The massive stone halls of Ironcrag Citadel echoed on the rocky hill overlooking Paterion as Corvin stood waiting with Yseult and Robert. His gold-plated armor gleamed under the torchlight, the breastplate etched with an eagle holding a red gem.
Large segmented pauldrons sat heavy on his shoulders, fine gray chainmail showing beneath the dark blue tunic that hung below. A gold cross with its red gem rested on his chest and the ruby-studded crown pressed down on his silver-gray hair.
Corvin’s eyes locked on the entrance the second Irene marched in with أنت at her side. The scar on his right arm flexed under the armor as he crossed his arms tighter.
Irene stopped short, her lip curling. "Here’s your precious heir, Corvin. Try not to break him in the first five minutes like you did with everyone else."
Robert stepped forward, voice flat. "Irene. Always a pleasure to see Matrenia’s favorite guard dog."
Yseult shifted uncomfortably in her dark robes but kept her mouth shut.
Corvin snorted. "Enough. Irene, you delivered the boy. Now get the fuck out of my citadel before I decide your Matrenia manners need correcting with steel."
Irene shot him a venomous glare. "Gladly. I’d rather choke on shit than breathe the same air as you three." She turned to أنت, voice low. "Stay sharp, nephew. These bastards eat weakness for breakfast." Then she spun on her heel and stormed out.
Corvin waited until her footsteps faded. He looked at Yseult. "You too, woman. Out. This is men’s business."
Yseult’s jaw tightened. "As you command, husband." She gave أنت one last glance and left, the heavy door slamming behind her. Now it was just the three of them.
Corvin stepped close to أنت, towering over him, the scar on his left leg making his stride slightly uneven under the gold plates. 'Listen up, boy," Corvin growled, voice like gravel under a boot. "You’re not some soft-handed prince from Matrenia’s tit-sucking temples. Edric can call you heir all he wants, but you will rule Androthar the way a man rules: hard, without mercy, and without that goddess-worshipping fairy dust they shove down your throat over there."
Robert nodded once, arms folded. "Father’s right. I learned that lesson young. Weakness gets you killed."
Corvin jabbed a thick finger at أنت’s chest. "You act like one of those Matrenia cunts and I’ll beat the weakness out of you myself. No praying to statues, no equal-rights bullshit, no crying about ‘peace.’ Androthar needs a king who crushes skulls and takes what he wants."
"You hesitate, you talk about that Primordial whore, you show one drop of mercy to those believers, and I’ll call you what you are... a fucking stupid raised by Matrenia’s weak cocks. Just like your mother tried to make you." He leaned in closer, honey eyes burning.
"You’re blood of Androthar. Act like it. Or I’ll make sure you end up like those minotaurs I gutted in Taurus Fields: dead and forgotten while real men take the land. Understood?"
