The sovereign mantle

Chapter 14: The Sovereign’s Mantle

​The Great Map Room of the Northern Citadel usually belonged to heavy boots, clinking steel armor, and the deep, booming voices of grizzled generals arguing over supply lines.

​Today, it belonged to me.

​I stood at the head of the long obsidian war table, leaning forward with both palms flat against the cool stone surface. Over my shoulders hung a heavy mantle of midnight-blue velvet lined with black fox fur, its high collar framing my neck to keep the relentless mountain draft at bay. Beneath the velvet, my silk tunic hung loose yet as I leaned over the maps of the Southern Territories, I felt the unmistakable, firm pressure against the waistband of my trousers.

​The soft, subtle curve was no longer a secret my mind could rationalize away. The child was growing, anchored firmly into my channels.

​The silver rune-bracer on my left wrist hummed with a deep, reassuring pulse. Joss was currently down in the lower courtyard, reviewing the heavy cavalry and shadow-riders before their dawn march across the border. Every time he took a step or raised his voice to command a regiment, a faint wave of his core magic vibrated through the metal band against my pulse, soothing the persistent tightness in my lower back.

​The heavy double doors of the Map Room creaked open, and Commander Seryna stepped inside, accompanied by two high archivists carrying armfuls of freshly unrolled border maps.

​Seryna stopped three paces from the table, bowing her head in a gesture that was no longer forced by Joss’s decree, but earned through cold, hard results.

​"The shadow-legion is fully assembled in the outer courtyard, Master Caskey," Seryna reported, her grey eyes scanning the strategic markers I had placed across the Southern map. "Three thousand heavy cavalry, two hundred shadow-mages, and Lord Way-er’s personal vanguard. We await only the final command to break camp."

​"The vanguard is taking the wrong pass," I said smoothly, not looking up from the map.

​Seryna blinked, a crease appearing between her brows. "The Iron Pass is the fastest route across the border, Master Caskey. It cuts two days off the march to Grandmaster Vane’s primary stronghold."

​"The Iron Pass is a funnel," I corrected, picking up a wooden marker shaped like a raven and sliding it two inches to the west, along a narrow, jagged ridge. "Vane knows it’s the fastest route. If you march three thousand heavy horses through the canyon, his scouts will spot your dust clouds six hours before you cross the border. He will collapse the upper ridges with earth-magic, burying your front ranks and trapping Lord Way-er in a killing box."

​Seryna stepped closer to the table, her eyes narrowing as she examined the terrain lines I had mapped out. "The Western Ridge path is barely wide enough for two horses abreast. It will slow the army down."

​"It will keep the army hidden," I countered, looking up to meet her sharp gaze. "Vane expects a furious, reckless assault from Joss. He expects him to charge down the main road. If Joss takes the ridge path, he arrives at the back gates of Vane’s fortress before the Southern Guild even realizes the Northern Syndicate has left the mountains."

​A low, approving murmur rippled through the archivists behind her.

​Seryna stared at the wooden raven marker on the map for three long seconds before raising her head, a grim smile touching her lips. "You truly do think like a poisoner, Spymaster."

​"I was trained by the worst poisoner in the realm, Commander," I replied coldly. "I know where he places his daggers."

​"A lesson I hope you plan on sharing with the rest of the council," a deep, resonant voice echoed from the doorway.

​Joss walked into the Map Room.

​He was clad in full imperial plate armor, black steel lined with silver runes that pulsed in faint harmony with the bracer on my wrist. A heavy mantle of black bear fur draped over his broad shoulders, and his broadsword, Shadow-Bite, hung sheathed at his hip. He looked like an ancient god of war descended from the northern peaks, terrifying, unyielding, and utterly absolute.

​Seryna and the archivists immediately bowed low. "My Lord."

​"Leave us," Joss commanded flatly, his golden eyes fixed entirely on me from the moment he crossed the threshold.

​The room emptied in seconds. The heavy oak doors clicked shut, locking the two of us inside the quiet, cavernous hall.

​Joss didn't speak immediately. He walked slow, deliberate steps toward the head of the table, the metallic clink of his greaves echoing off the stone walls. When he reached me, he didn't look at the maps. He reached out, his broad, armored hands cupping my face with surprising gentleness, tilting my head up so he could inspect every line of my features.

​"Your cheeks are warm," Joss murmured, his deep voice carrying a low, rough edge. "Did you take the morning potion Edwin left for you?"

​"I drank the entire vial," I said, my voice dropping as my hands instinctively rose to rest against his chest armor. The cold black steel was hard, but the heat beneath it was unmistakably his. "And I just saved your vanguard from marching into a rockslide at the Iron Pass."

​Joss’s lips curved into a faint, dark smile. "I heard. Seryna looked thoroughly humbled when she passed me in the corridor."

​"She’s a good commander," I admitted, my thumb tracing the silver etching on his chest plate. "She just thinks like a soldier. You cannot fight Grandmaster Vane like a soldier, Joss. He has spent thirty years surviving by playing dirty."

​"Which is why I am taking your route," Joss said softly. He slid one armored arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest, while his other hand ungauntleted itself, his warm, bare palm sliding beneath my heavy velvet mantle to rest flat over my stomach.

​The moment his skin touched my tunic, the silver bracer on my wrist flared bright blue, flooding my system with a sudden, powerful surge of his royal magic. Deep inside my lower belly, the child stirred,a soft distinct flutter of magic that answered his touch with undeniable joy.

​Joss’s breath caught violently in his chest. His hand pressed firmer against my stomach, his golden eyes wide with that same raw, terrifying awe I had seen days ago.

​"The baby knows I am leaving," Joss whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

​"The baby knows you are being overly dramatic," I rasped, though my dark eyes softened despite myself as I felt the warmth radiating between our hands. "You are marching south for three weeks, Joss. Not dying."

​"Three weeks is twenty-one days too long to be away from you," Joss growled softly, leaning down until his lips brushed against mine.

​The kiss was slow, heavy, and intoxicating. It tasted of dark wine, cold steel, and an eternal, possessive promise that left my head spinning. My hands slid up past his neck, my fingers tangling in the thick hair at the base of his head, pulling him closer as I surrendered to the dark tide of his magic.

​When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against mine, his heavy chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths.

​"The Citadel is yours while I am gone, Gawin," Joss whispered against my lips, his bare hand remaining pinned to my stomach. "The guards answer to your command. The lower archives are under your seal. If any lord questions your authority while I am across the border..."

​"I will put them in the dungeons you pulled me from," I finished for him, a cold, sharp smirk returning to my face.

​Joss let out a dark, booming laugh that vibrated straight through his armor and into my chest. "That's my Spymaster."

​He slowly pulled back, stepping away from the table and strapping his leather gauntlet back over his hand. He gave me one last, lingering look, his golden eyes burning with a dark, obsessive fire that promised he would tear down the world to return to this room before turning on his heel and marching toward the heavy oak doors.

​"Joss," I called out just as his hand touched the iron latch.

​He stopped, turning his head to look back over his shoulder.

​"Bring me Vane’s ring," I said quietly, my dark eyes flashing with lethal clarity. "I want to break it myself."

​Joss’s cold, handsome face relaxed into a ruthless, beautiful smile.

​"Consider it done, my Sovereign."

​The doors opened and shut with a sharp thud, leaving me alone in the vast Map Room.

​I turned back to the mahogany table, placing my hand flat over my stomach where his touch still lingered. The silver bracer on my wrist hummed steady and strong, a golden thread connecting my heart to the monarch marching south.

​I picked up the charcoal quill, my jaw setting into iron resolve.

​The Lord of the North was going to war. And I was going to make sure his kingdom remained standing when he returned.