Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 2: Iron-clad fists

Note: Pov change!! Heads up to avoid confusion

-------------------

Storms always came with a compassionate silence beforehand.

The anticipation before the fall. The rustle of the tree tops and the darkening of the heavens. The heavy, earthy scent of petrichor, and the chill of a hard breeze, warning of the imminent downpour. Mother nature could be violent, but she was always fair. She always forewarned.

The news of King Ironspear's death settled over Faerie like the quiet before a storm. A chilling crescendo that hushed them all, before chaos broke out. The news had come from none other than Cereas, who had warned them all in a sigil-clad letter delivered to each Kingdom. The human king was dead, and the Kingdoms had to tread carefully. Two days later, and not even someone who lived under a rock could have missed it--war was at their doors.

It had shocked everyone except the inhabitants of the Gerrathean castle. The information had come from them, after all. King Blackthorn had claimed the confidential report came from an unknown source. Elowen, they knew. Why the King had chosen to protect Gerrathea was anyone's guess, but the fact of the matter was, the announcement had been much better received than if Callan had been the one to ring the death knell.

Despite the chaos that had broken out, Aedion had not once glanced at the papers that kept stacking high on his desk or answered the frantic letters from noblemen. His mind was solely focused on one thing and one thing only--Wen.

He paced the span of Callan's study like a caged lion. Back and forth, back and forth. A grandfather clock ticked in the corner, a soft hum that only served to increase his nerves the more time passed.

"I can't see how wearing down Callan's carpets is going to help you," Valren called. "It's only going to get you an earful from Katram. You could spar with me," she suggested, as she'd done for the past hour. "Or, you know, tell us what's going on. Just a suggestion."

Aedion grunted in response.

"Alright, you don't have to tell me. I'll just guess, and you can grunt once for no, and twice for yes."

Silence from Aedion.

"You're upset because... Callan decided to quit the Kingdom and become a fisherman, and now we have to set sail with him."

A single huff of denial.

"So that's not it, alright. Let's see... You've burned yourself on tea again? No, that happens way too often for you to get worked up. Have you accidentally spilt ink all over your drawings again?"

Aedion paused enough to look at her. Val sat on the armchair by the fire, gently clack-clacking away as she knit some sort of creamy pink pattern. She'd been attempting to fill in the silence for a while now, cracking jokes and trying to get Aedion to tell her what was happening.

As he'd done the last thirty times she asked, Aedion simply grunted in response. Very eloquently, he might add. Val sighed and went back to her knitting. She knew she wasn't going to get an answer, but Aedion also knew she was going to keep trying. It was her way of keeping him company while he stewed, something he silently appreciated.

Blaise, on the other hand, was a heavy presence. He sat in front of Val, deadly silent. He was quiet as usual, but this time, it was loaded. Aedion would have prefered for him to crack ill-timed jokes or fish for information like Val, instead of his weighty, disappointed silence.

His pacing continued for an almost eternal period, only to be broken when the doors of the study finally opened, and in walked Callan. If he was surprised to find his courtiers in his personal space, he didn't show it. He met their concerned expressions with his usual unperturbed gaze.