Drexo did not answer immediately. The corridor felt narrower than it should. The walls are closer. The air was heavier.
Friya's words did not echo, yet they stayed. Hanging between them like something alive.
Then he laughed. Not loud. Not amused. Just sharp. "So this is it," he said, his voice low. "A threat."
Friya did not flinch. She stood where she was, her chin lifted slightly, her eyes locked on his. "If that is what you choose to call it," she replied.
Drexo took a slow step forward. "You come into my city," he said, his tone tightening, "you interrupt my council, you lay hands on me, and now you threaten me."
Another step. "And you expect me to bow?" Friya's lips curved faintly. Not into a smile. Something colder.
"I expect you to remember who made you strong enough to sit on that throne."
The words struck harder than any blade. Drexo stopped moving. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he turned away, running a hand through his hair, his breath coming out slower than before.
"You think I do not know that?" he muttered. Friya watched him carefully. He faced her again, his eyes darker now. "I know what your family has done," he said. "I know what your father commands. I know how much of this army answers to Ashford."
His jaw tightened. "But do not mistake that for weakness." Friya took a step closer. "Then prove it," she said quietly. The challenge sat between them.
Drexo's fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to say something. Something sharp. Something final.
But nothing came. Because deep down, beneath the pride and the anger, there was something else.
Truth, and it burned.
Friya studied his silence.
Then she nodded slowly, as if confirming something to herself. "I did not come here to argue with you," she said, her tone shifting slightly. Less fire. More control.
"I came here to remind you of your place." Drexo let out a short breath. "My place?" he repeated.
"Yes."
She stepped closer again, until the distance between them was barely anything. "You are a king," she said. "Not a boy chasing desire in the forest."
The words landed, and were clean. Drexo's gaze flickered for a second. Just a second.
Then hardened again. "You speak as if you understand what this is," he said.
Friya tilted her head slightly. "I understand enough."
"No," Drexo shook his head. "You do not." His voice dropped. "What I have with Maria, you cannot reduce it to some childish indulgence."
Friya's expression didn't change. "That is exactly what it is," she replied.
Drexo laughed again. This time, it was bitter. "You really believe that?"
"I do."
Silence.
The kind that presses. Then Drexo stepped forward suddenly, his eyes blazing. "I love her."
The words came out without hesitation this time. Firm, and clear.
Unshaken.
Friya did not move. Did not react the way he expected.
Instead, she nodded once. "I know." That threw him just slightly. "But that changes nothing," she added.
Drexo stared at her. "How can you stand there," he said slowly, "and speak like this?"
Friya exhaled softly. "Because I am not here to compete with her for your heart."
That made him pause. "I am here," she continued, "to claim what is mine by oath."
Her voice did not rise. It didn't need to. "You swore yourself to me," she said. "Before your gods. Before your people."
Each word felt deliberate. "And I am here to collect that promise."
Drexo looked away again. For a moment, his shoulders dropped slightly. The weight of it all pressing in.
Maria. Friya. The throne. The war.
Everything tangled. He let out a breath.."This is not how I imagined things would go," he muttered.
Friya watched him carefully. "Life rarely follows imagination," she said. He looked back at her. "And what if I refuse?" he asked again.
This time, his voice was quieter. But steadier. Friya did not answer immediately. She took a step back. Gave him space. Then she spoke.
"Then you will stand alone."
No anger. No hesitation. Just certainty. "You will fight your war without Ashford," she continued. "Without our ships. Without our men."
She paused.
"And when Robert comes for you, you will not have enough to stop him."
Drexo's chest tightened. He knew it. He hated that he knew it. His fingers curled slowly into fists again. "You think I cannot win without you?"
Friya held his gaze. "I think you will bleed trying."
Silence again.
Longer this time. He turned slightly, looking down the corridor, as if expecting an answer to appear from the empty space.
None came.
Friya stepped forward one last time. Her hand lifted slightly, but this time she did not touch him. "You have six weeks," she said. Her voice was softer now. Almost calm.
"Six weeks to decide what matters more." Drexo did not respond. "You can keep chasing what you feel," she went on, "or you can become what you are meant to be."
Her eyes searched his. For something.
Anything.
But his face remained hard. Unreadable.
She nodded once. Then turned. Her steps echoed lightly against the stone floor as she walked away.
But she stopped midway. Without turning back. "And when the time comes," she added, "I will not ask again."
Then she continued walking. And this time, she did not stop.
Drexo remained where he was. Still, and silent. The corridor felt empty now. Too empty. His chest rose and fell slowly.
Then he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly.
Maria's face flashed through his mind. Then Friya's words followed. Sharp, and unforgiving.
He opened his eyes again. The fire in them hadn't gone. But something else had crept in. Something quieter. Something heavier.
A choice. And for the first time, he wasn't sure which path would cost him more.