Chains Of The Heart のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

The air in the room tightened—thick, metallic, like a blade being drawn.Nathan didn’t need to raise his voice; the shift happened in his spine, in his eyes. One heartbeat he was calmly talking about how amazing Lady Sereia was—next heartbeat he was Lord Nathaniel, heir of Cross, the commander who had survived Vitale courts and lived to sneer about it.“Lock the gates,” Nathan said calmly.Ivy's breath stuttered, then steadied, matching his.“Seal the western road first,” he continued, already moving. “Southern scouts favor fast routes. They’ll test us there before committing. Double the watchtowers. I want crossbows manned, not stored. Anyone without orders does not move.”Within seconds Ivy was issuing sharp orders to the guards as if a string had been yanked. The hall erupted—boots striking stone, armor rattling, messengers sprinting. Cross men snapped into formation with a fear-born reverence; no one questioned Nathan’s command, not with that look on his face, cold as a frostbite

Nathan was mid-sentence—talking to Ivy about increasing archers—when a messenger burst into the room, panting.“My lord—Lord Nathaniel! Word from Mercer lands—The King marches toward Lady Sereia’s borders. She’s refusing him passage.”Nathan froze.Then—A slow, wickedly impressed smile touched his mouth.“Of course she is,” he murmured. “That woman is made of steel.”Ivy arched a brow. “You sound a little too pleased.”“She outplayed the barons and the Vitale army at the same time,” Nathan said, rubbing his jaw. “Tell me that’s not impressive. She’s practically daring Damian to challenge her.”Ivy snorted. “He might.”“Oh, he absolutely will.” Nathan sighed. “Unfortunately.”He turned back to the map. “If Damian cannot pass through her territory, he will either try to negotiate—unlikely—or he’ll swing wide toward the forest route, which will delay him by three days. Either way…”He tapped Emery’s position on the map.“…we’re alone for the next seventy-two hours.”Ivy nodded grimly. “

Alistair reached the Mercer estate with blood on his boots and firelight flickering behind him like a second, living shadow.The inner courtyard was chaos—messengers shouting, servants running, wounded men dragged across stone slick with rain and ash. And at the center of it all stood Lady Sereia Mercer, spine straight as a blade, issuing commands with cold precision while the world burned around her.“Mother,” Alistair said, voice sharp enough to cut steel. “Stop.”Her head snapped toward him.“What did you just say?”“I said stop,” he repeated, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “Call them back. All of them. Now.”The courtyard went silent.Sereia’s fury flared instantly. “You do not give me orders, Alistair. Not here. Not ever.”He didn’t flinch.“This is not the time for ego,” he snapped, words raw and unfiltered. “This is not about pride, or territory, or who bends first. Damian Vitale has gone feral. If you don’t withdraw now, there will be no Mercer line left to defend. No sons. No

The Vitale army was already in motion when the message reached Alistair.The king was leaving.Alistair didn’t bother with ceremony. He grabbed his cloak, Cassian already at his side, and together they moved quickly through the Mercer grounds—past torn earth, trampled banners, the quiet aftermath of a storm that had decided not to finish the world today.They reached the outer field just as Damian swung up onto his horse.Up close, the king looked… emptied. Not weak—never that—but scraped raw, like something essential had been burned down to bone. His armor was cleaned, his posture perfect, yet the violence still clung to him in the way smoke clings to hair.A few words were exchanged. Formal. Necessary. Thin.Damian turned once, only once, his gaze drifting back toward the Mercer estate.Alistair noticed.“He’s finally asleep,” Alistair said quietly.Damian nodded. No relief crossed his face—but something in his shoulders eased, just a fraction. Enough.Then he turned away, and that

Damian pushed his plate aside first.Not because he was full—Vitales didn’t get full, they got functional—but because the thought had finally settled, heavy and immovable.“I’ll be leaving soon,” he said.Nathan blinked. Just once. “Soon as in… soon soon?”“Yes.”Nathan leaned back in his chair, arms crossing. Suspicion sharpened his voice. “Why?”Damian didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the grain of the table like it might argue back. Then, calmly—too calmly—“I have matters to attend to.”Nathan scoffed. “That’s not an answer either. You’re on a roll today.”Damian exhaled through his nose, the faintest sign of patience thinning. “The council, for one. They’ll want blood or reassurance. Possibly both. I have to face them.”Nathan nodded slowly, then tilted his head. “And?”“And,” Damian continued, “there’s a task I gave Lucian. One that needs my oversight.”Nathan frowned now. “What kind of task?”Damian finally looked up at him.“The people who died in the collapse beneath th