CH937 · Rewrite
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Chapter 937: A Stinger

No one in the king’s city had expected to watch something like this.

In a matter of days, a situation that had always existed in murmur and shadow — the tensions between great noble families, the calculations behind closed doors, the slow rot of a weakened crown — had broken into the open air. The Quinn family, which had served the Moya royalty for generations without a public complaint, had turned.

And they had not done it quietly.

Earl Horford Quinn, Prime Minister and veteran of two kings’ reigns, stood in the street and told the city what he knew. Not in private. Not through emissaries. In front of whoever would listen. He described the decline of the City of Glow in careful, evidenced terms — reduced cultivated land in the outer cities, famines in the slums, peasants conscripted into a war they hadn’t survived, a grain supply that was shrinking year by year while the palace expanded its grounds. He had spent a decade managing the domestic affairs of this kingdom. He had the numbers.

The discussions spread faster than any official could trace.

“I heard hundreds starved in the slums last year. Is it true the farmland was seized?”

“The palace expansion — they cleared the outer fields. The earl said the grain reserves keep falling. What happens when winter comes?”

“No wonder prices are up.”

“I heard the peasant armies didn’t come back. Almost none of them.”

“And the prices will rise again?”

“Will we starve this year?”

“Well, do you want to support the earl? He’s promised — if his promises hold — that no one in the City of Glow will go hungry.”

“I didn’t say that!”

The Prime Minister’s words moved through the auction houses and the Black Street taverns and the market stalls with equal speed. A large portion of the population remained skeptical — but skepticism didn’t stop them from paying close attention. Conflict between great nobles and royalty was usually invisible to them. This was not. This was specific and loud and happening in their streets.

A real treason. The word fell away quickly; “fighting for the throne” replaced it in common use. The answer to who would rule the Kingdom of Dawn was being written in public.

Appen was not idle. He sent group after group to stop the earl, and each attempt failed. Quinn’s guard team proved to have advantages no one had anticipated — forty extraordinary warriors fighting with a strength and speed that made numbers irrelevant. The team expanded, somehow, from a dozen to forty, then toward fifty as the city watched. And Horford Quinn announced, in plain terms, his next move: he would advance the frontier line two hundred meters toward the Castle District each day until Appen abdicated or was removed.

That meant five days. Give or take.


In the palace, Appen swept everything off his desk.

“When did I order the seizure of farmland outside the city? That was an investigation my father ordered years ago! And now he blames me for the condition of the suburban towns?” He paced. “It was Roland Wimbledon’s witches who killed those people — not me! I’m not responsible for a single damn acre of it!”

“Your Majesty, please—” The minister and the chief knight both stepped back. “The immediate concern is stopping Quinn’s advance. The nobles are watching for your response.”

Appen ground his teeth. “I should have imprisoned all three of them from the start.” He stopped pacing. “How many men do we have?”

“Fifteen hundred knights, lifeguards, and mercenaries in the palace. Another two thousand servants and maids if needed. The stone wall of the Castle District is manageable — it isn’t as thick as the city walls, but anyone standing on it can kill effectively without training.”

Appen had built the lifeguards in secret, beginning before his father died. They were nearly as capable as knights, armed to the teeth, loyal and cultivated over years. He had been saving them for a later fight — for the confrontation with the scattered lords who had returned from Hermes, for the long settling of accounts. He had not intended to spend them defending his own palace.

“Open the vault. Tell every servant and maids: a hundred gold royals for each monster killed.” He said it without pleasure. “Stop the treason and they’ll get titles and domains. Anyone who already has a title gets an advancement.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

God’s Punishment Warriors were not invulnerable to blades and spears — he had confirmed that from the Pure Witches, years ago. Extraordinary strength did not make something immortal. And numbers mattered. Even the most dangerous warrior could not demolish an entire stone wall by hand.

As for the growing size of Quinn’s force — Appen had a theory. The earl must have hidden reinforcements throughout the city in advance, bringing them out slowly to create the illusion of an endless supply. No one would believe that so many combat-capable warriors had simply appeared in the City of Glow without any prior arrangement. The civilians might believe it. Their beliefs were largely irrelevant.

He turned to the minister. “Has Quinn gotten support from the other great families?”

The minister’s expression became difficult. “It is… rumored that Black Money has opened contact with the earl. The specifics remain unclear—”

“Those greedy wolves.” Appen’s fist closed. “My father let their underground operations become part of the legitimate market. I should have taken their assets years ago.” He knew he was venting at walls. The Black Money organizers were wealthy enough and embedded enough in the city’s commerce that touching them casually would cost more than it gained. A large portion of the Moya fortune had come through those same channels.

“In addition,” the minister said, carefully, “the Tokat family has publicly supported the Quinn family.” He swallowed. “But, Your Majesty, the Luoxi family has refused the earl’s invitation several times.”

The three families my father was so proud of. Two traitors already. The third staying neutral only because his eldest son was still in Appen’s dungeon.

But the son was a weapon.

“Send word to Earl Luoxi.” Appen’s voice went cold. “If he wants to prove his loyalty, he will bring his knights and squires to support the palace — immediately. Otherwise, I will not show mercy toward a rebellious family.”

“At once!”

Four hours later, the message came back: Luoxi would comply.

A small victory. It didn’t warm him. What it gave him was not Luoxi’s forces — those were minor — but the constraint itself: the knowledge that someone Horford Quinn had moved to save was now being held over him. Quinn’s young allies had been close friends with each other. He wondered how far that friendship would push them before it cracked.

A stinger embedded in the heart of the alliance.

The deadline the Prime Minister had announced arrived before he found an answer.

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