The Game, Pt. 1

The air in the manor had been heavy the past week, and for good reason.

The deaths of an entire convoy weighed on everyone’s minds.

Some had tried to rationalize it.

· There was no way to patrol the roads while also defending the estate.

· The traditionalist demons argued the couple should have been able to defend themselves. They were royalty, weren’t they? From demonkin states, no less.

· They were in the middle of nowhere. It happened too fast, too quickly.

And thank the gods for that.

Because if there had been even a moment of delay, if the convoy had made it closer to the capital before its destruction…

The noble houses would have already made their move. An immediate play for Highcliff.

But none of that changed the truth.

This happened on their land. And it sent one message loud and clear. The Blac’hils did not have an iron grip on the region—not anymore. Kael’s bloodright was thinning by the day.

And worse—there were threats lurking within Highcliff capable of besting some of the most vigilant warriors known to man.

The Lycans should have smelled it coming.

She idly noted the mounting pile of letters she had to sift through, before turning back to her ailing mind.

The past week, Kael had been nowhere to be seen. Probably investigating this incident alongside his council. Without her.

She hadn't heard a word from him since Pauline’s foolhardy and fool-hearty move.

Worst still, she didn’t know if she could even talk to him. She would have trust issues if someone did that to her.

She sighed, rubbing at her temple before turning her attention back to the scattered letters across the desk.

The pile of survey responses she’d been reviewing all morning only added to the weight in her chest.

What can be improved?

Some concerns were practical.

"Bridges need reinforcement before winter. Storms are getting worse."
"We need better pathways up the cliffs. Not everyone is built like a goat."

Others were… personal. Or just flat-out wrong and mean-spirited. Well, who wouldn't be?

"Demonkin get too much priority in government contracts."
"Humans shouldn’t have to ‘prove themselves’ just to live in their own homeland."
"No one cares about our gods anymore. The Basin is changing, and we’re being erased."

And then, of course, there were the more direct complaints.

"We need more patrols at night—especially near the market."
"Highcliff used to be safer before all these ‘progressive policies’."
"I don’t trust the Count. I don’t care how much his wife smiles for the people."

Her jaw tightened. Argh, this was no use. She will form up action plans to deal with the more practical stuff later. She just can't keep her mind of him.

Five years was a long time for anyone to become emotionally invested.

Elisa couldn’t remember Kael ever slighting her. Not in the way a demon husband could. Surely, if he had been a monster, he would have used those five years to break her down. But that wasn’t the kind of man he had been.

And that only made her angrier.

Because when it had all come to a head, when Pauline had confronted them with the truth—

Kael hadn’t defended himself.

Played it like a game, like he was asking for it. But never got truly angry.

And then, the following morning, it was back to business-as-usual between them. Like you could forgive such an act within eight hours.

She wanted him to yell at her, curse her name, break something—anything.

She wanted him to be furious, to demand answers, to lash out like she deserved.

She wanted to watch him shatter. To whimper after he slapped her across the cheek for all she did to him in a fit of rage, before crumpling under the realization of what he'd done.

Gods, Elisa. Down, girl.

That night, she saw it—the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers curled too tightly into his sleeves.

And then, just for a second—his composure cracked.

His head dipped forward, a sharp inhale—

And when he exhaled, his breath shook. By the gods, the air in his breath was warm.

…

She was sick in the head.

She loved the toxicity. She realizes this now.

Maybe that was why she had stuck around for five years. Maybe that was why Kael never let her go. Why she had not let him go.

They pushed, they pulled, they bled each other dry with their words, and somehow, it never ended. Never knowing who had the upper hand, never knowing when a fight would turn into something else entirely. Every conversation in the past three weeks felt like a duel, every argument a battlefield, and she reveled in it.

Kael never bent first. She hated it. And loved it.

Maybe that was what had drawn her in—the way he always met her where she was, never higher, never lower. They clashed because neither of them could stand the thought of losing. And yet, he always let her stay.

Maybe, just maybe—the Count loved the challenge.

It had been a game. A game she had played willingly, because it was easier that way.

But it wasn’t just her life anymore.

Pauline had almost died for this.

And for her to have gotten to that point, to have thrown herself off that balcony, screaming betrayal—

Her past self had ignored this for too long.

Or maybe…

Maybe she had known. She just hadn’t wanted to accept it.

So she took the easy way out. Perhaps it was her inner devil talking but… what were the odds of a conspirator in this castle aware of her Blade.

And now, there was no easy way left.

Elisa stood from her study, her chair scraping against the stone floor as she rose.

Her eyes remained locked onto the map of Highcliff stretched across her desk. One filled with color.

The forests and their cliffs and mountains. The rivers cutting through the land like scars. The paths where rebellions festered, where war had never truly left.

Her fingers traced a worn crease in the parchment.

She was ready for something she had avoided for too long.

It was time to stop playing pretend. 

And... as with all things, they started at home.

\\

"We need to have a talk."

The war room was surprisingly cavernous from the sounds of it.

Kael didn’t look at her.

Instead, he let out a long, slow sigh, fingers tapping idly against the table as if the grain of the wood was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

"I suppose we do."

She wasn’t fooled. "Honestly, I’ve been avoiding this for too long."

A dry chuckle. "No argument there."

"You’ve been avoiding it too."

Kael motioned as if brushing away a gnat. "Avoiding is such a strong word. More like... strategically delaying. For everyone's sake."

Elisa cleared her throat, glancing at the massive war map pinned to the wall, as if the shifting battle lines might somehow offer her an escape.

Kael did the same, his fingers tracing the rim of his goblet, completely disinterested in drinking from it. Eventually, Kael sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, I assume this is strategically awkward too."

Kael huffed. "Lords, it really is."

He tapped his fingers against the table again. "So, we could just… not."

Elisa rolled her shoulders. "Tell me, dear. What have you been doing the past week?"

Kael tilted his head, eyes finally flicking toward hers.

"Inconveniencing people, mostly."

Elisa raised a brow. "Elaborate."

Kael exhaled, stretching his fingers over the table as if recounting a tedious list of tasks.

"After the debacle your friend is still in a coma for, I’ve requested reinforcements from our more stable neighbors—the Dominion, for instance. They were surprisingly sympathetic. The Lamias and some Lycan nations too. Probably because we share a ‘Tainted’ bloodline."

He shrugged, like diplomacy was just another day’s chore.

"What else?"

He gestured vaguely.

"More revenue rolling in from the Basin, financing construction efforts, making sure it’s equipped to reproduce magicka in the future."

His expression flattened slightly. "Then there’s that damn bridge. Two months planning, two gathering resources… and finally, it’s getting done. Cuts travel time in half over the Basin."

Elisa snorted. "The forest gods will hate that."

"Well, they seem content to house terrorists too, so I’d say the goalposts need to be moved along a little."

"Aren’t you worried the rebels might try and blow it up?"

Kael waved a hand. "If they were, they’d have a hell of a time trying. The security detail is formidable—not in small part due to your scouting, mind you. And Legion has been invaluable. Knowledge, labor, connections—you name it. Did you know Amalgamations don’t even need to sleep? They take shifts in their hivemind, resting different parts of themselves at a time, so they never truly shut down."

"Of course. The Concordant’s experiments are infamous here."

"They’re bringing more of their kind," Kael added, almost amused. "Apparently, the work contracts and patronage the Blac’hils provide are far more enticing than what other nations offer. We pay them what they’re actually owed."

His smirk widened.

"Unlike some."

The silence that soon stretched seemed too much to bear for the Count. 

Kael finally set his drink down, tilting his head.

“Honey, you look like you are mad. You are giving me that signature pout and I don’t like it.

It was deflection. All of it. Every sentence needs to come with an assurance that it wasn’t a bother to him. That he was above it, and in the position to banter everything away.

It was so easy to slip back into the cycle of deflective bantering and saying sweet nothings to each other. She even caught herself smirking during his impassioned speech. 

She was done indulging in his chocolate tongue.

"We need to talk about our marriage."

He started. "Wu... wuh?"