Chapter 5 Alliance With The Witch-Hunter

ROMAN

The Grand Hall of the Western Dominion was built to remind those who entered it of two things: the authority of the throne, and the impossibility of escaping its reach. I sat upon the stone dais, listening to Lord Cassian detail a dispute regarding the tax tariffs along the southern trade road with the methodical patience that four centuries of ruling had beaten into my bones. To rule pureblood vampires was not an exercise in persuasion; it was a continuous, delicate dance of force, precedent, and restraint.

"The southern covens are delaying their tithes, Your Majesty," Cassian said, his silvered hair catching the torchlight as he bowed his head with deference. "They claim the road is unsafe. They demand our patrols guarantee their carriages before they release the coin."

"The covens pay for protection within our borders, Cassian, not for an escort service to guard their merchant wagons," I replied, my voice carrying clearly through the vaulted chamber without need for elevated volume. "If they cannot secure their own cargo against road thieves, they may double the guard at their own expense. The tariff remains unchanged, and it will be collected by the week’s end."

Cassian bowed again, though the faint tension in his jaw betrayed his dissatisfaction. Before he could retreat to the gallery, Lord Orlov—a younger noble whose ambition far outpaced his wisdom—stepped forward from the line of court attendees.

"Your Majesty," Orlov began, his tone sharp enough to draw the eyes of the gathered court. "If our patrols are to be deployed, surely they ought to be securing our own borders rather than chasing shadows in the lower wards. Word has spread that you have dispatched elite trackers to investigate the disappearance of two low-born guardsmen. Two fledglings, sire. Is it wise to signal to the Coven and the mortal guilds that the Dominion’s ruler is unsettled by the routine squabbles of the lower district?"

The hall grew quiet. It was a subtle challenge, wrapped in the pretense of concern for my reputation.

"Kessler and Rurik were bound to this court by blood oath, Orlov," I said softly, leaning forward slightly, resting my elbows on the armrests. "A breach of our ranks—regardless of the rank of the soldier—is an insult to the crown. I do not tolerate stolen property, nor do I tolerate missing men within my borders."

"Yet the rumors suggest you intend to treat with the hunters," Orlov persisted, taking a bold step closer to the dais. "Or worse, the witches. Our history with their kind is written in the blood of our ancestors. To invite their eyes into our affairs over two missing conscripts invites weakness. It gives the Coven leverage we have denied them since the great treaties were signed."

"You speak of weakness, Lord Orlov, yet you tremble at the thought of a witch looking through our gates," I said, letting a trace of cool amusement edge my words. "The crown does not cede leverage by gathering intelligence. You will concern yourself with your own estates and leave the security of the Dominion to me. You are dismissed."

Orlov’s face flushed with suppressed fury, but he bowed deeply and stepped back into the shadows of the court. He was far from the only noble who shared that sentiment. The court remembered the curses cast by the covens two centuries ago; the institutional distrust of witch-kind was deep, bitter, and carefully nurtured. Crossing that boundary, even for tactical reasons, was a move that cost me political capital I rarely chose to expend.

The double doors at the rear of the hall creaked open, and Varis stepped through, moving with the swift efficiency that made him my most trusted captain. He waited at the edge of the dais until I offered a brief nod, dismissing the remainder of the petitioning nobles with a wave of my hand.

When the hall had cleared, Varis approached the steps. "The patrol reports from the eastern perimeter have arrived, Your Majesty."

"Speak," I commanded.

"It is as you suspected, sire. The disturbance near the river dikes was not a localized brawl. A pack of Gnashers breached the lower storehouses, but their movement was... organized. They did not feed upon the grain or the stray cattle. They struck the warding stones, tested the perimeter guards, and withdrew the moment our soldiers engaged." Varis paused, his dark eyes meeting mine. "They retreated in formation. Like a disciplined vanguard."

I absorbed the report in silence. Grafters killing their hosts in the Hollows; Gnashers maneuvering like trained foot soldiers at the river; two of my own guards vanishing without a trace or a drop of spilled blood. The language of the reports was clear to anyone who understood the mechanics of warfare. This was not a sudden surge of feral demonic activity. It was a reconnaissance operation.

I stood from the throne, stepping down from the dais to pace the hall. The political math was simple, yet unforgiving. To delegate this investigation to my captains would keep my hands clean and appease nobles like Orlov, who demanded we handle our own affairs behind closed doors. But my captains were trained to fight wars between recognized houses, not to decipher the subtle, corrupted arcana of dark magic and rogue demonology.

To solve this before it threatened the stability of the entire Dominion, I required someone who understood the architecture of corrupted wards, someone who moved comfortably in the filthy underbelly of the city where my vampires could not tread without drawing a crowd.

I required the witch.

Estella Alveris had made it abundantly clear during our brief encounter that she viewed my presence in her ward as an intrusion. She was stubborn, sharp-tongued, and entirely unawed by my title or my age. Yet, she had read that corrupted scorch pattern faster than my own trackers, and she had stood her ground against four of my men without so much as a tremor in her posture.

Involving her was a risk. A direct, public alliance with an independent witch—even a licensed hunter—would outrage the traditionalists in my court. It would give my enemies a weapon to wield against my judgment. My predecessors had gone to war with covens for far lesser offenses than allowing a witch to sit across a table from the Vampire King.

Yet, allowing a hidden threat to quietly dismantle my borders from within was a far greater peril than the petty grievances of my court.

"Varis," I said, stopping near the window that overlooked the sprawling, shadowed expanse of the city.

"Sire?"

"Send word to the bookstore on Marchetti Street."

Varis hesitated for a fraction of a second—a rare display of doubt from a man who had executed my orders for three hundred years. "You intend to seek her out directly, Your Majesty? The court will notice your absence."

"Let them notice," I said smoothly. "Inform her that I require a meeting. We will trade what we know regarding these disturbances, and we will do so before another patrol goes missing."

"And if she refuses the summons?"

"She will not refuse," I replied, turning back toward the dim hall. "She is far too thorough to leave an active threat unexamined. Tell her I have information regarding the second property registered under the Denner mark—information her Coven records do not possess."

Varis bowed deeply. "It shall be done at once."

As my captain departed to dispatch the messenger, I remained standing by the window, watching the fog roll off the river and swallow the lower rooftops.

I had forged alliances with hostile warlords, negotiated treaties with deceitful demon lords, and bound treacherous nobles to my service with blood oaths throughout my eight hundred years. I had never needed to justify those decisions to myself. They were practical calculations made for the survival of my kingdom.

Yet as I turned the thought of Estella Alveris over in my mind, I found myself examining the choice with an unfamiliar scrutiny. I told myself it was merely the political cost that made me hesitate, the friction it would cause with men like Orlov. But deep beneath the centuries of ice and political strategy, a smaller, colder thought lingered—a puzzle I could not yet solve.

I had made far harder alliances for far lesser reasons, and I had never felt the strange need to convince myself that this was merely strategy.