Chapter 184: Letter from the Imperial Princess

Roland picked up where his wife left off.

“When you declared yourself as the Arkwright heir in our home, we panicked. The political implications, the danger—we thought only of protecting ourselves and our position. But in doing so, we failed you. Failed the oath our house swore to yours generations ago.”

He met Jaenor’s gaze directly.

“We can’t undo that failure. Can’t change what we did—or didn’t do—that night. But we wanted you to know that we recognize our mistake, that we’ve spent these days trying to find ways to make amends.”

Jaenor studied them both, his Arkwright senses reading the connections and emotions beneath their words. The guilt was genuine. The desire to make things right was real. They’d carried this weight for days, and it had cost them—he could see it in the strain between them, the way their bond showed stress fractures from shared shame.

“I don’t blame you,” Jaenor said quietly, surprising them both.

“That night was chaos. Shitty nobles and cowardly people. You had your own people to protect, your own responsibilities. I never expected you to throw yourselves into danger on my behalf.”

“But we should have,” Viviannah insisted.

“We should have done something. Anything. Instead, we stood aside and let you face it alone.”

The name Arkwright held weight, and it was by no means just a wordplay of the people. It was proven through generations of the bloodline. People have paid a great price for underestimating the Arkwright bloodline, and it was the reason why everyone was being cautious.

Even Mother Supreme didn’t dare go against him even after knowing what he had become.

Information about the Ki’thara clan massacre and the events that followed had spread like gossip, and the noble houses had predicted that once again Arkwright had produced a terrifying heir.

“We came primarily for our own peace of mind, not because Lord Jaenor needed our apologies.” He reached into his coat, withdrawing a sealed letter.

“But we also came because we were asked to deliver this. By someone who couldn’t risk sending it through normal channels.”

He offered the letter to Jaenor.

The seal was unmistakable—the imperial crest, marked with additional symbols that identified it as coming specifically from the imperial family rather than the general imperial administration.

Jaenor took it carefully, noting how the Beaumonts watched him with renewed nervousness.

“Who gave this to you?” he asked.

“An intermediary,” Roland said carefully.

“Someone with connections to the Imperial Court. They knew we had… history with you. They asked if we’d be willing to deliver correspondence, and we agreed. Both as a way to begin making amends and because refusing would have been politically unwise.”

“Politically unwise,” Jaenor repeated.

“Meaning you were afraid of consequences if you said no.”

“Yes,” Roland admitted without trying to soften it.

“Fear still motivates us, I’m afraid. We’re trying to be better, but we’re not heroes.”

At least they were honest about it.

Jaenor broke the seal and unfolded the letter, noting the quality of the paper and the elegant script that covered it.

The handwriting was precise and controlled, each letter formed with care that suggested both education and discipline.

Lord Jaenor Arkwright,

Word of your return to your ancestral seat has reached the Imperial Court with remarkable speed. The arrival of a divine beast in Drakenten is difficult to keep quiet, and your formal acceptance of the Arkwright title has been noted by those who monitor such things.

I am Princess Gwendolen, eldest daughter of Empress Beatrice II. We have not met, though I confess I’ve been following reports of your activities with considerable interest. Your… unique abilities… and the complications they present make you a figure of significant importance in current political landscapes.

I wish to meet with you.

Privately, away from the eyes and ears of those who would use such a meeting for their own purposes. I believe we have common interests, common enemies, and the potential for mutually beneficial cooperation.

Specifically, I’m aware that the Council of Covens—the Mother Supreme in particular—views you as a threat to be eliminated. I also know that you’ve manifested power that makes such elimination increasingly difficult. This creates opportunity.

If you wish to challenge the Coven leadership, to undermine their authority, or even to overthrow the current Mother Supreme, I can provide assistance. Resources, intelligence, political backing—all available, if our interests align.

I make this offer not out of altruism but pragmatism.

The Covens hold too much independent power. They operate outside normal imperial authority, maintaining their own territories and command structures. This has been tolerated because they serve useful purposes, but the current situation presents chances for reformation that may not come again.

A private meeting can be arranged if you’re interested. Reply through the Beaumonts—they’ve agreed to serve as intermediaries, and I trust their discretion more than official channels.

Consider carefully. The forces moving in our realm require alliances between those willing to act rather than merely react. I believe you understand this, or you wouldn’t have returned to claim your birthright.

Princess Gwendolen.

Jaenor read the letter twice, processing the implications.

Then he looked up at the Beaumonts.

“You know what this contains?”

“No,” Roland said immediately.

“We were specifically instructed not to read it. And we didn’t—the seal was intact when we received it and remained so until you broke it just now.”

Jaenor believed him. His senses would have detected deception, and there was none.

“But we can guess the general nature,” Viviannah added quietly.

“The Princess is known for her political acumen. She’s building networks, establishing connections with potential allies outside traditional imperial structures. If she’s reaching out to you, it’s because she sees strategic value in your position.”

“Or because she wants to use me,” Jaenor said flatly.

“Possibly both,” Roland agreed.

“Politics at that level rarely involves pure motives. But that doesn’t mean cooperation is impossible. Sometimes mutual advantage is stronger than friendship.”

Jaenor folded the letter carefully, his mind working through angles and implications. The Beaumonts watched him, waiting to see how he’d respond.

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