Chapter 180: I will make the Arkwright’s great again

Jaenor remained on the balcony a moment longer, breathing in the last of the quiet morning. He could already hear footsteps gathering in the halls below. Murmurs. The stirring of a house awakening to something long awaited.

And then he stepped away from the balcony, ready to face whatever awaited in the great hall.

–

By evening, representatives from the three major houses had arrived at Arkwright House.

Word of Jaenor’s return had spread through the duchy with remarkable speed—helped considerably by the fact that a two-hundred-foot divine beast was seen in the estate grounds and visible to most of the townspeople.

People were talking about nothing else.

The meeting was held in the estate’s council chamber—a large room on the second floor with a round table that could seat twenty. The walls were covered with tapestries showing Arkwright history, and weapons from previous generations hung in places of honor.

Jaenor sat at the head of the table, with Emmanuelle to his right and Morgana to his left. His other companions had been given quarters to rest and clean up, but Morgana had insisted on being present—both as his aunt and as someone with experience navigating political situations.

The three houses sent their current leaders.

Lord Casimir Danarry entered first. He was perhaps fifty, with grey-streaked dark hair and a solid build that suggested he’d been a warrior in his youth. He wore practical clothing marked with his house sigil—a thornbush wrapped around a tower. He greeted Jaenor with a bow that showed respect but not subservience.

“My lord Arkwright. House Danarry has served your family for eight generations. We hold the eastern marches, managing the border with the mountain territories. Whatever you need, you have but to ask.”

His sincerity was obvious. Jaenor returned the bow.

“Thank you, Mister Danarry. Your family’s loyalty means more than I can express.”

Next came Lady Seraphine Curnow, perhaps forty, with sharp features and intelligent eyes that constantly evaluated everything. She was beautiful in a severe way, with blonde hair cut short and clothing that favored function over fashion. Her house sigil showed waves beneath a crescent moon.

“House Curnow controls the southern river lands,” she said, her voice crisp and businesslike. “We manage trade routes and maintain the naval defenses that protect this duchy from waterborne threats. We’re pleased to see an Arkwright return, though naturally we’ll be watching to see what kind of leader you become.”

There was challenge in that statement, but also honesty. Jaenor appreciated it more than empty flattery.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Lady Curnow. Judge me by my actions, not my bloodline.”

She smiled slightly—approval for the response, if nothing else.

The final representative entered, and immediately the atmosphere in the room shifted.

She was in her mid-thirties, tall and powerfully built, with the kind of presence that commanded attention without effort. Her hair was auburn, worn long and loose, and her eyes were a striking amber color that seemed to glow in certain light. She dressed practically but well—leather and cloth suitable for travel or combat, with her house sigil embroidered on her cloak. The sigil showed a wolf’s head above crossed spears.

This was Lady Corvina Wolfhart, and she radiated skepticism.

She stopped at the table but didn’t sit, choosing instead to stand and study Jaenor with undisguised assessment.

When she spoke, her voice carried authority and barely concealed doubt.

“So. A boy appears on a big beast and claims to be the lost Arkwright heir. How convenient. How perfectly timed, just when demon armies gather and the realm destabilizes.”

The room went silent.

Lord Danarry looked uncomfortable. Curnow’s expression became carefully neutral.

Emma’s face hardened, clearly displeased by the direct challenge.

But Jaenor simply met Corvina’s gaze steadily.

“You doubt my identity.”

“I doubt convenience,” Corvina corrected.

“As far as I know, my lord and lady were killed that night, along with their child, sadly. We didn’t even know that you existed until a few days ago. You may be an imposter who sees opportunity in chaos. Showing up with some beast proves you have power—not that you’re who you claim to be.”

Morgana stood up and said in a very controlled voice; she wanted to shout at her, but she chose the neutral tone.

“It is not some beast. It’s a divine beast that had linked up with the Arkwrights for years. You may not be aware of it, but your ancestors will know of it.”

“But they are not standing here; I am.”

“What would convince you?” Jaenor asked calmly.

“Proof,” Corvina said immediately.

“Not words or spectacle, but actual proof of bloodline. The Arkwrights carry certain genetic markers, specific abilities that manifest in true heirs. Show me those, and I’ll bend the knee. Until then, you’re just another powerful individual making claims.”

Emma started to object, but Jaenor raised a hand, stopping her.

“Lady Wolfhart raises valid concerns. Trust shouldn’t be given blindly, especially in times like these.”

He stood, moving around the table to stand directly before Corvina.

“What proof would satisfy you?”

Corvina studied him carefully, then seemed to make a decision.

“The Arkwright bloodline carries a curse, but it also carries a gift. True heirs can perceive the bonds between living things—see the connections that tie people together. It’s subtle, not flashy, but it’s distinctive. No one else has it.”

She crossed her arms.

“If you’re truly our lord’s son, you should be able to tell me something about myself that you couldn’t know otherwise. Something that proves you’re seeing with Arkwright senses rather than making lucky guesses.”

Jaenor considered this. The ability she described wasn’t something he’d consciously used, but he could feel it now—a subtle sense of the connections between everyone in this room. How Emma’s loyalty to the Arkwright legacy was absolute but tinged with exhaustion. How Danarry’s respect was genuine but built on historical obligation rather than personal connection. How Curnow was calculating political advantages while genuinely hoping he’d prove competent.

And Corvina herself…

He focused on her, really looking beyond the physical into the patterns his merged senses could perceive.

“You’re bound by an oath,” he said quietly.

“Not to my family specifically, but to someone who served my family. Your father, I think. He swore absolute loyalty to my father, and when he died, you inherited that oath. But you’ve never met him, never knew him personally, so the oath feels abstract to you. You honor it because that’s who you are, but you question whether it still applies when the person you swore to protect is gone.”

Corvina’s expression flickered—surprise, quickly masked.

Jaenor continued, the words coming as he perceived deeper truths.

“And you’re angry. Not at me specifically, but at the situation. House Wolfhart has bled defending this duchy while the actual Arkwright heir was absent. Your people have died in skirmishes and in demon attacks, protecting lands that weren’t technically theirs to protect. You’ve done it because of that inherited oath, but part of you resents having to do someone else’s duty.”

He met her amber eyes directly.

“And underneath all of that, you’re afraid. Not of threats external, but that you’ve wasted your life honoring an oath to a family that abandoned their responsibilities. That your father’s loyalty was misplaced, and by extension, yours is too.”

Complete silence filled the chamber.

Corvina stared at him, and for a moment her carefully maintained mask cracked. He’d seen her, really seen her, in ways that went beyond surface observation.

Finally, she spoke, and her voice was rougher than before.

“My father died holding the northern pass against a demon incursion fifteen years ago. His last words were, ’For Arkwright.’ He died believing his oath mattered, his sacrifice would mean something.”

She took a breath, steadying herself.

“I’ve carried that weight ever since. Wondering if he was right, or if he died for nothing.”

Jaenor’s expression softened.

“He was right. You both were. Loyalty matters, especially when it’s hard. Especially when the object of that loyalty doesn’t seem to deserve it. Your father’s sacrifice, your service—they kept this duchy alive. They gave me something to return to. That means everything.”

“I respect your father and am thankful that he kept his promise to the house even though it led him to his death.”

“All of you,” Jaenor began, stepping forward as the hall fell into a hush. His voice echoed from marble to banner, steady at first, then building like a rising storm.

“I know why you came. You came in hope. You came in need. You came because you wanted someone—anyone—to stand as salvation after all these years of silence.”

Faces lifted. Hope trembled in their eyes.

“I won’t pretend I understand everything you’ve endured,” he continued, his gaze sweeping across the kneeling crowd.

“But I do understand loss. I understand being robbed of what should have been mine. And I swear—on my blood, on my name, on everything House Arkwright once stood for—I will make sure no one puts you through that again.”

Emma’s breath hitched. Morgana’s expression sharpened with fierce pride.

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