Chapter 569: Chapter 569: “You’re Going to Be an Uncle”

Balthor’s question lingered in the air, heavy with something that had nothing to do with armies.

Noel leaned back slightly in his chair, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. For once, the answer came without calculation.

“Pretty well,” he said. Then, almost casually, “You’re going to be an uncle, Balthor.”

For a full second, the King of Tharvaldur did not move.

His eyes widened.

His mouth opened.

The mug slipped from his hand and hit the stone floor with a dull crack, ale spreading across the polished surface as he stared at Noel like he had just misheard the world itself.

“…What?”

Before Noel could elaborate, Balthor surged to his feet.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

The next instant, Noel was no longer sitting.

Balthor crossed the distance in two heavy strides and wrapped both arms around him with the kind of force only a dwarf king possessed. Noel felt his boots leave the ground as Balthor lifted him cleanly, shaking him once in sheer disbelief.

“I don’t believe it!” Balthor roared, laughter bursting out of him without restraint. “Tell me you’re not lying!”

“Put me down first,” Noel managed, half-laughing, half-strangled. “You’re crushing me.”

Balthor lowered him but didn’t release him immediately, hands still gripping his shoulders as if confirming he was real.

“Who?” he demanded, grin wide enough to split his beard. “Which one!?”

Noriel had risen as well, the usually reserved strategist failing to hide the warmth in his expression.

Noel adjusted his collar, finally free of the iron embrace.

“Elena,” he began calmly. “Elyra. Charlotte.”

Balthor blinked.

“…What.”

“Three,” Noel finished. “Selene… not yet.”

For a moment, Balthor simply stared at him.

Then he threw his head back and laughed again, louder than before.

“THREE!? I’m getting three nephews or nieces at once!?”

He slapped Noel on the back hard enough to echo against the stone walls.

“Do you know if they’re boys or girls?”

“Not yet,” Noel replied, unable to keep the smile from his face now. “It’s still early.”

The room that had held the weight of gods and war only minutes earlier now felt entirely different. The air was lighter. War could wait a few breaths longer.

In its place stood something far simpler.

Family.

The laughter faded gradually, though the warmth it left behind remained in the room.

Noel watched Balthor for a moment longer, then let a small, knowing smile settle on his face.

“Enough about me,” he said, folding his arms loosely across his chest. “A king has responsibilities too. Including succession. So tell me… how’s your love life?”

Balthor froze mid-motion.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a subtle stillness that didn’t match the energy from a second ago.

Noriel cleared his throat softly, a sound so controlled it almost went unnoticed—almost.

The shift in tone was immediate.

Balthor glanced once toward Noriel, then back to Noel, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“That’s a dangerous direction you’ve chosen, lad.”

Noel shrugged lightly. “You brought up life. I’m just continuing the topic.”

Balthor huffed, running a hand through his beard as he dropped back into his chair. The earlier thunderous laughter had been replaced with something more measured.

“You think ruling a mountain leaves much time for romance?” he muttered, though there was no real irritation behind it.

Noriel finally spoke, voice calm but carrying a pointed edge. “The council has raised the matter more than once.”

Balthor shot him a look.

“They’ve raised it more than once every week,” Noriel corrected evenly.

Noel’s smile widened slightly. “So there is pressure.”

“There is always pressure,” Noriel replied. “A throne without a clear heir invites instability.”

Balthor leaned back, crossing his arms now, the stone chair creaking faintly under his weight. “I have received proposals,” he admitted. “Political matches. Daughters of noble houses. Alliances disguised as affection.”

“And?” Noel asked.

“And I’m not interested in bedding a contract,” Balthor said flatly.

The words hung there, blunt but honest.

Noriel didn’t argue. He simply watched, as if measuring how much of that answer was defiance and how much was truth.

Balthor exhaled slowly, gaze drifting briefly toward the carved wall behind Noel.

“I won’t bring a child into this world because a council demands it,” he continued, quieter now. “Not unless I trust the one standing beside me.”

The quiet after Balthor’s words did not feel fragile. It felt honest.

Noel studied him for a moment. “So you’re not married.”

Balthor snorted softly, one thick finger tapping against the stone table. “If I were married, the entire mountain would know. There would have been a week of drinking and half the capital passed out in the streets.”

Noriel inclined his head slightly. “He is not married. Nor formally engaged.”

“But I have been offered enough daughters to populate a small district,” Balthor added dryly. “Noble houses with carefully trained smiles and perfectly timed curtsies.”

Noel leaned back in his chair. “And you rejected all of them.”

“I rejected contracts,” Balthor corrected. “Not people.”

His gaze sharpened a fraction. “I saw what ambition does to blood. I lived through it. I won’t build my household on that foundation.”

The reference to his brother didn’t need explanation.

Noriel folded his hands together on the table. “The council grows restless,” he said evenly. “Tharvaldur is stable now. Strong. That makes succession more urgent, not less.”

Balthor rolled his shoulders once. “They act as if I’ll crumble into dust tomorrow.”

“You won’t,” Noriel replied calmly. “But time does not ask permission.”

Noel’s eyes flicked between them. “So there’s no one at all?”

Balthor hesitated.

It was brief.

Noriel noticed.

Noel noticed too.

“There is someone,” Noriel said smoothly, just enough amusement slipping into his voice to betray him.

Balthor shot him a warning look. “Careful.”

“A master runesmith from the lower forges,” Noriel continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Brilliant. Stubborn. Refuses to bow lower than necessary.”

Balthor grumbled under his breath. “She doesn’t bow at all.”

Noel’s smile returned, slower this time. “Sounds promising.”

“She argues,” Balthor muttered. “Corrects me. Publicly.”

“And?” Noel pressed.

“And…” Balthor exhaled through his nose, beard shifting slightly with the breath. “She doesn’t care that I’m king.”

Silence lingered for a heartbeat.

Noriel’s gaze softened just slightly. “Which is precisely why the council disapproves.”

Of course they did.

Noel rested his elbow on the arm of his chair. “So what’s stopping you?”

“Politics,” Noriel answered at the same time Balthor said, “Timing.”

They glanced at each other.

Noel shook his head lightly. “What!?”

Balthor pointed a thick finger at him. “Don’t start pushing me too.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Noel replied smoothly. Then his expression shifted, something more mischievous settling into place. “Actually… I was.”

Noriel narrowed his eyes slightly. “I don’t like that tone.”

Noel leaned forward. “You’re both drowning in council pressure and war logistics. When was the last time you left the castle without armor or responsibility attached?”

Neither answered.

“That bad, huh?”

Balthor grunted.

Noel’s smile widened. “Then here’s my proposal. Tonight, you two disappear.”

Noriel blinked once. “Disappear.”

“Yes,” Noel continued calmly. “No guards trailing at ten meters or any other people. Just three men walking into Tharvaldur’s nightlife like we’re not carrying a kingdom on our backs.”

Balthor stared at him.

“You’re suggesting I sneak out of my own castle.”

“I’m suggesting you remind your people you’re still alive,” Noel corrected. “There are festivals here every other week. Forges that stay open all night. Taverns louder than your war council. You think no one would enjoy seeing their king drinking like a normal dwarf?”

Noriel’s lips twitched despite himself. “Security would be a concern.”

“I can handle security,” Noel replied evenly. “Spatial magic. Gravitational control. If something happens, it won’t last long.”

Balthor studied him carefully.

Then, slowly, a grin began to form again beneath the beard.

“You want to cause trouble in my capital.”

“No,” Noel said lightly. “I want you to stop acting like you’re already a statue carved into stone.”

Silence.

Then Balthor let out a low, rumbling chuckle.

“You really don’t fear consequences, do you, lad?”

“Not when they involve beer.”

Noriel looked between them, calculating as always.

Then he exhaled.

“If this happens,” he said carefully, “it will be discreet. And we return before dawn.”

Noel nodded once. “Deal.”

Balthor’s grin sharpened.

“Well then,” he said, rising from his chair with renewed energy. “If I’m going to be an uncle to three brats, I suppose I can allow myself one irresponsible evening before war planning consumes us.”

He looked at Noel directly.

“Tonight, we drink.”

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