The study was quiet, save for the steady crackle of firewood in the hearth.
It was the same room where Valen had first awakened bleeding and betrayed, where banners had once split the county in half. Now, the long table was covered in maps of the North, old parchment layered with fresh ink and corrected borders. Steel pins marked houses, alliances, and fault lines driven deep into the wood beneath.
Most banners had already moved.
Some through fear.
Some through calculation.
A few through loyalty remembered too late.
Two remained untouched.
Frostvein.
Blackmoor.
Valen stood over the map, hands braced against the table's edge. His posture was relaxed, but the air around him carried a quiet pressure, like a storm held just out of sight.
Evelynn stood at his side, no longer a prisoner, no longer a shadow wearing another woman's name. Her gaze traced the borderlands between the houses, lingering where supply routes intersected and where the land hid veins of magicstone beneath frozen soil.
"They won't answer," Valen said.
It wasn't a question.
"No," Evelynn replied. "They won't."
She reached out and tapped Frostvein's sigil with one finger. "If this were uncertainty, they would stall. Send envoys. Demand concessions."
Her finger slid to Blackmoor.
"But silence," she continued, "means alignment."
Valen's eyes lifted. "With Morwen?"
Evelynn shook her head slowly. "With the same people who used Morwen."
Her jaw tightened.
"I never met them. Never heard a voice or saw a face. Orders came through intermediaries. Payments arrived through routes that no longer existed by the time you traced them." She paused. "Everything was designed to leave nothing behind."
She met Valen's gaze steadily. "They operate from the shadows and they're still there."
Valen exhaled once, measured.
The civil war had never truly been between brothers.
It had only worn that shape, which Valen was aware of.
"Then inform Frostvein and Blackmoor," Valen said calmly. "They will be given the chance to submit."
Evelynn tilted her head. "Willingly?"
"Yes."
"And if they refuse?"
Valen's gaze returned to the map. His fingers closed slowly around the edge of the table, the wood creaking faintly under the pressure.
"Then I will remind them," he said, voice even, "what happens when the North resists its Count."
Evelynn studied him for a moment.
Then nodded.
No hesitation. No disbelief.
"I'll send the message tonight," she said. "And this time, it will reach them."
Valen straightened.
Outside the window, snow began to fall again soft, relentless.
The North was settling.
And soon, it would be whole.
XXXX
The forest near Arkwright County was restless as shadows moved where they should not have.
Boots touched earth without sound. Cloaks drank moonlight. Steel glimmered briefly, then vanished.
Five figures advanced through the trees.
Assassins.
Professionals.
Their leader raised a hand, signalling halt.
"There," he whispered. "The Count sleeps alone. Confident men always do."
Another chuckled softly. "Average noble. Just got lucky."
They slipped past outer patrols like smoke.
XXXX
Valen slept.
Or appeared to.
The moment the window creaked open, his eyes opened.
A blade flashed toward his throat.
"Die quietly," a voice murmured. "You were never meant to—"
Valen moved.
The blade missed by inches as Valen rolled, his hand snapping out to seize the attacker's wrist. Bone cracked. The assassin screamed once then Valen drove his elbow into the man's throat, crushing it.
The room exploded into motion.
Two more rushed him.
Valen stepped into them.
Steel met flesh. Frost laced his movements not flashy, not wide precise, lethal. One assassin fell with his spine severed. Another died choking on his own blood as ice locked his lungs.
"What—?" someone shouted. "He's faster—!"
Valen seized a dagger mid-air and hurled it.
It struck clean through an eye.
The last assassin turned to flee.
Valen let him.
The leader froze when Valen's voice cut through the room.
"Stop."
The word carried weight.
The man's legs locked.
Valen approached slowly, eyes glowing faintly blue-green in the dark.
"You talk too much," Valen said. "But you'll talk more later."
He struck.
The man collapsed, unconscious.
XXXX
The prison did not wait for dawn.
By the time Valen descended the steps, the screams had already ended.
The man chained at the center of the cell no longer resembled an assassin. Blood matted his hair. One arm hung at an angle it should not. His breathing was shallow, ragged each breath a conscious effort rather than a reflex.
He was alive.
Barely.
Captain Edrik stood near the wall, arms crossed, his expression grim. He straightened the moment Valen entered, instinctive, unthinking.
"My lord," he said.
Valen did not respond.
He stepped into the cell.
The assassin's head lifted weakly at the sound of his boots. One swollen eye focused then widened in raw terror.
"No more," the man croaked. "I told them everything—I swear—"
Valen crouched in front of him.
"You haven't told me," he said calmly.
The tattoo beneath his sleeve stirred.
The air tightened.
The assassin's body went rigid as invisible pressure wrapped around his mind not crushing, not violent, but inescapable. His remaining strength evaporated in an instant.
"Tell me," Valen said, voice low, absolute, "who sent you."
The man's lips trembled. Tears cut clean lines through grime and blood.
"I—I can't—"
Valen's gaze sharpened.
The pressure shifted.
Something inside the assassin broke not bones, not flesh, but resistance itself.
"They're called the Black Veil," he gasped. "Assassins-for-hire. No politics. No loyalty. Just coin. They don't take nobles unless the price is… enormous."
Valen rose slowly.
Behind him, Evelynn inhaled sharply.
"The Black Veil?" she said, disbelief flashing across her face. "That's impossible. Hiring them to kill a ruling Count would bankrupt most houses."
Valen smiled faintly.
"So," he said, "someone is very invested in my death."
He turned back to the broken man.
"You're going to walk out of here," Valen said. "You're going to return to your base. And you're going to deliver a message."
The assassin's head lifted, eyes empty now. Waiting.
"Tell them," Valen continued, "that Arkwright is closed to their knives. If they value their lives, they will never take another contract against me."
The man nodded.
Once.
No fear. No hesitation.
A command accepted.
Valen stepped aside.
"Release him," he said.
Edrik hesitated only a fraction of a second then obeyed.
As the assassin was unchained and led away, Edrik glanced at Valen from the corner of his eye. There was something in his expression now not fear.
Admiration.
Loyalty, deeper than before. Sharper. Instinctive.
He didn't question it.
Didn't even notice it.
Valen turned toward the exit, Evelynn falling into step beside him.
Somewhere far away, in halls built of gold and secrecy, a message would soon arrive.
And when it did
They would understand.
Valen Arkwright was no longer prey.
And the North did not bare its teeth twice.