Chapter 173: The Empress’ lost love

“After attacking the seat of Coven power, survival seems optimistic.”

“Pride promised support,” Maude said.

“Inside help, additional forces. If he delivers on that, we have a chance.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Katerina asked.

Silence answered her.

They returned to the carriage and continued their journey, each lost in their own thoughts. They’d crossed a line today, committed to an action that would brand them as traitors and enemies. There would be no forgiveness if they failed, and questionable mercy even if they succeeded.

But they’d made their choice.

For power, for ambition, for the promise of something greater than what the current order offered.

Now they’d see if that choice led to triumph or destruction.

–

While traitors plotted and storms gathered, Mother Supreme Wendelina walked through a garden that shouldn’t exist.

It appeared in the middle of nowhere—literally.

She’d used a portal that opened from her private chambers in the Silver Spire, stepping through into a space that occupied no normal geography. The portal closed behind her, leaving her surrounded by impossible beauty.

The garden was perhaps an acre in size, enclosed by walls of living hedge that rose twenty feet high. Flowers of every variety bloomed simultaneously, defying seasons and natural growing patterns. Trees bore fruit that had no names in mortal languages. Water flowed through carefully designed channels, creating music as it moved.

And the sky overhead was wrong.

Not day or night, but something between—a perpetual twilight that provided perfect light without harsh sun or concealing darkness.

This was a meeting place known to very few. A neutral ground created by those with power far beyond mortal capability, maintained for conversations that required absolute privacy.

Wendelina walked the garden’s central path, following it toward the heart of the space. Her steps were measured, her posture perfect despite the exhaustion she felt.

This meeting was too important for weakness.

The path opened into a circular clearing. At its center stood a table of white marble, perfectly round, with three chairs arranged around it.

Two were already occupied.

Wendelina’s heart clenched despite her preparation. Seeing Beatrice always affected her, even after all these years.

Empress Beatrice II sat in one chair with the poise and authority that came from decades of rule. She appeared to be in her late fifties or early sixties, though like Wendelina, her true age was greater. Her face showed lines earned through hard decisions and heavy responsibilities, but remained striking. Her hair, once dark, was now silver-grey, worn in an elaborate style that befitted her station. Her eyes were deep brown and missed nothing.

She wore relatively simple clothing for this meeting—a dress of deep purple without excessive decoration, though the quality of the fabric and the precision of its tailoring spoke of imperial resources. A single piece of jewelry adorned her—a ring that bore the imperial seal, marking her authority beyond question.

Beside her sat Princess Baelyna, the Empress’s daughter and heir.

She was in her late twenties, with her mother’s sharp features and intelligent eyes. Her hair was dark brown, worn long and loose—a rare concession to informality. She dressed simply as well, in practical clothing that suggested she’d rather be training or studying than attending formal functions. But her bearing was unmistakably royal, and her gaze held the same keen assessment her mother possessed.

Both of them looked at Wendelina as she approached, and complex emotions flickered across faces that normally showed only what their owners chose to reveal.

“Your Majesty,” Wendelina said, bowing appropriately to the Empress.

“Princess.”

“Mother Supreme,” Beatrice replied, her voice carrying the weight of authority but also something softer—old familiarity, carefully controlled.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Wendelina said, moving to the third chair but not yet sitting.

“This garden—I hadn’t expected such a venue.”

“Privacy seemed paramount,” Beatrice explained.

“What we need to discuss cannot risk being overheard. This space was created specifically to ensure absolute confidentiality.”

She gestured to the empty chair.

“Please, sit. We have much to discuss.”

Wendelina sat, and for a moment, all three women simply looked at each other. So much history between them, so many years and decisions and paths diverged.

Finally, Baelyna spoke, her voice clear and direct.

“My mother tells me you two were lovers once. Before duty pulled you apart.”

Wendelina’s eyes widened slightly—that was considerably more direct than she’d expected. She glanced at Beatrice, who met her gaze steadily.

“I told her,” Beatrice confirmed.

“Some conversations require complete honesty. This is one of them.”

Wendelina took a breath, gathering herself.

“We were,” she admitted.

“Many years ago. Before she became Empress, before I became Mother Supreme. We were young and believed anything was possible.”

“And then reality intervened,” Beatrice said quietly.

“I had imperial duty. The succession, the throne, responsibilities I couldn’t abandon. And you had the Covens, your own destiny waiting.”

“So we made our choices,” Wendelina finished.

“Put duty ahead of personal desire. As we were trained to do.”

“Do you regret it?” Baelyna asked bluntly.

Both older women considered that question carefully.

“Yes,” Beatrice said finally.

“And no. Regret suggests I’d change my decisions if given the chance. But I wouldn’t—couldn’t. The throne required me, and I’ve tried to serve it well. But that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes wonder what might have been.”

She looked at Wendelina, and for just a moment, the Empress’s carefully maintained mask slipped, revealing genuine feeling beneath.

Wendelina’s response was equally honest.

“I regret the loss. The relationship we might have had. But I don’t regret my service to the Covens or the work I’ve done. We both chose paths that mattered, that made difference in this realm. That has value, even if it came at personal cost.”

“But the feelings never entirely faded,” Beatrice said softly.

“Did they?”

“No,” Wendelina admitted.

“They didn’t.”

Silence fell, heavy with emotion and old grief.

Baelyna finally broke it, her pragmatic nature asserting itself.

“I bring this up not to cause pain, but to establish understanding. What we’re about to discuss requires trust. Complete, absolute trust. And trust is built on honesty, even uncomfortable honesty.”

She leaned forward, her expression becoming serious.

“The realm is on the brink of catastrophe. All of our intelligence suggests coordinated threats on multiple fronts. Demon legions mobilizing. Internal betrayals are being compelled. Forces moving that we can’t fully see or understand. And at the center of all of it—changes in the fundamental nature of power itself.”

“I can’t even say what the people of the empire are thinking right now. There is complete chaos in the empire, and demons are gaining a large momentum.”

Wendelina nodded slowly. This matched what she’d been seeing, what the Ascended being had warned about.

“The boy,” she said.

“Jaenor Arkwright. His transformation represents something unprecedented.”

“He does,” Beatrice agreed. She heard the reports of the boy declaring himself in a small county in front of all those nobles, and she was also aware of the incident that happened in the temple in the deep west forest.

“But he’s also just a symptom. A visible manifestation of deeper changes occurring. The boy had broken past the barrier between the aura and origin energies, and he had made himself a beacon. The divisions imposed after the Separation are breaking down. We’re entering a new era, and none of us know what it will look like.”

She gestured, and origin energy formed into shapes above the table—images representing the realm, showing movements of forces, areas of concern.

“What we need,” Beatrice continued, “is coordination. The Empire, the Covens, independent powers like the major noble houses—all of us working together rather than competing or undermining each other.”

“You’re proposing an alliance,” Wendelina said.

Even though the empire was a strong entity, it still couldn’t overpower the Council of Covenants. The council was like a powerful entity with lots of powerful witches.

“A formal one.”

“I’m proposing survival,” Beatrice corrected.

“Whatever’s coming will test us all. If we face it divided, we’ll fall. If we face it united, we have a chance.”

Baelyna added her own perspective.

“It’s a war of the centuries, the war for survival.”

“I’ve been studying the historical records. The last time aura and origin forces truly merged, during the era before the Separation, the resulting war nearly destroyed civilization. But it wasn’t the merger itself that caused the destruction—it was the refusal of different factions to work together. Pride, territoriality, and the belief that one’s own power was supreme. That’s what led to catastrophe.”

She met Wendelina’s eyes directly.

“We have an opportunity to avoid repeating that mistake. To build cooperation now, before crisis forces it on us. But it requires people in positions of authority—people like you, like my mother—being willing to set aside old divisions.”

Wendelina considered this carefully. Everything they were saying made sense. The threats were real, the need for unity obvious.

But old habits die hard.

The Covens had maintained independence for centuries and had resisted imperial authority specifically to preserve their autonomy. A formal alliance would mean compromises, shared decision-making, and limits on her own authority.

And yet.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep