Rich men come and go. Kael Draven Blackspire does not."
Elowen's breath caught.
There it was again.
Not just fear this time but reverence.
"Blackspire guards the northern voidlands," Lord Ashmere continued, voice thick with satisfaction. "No enemy crosses that border. No army marches past his gates."
"Because he destroys them," Lady Ashmere said flatly.
Lord Ashmere smiled wider. "Exactly."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Elowen felt something cold settle in her stomach, a quiet dread she couldn't quite name.
"Leave us," Lady Ashmere said suddenly.
Elowen bowed and retreated, but even as she slipped from the room, she heard Maribel's voice rise.
"You're not suggesting "
The door closed.
That night, Elowen lay awake in the narrow servant's bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling.
Kael Draven Blackspire.
She turned the name over and over in her mind, trying to imagine the man behind the rumors. A warlord. A butcher. A king without mercy.
A man who erased armies.
She had lived her entire life avoiding notice, shrinking herself to survive. The idea of someone so overwhelmingly powerful felt unreal like a story meant to scare children into obedience.
And yet the fear she felt was not childish.
It was instinctive.
Her body knew something her mind did not.
Two days later, the letter arrived.
Elowen was dusting the hall when she heard the front doors slam open. The echo carried through the estate, followed by hurried footsteps and raised voices.
She froze.
Lord Ashmere's laughter rang out loud, triumphant.
"Elowen," Lady Ashmere called sharply.
Elowen straightened immediately and hurried forward, hands folded, eyes lowered.
"Yes, my lady."
Lady Ashmere held a parchment sealed with black wax. The sigil impressed into it was unfamiliar to Elowen angular, sharp, like a clawed crown.
"This," Lady Ashmere said, "is from Blackspire."
Elowen's heart stuttered.
Lord Ashmere stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "Lord Kael has accepted our proposal."
Her pulse roared in her ears.
Proposal.
She swallowed. "Proposal, my lord?"
Maribel laughed softly. "Don't pretend ignorance. You're not that stupid."
Lady Ashmere's grip tightened on the parchment. "Blackspire offers gold, protection, and military support. In return "
She paused.
Elowen waited.
"In return," Lady Ashmere continued, "he requests a wife."
The words struck like a blow.
Elowen's vision blurred for a moment. She felt the floor tilt beneath her feet.
"A… wife," she repeated faintly.
Lord Ashmere nodded. "A political union. Entirely reasonable."
Maribel scoffed. "Reasonable for you."
Lady Ashmere's gaze sharpened. "And for us."
Elowen's fingers curled into her skirts. "My lady… surely Lady Maribel "
Maribel recoiled as if struck. "Absolutely not."
Lord Ashmere waved a dismissive hand. "Maribel's future is more valuable elsewhere."
Silence fell.
Elowen understood then.
The realization settled slowly, painfully, like ice spreading through her veins.
She was expendable.
Lady Ashmere smiled thinly. "You should be grateful, Elowen. A maid marrying a warlord? It's more than you deserve."
Elowen's mouth opened, then closed again. Her thoughts scattered, desperate and useless.
Marriage.
To that man.
Kael Draven Blackspire.
The Void King.
The butcher of armies.
Her knees felt weak. She forced herself to remain standing.
"When…?" she whispered.
Lord Ashmere's eyes gleamed. "Immediately."
That night, Elowen packed in silence.
There was very little to pack.
A spare dress. A ribbon she had once been given and never worn. A small cloth doll she had sewn herself years ago and hidden beneath a loose floorboard.
She held the doll in her hands for a long moment, then tucked it carefully into her bag.
Outside, thunder rolled in the distance.
She stood at the window, staring into the darkness, imagining a fortress of black stone and a man whose power could erase her with a thought.
A husband she had never chosen.
A fate decided by greed.
Her reflection stared back at her thin, pale, eyes too old for her face.
"Be brave," she whispered to herself.
She had survived worse than fear.
But as lightning split the sky, one thought echoed in her mind, unrelenting:
What kind of man demands a woman he has never met?