The creaking of the ship, the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull, the endless expanse of the Blue Sea – these had been Hugh's companions for the past two months. Two months since he and Lysandra had left the shores of Numbia, two months closer to home, two months closer to confronting the man who had stolen his father's throne and plunged Carlradon into darkness.

  "How do we confront Alaric without an army?" Hugh asked, his voice barely a whisper above the howling wind.

  Lysandra, her gaze fixed on the horizon, replied, "What is an army of men when you wield the power of gods?"

  Hugh frowned, confused by her cryptic words. "We will not immediately confront Alaric," she continued, her voice softening. "There are things you must understand, Hugh, truths about your family, about the history of Carlradon."

  She turned to him, her eyes filled with a deep sadness. "You were six years old when I took you from your bed that morning, when we fled Carlradon and crossed the Blue Sea to Numbia. You have never asked me why."

  Hugh looked at her, his brow furrowed. "Perhaps I am more interested in why you went through all this to ensure my safety," he replied, his voice laced with gratitude.

  Lysandra smiled sadly. "One day, Hugh, I will tell you why I did what I did. But for now, you must learn more about the history of your family, about the legacy that flows through your veins."

  Meanwhile, back in Medina, the air filled with tension. Alaric Thalor had summoned the great houses for their annual meeting, but this year, the atmosphere was different. This year, Alaric's ambition was no longer a hidden secret; it was a roaring flame, threatening to consume the fragile peace that had existed for the past sixteen years.

  Alaric, his eyes gleaming with the intoxicating power of the blood magic, addressed the assembled governors. "The time has come," he declared, his voice resonating through the chamber, "to unite the six kingdoms once more, to forge a single, powerful realm under one banner."

  His words were met with a mixture of shock and apprehension. Theo Hildegard, Governor of Velostria, and Valerius Goldwyn, Governor of Taus, were the first to object.

  "Are you mad, Alaric?" Theo hissed, her voice laced with disbelief. "Sixteen years ago, we took a risk, a necessary risk, to rid ourselves of the Sigmund tyranny. Are you suggesting we return to that?"Valerius nodded in agreement. "The people of Taus will not tolerate another king, another tyrant ruling over them."

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  Wilfred Basil, Governor of Arion and brother of the High Priest, rose to Alaric's defense. "We must be united," he argued, his voice laced with urgency. "Hugh Sigmund is still out there. Should he return to Carlradon, should he attempt to claim his birthright, we must stand as one to face him."

  His words struck a chord with Valerius and Theo. The thought of Hugh, a potential rallying point for rebellion, was a chilling prospect. They reluctantly agreed to support Alaric's plan.

  "But who would be our king?" Willem Tostig, Governor of Sandars, inquired, his voice laced with suspicion. "Who would rule over this united realm?"

  Wilfred Basil stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "Who better than Alaric?" he declared. "He is the reason we are all still here. He is the one who orchestrated the fall of the Sigmunds. And most importantly," he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "he has the blood magic coursing through his veins."

  Valerius recoiled in disgust. "Impossible!" he exclaimed. "We want no part of this madness. The people of Taus stand against the blood magic. If you want our alliance, you will have to earn it without resorting to such dark practices."

  Alaric, his face a mask of cold fury, stepped forward. "We are not asking, Valerius," he hissed, his voice dripping with menace. "We are commanding. Alaric will be king. Return to your kingdoms and inform your people of this decision. Before the Good Day Festival, Alaric will be crowned king. Anyone who dares to stand against this decision will be crushed."

  The room fell silent, the air thick with anxiety. The governors, their faces pale and drawn, knew that they had no choice. They were trapped, caught in Alaric's web of ambition and fear. They had made a pact with the devil, and now, they would have to pay the price.

  As the governors dispersed, carrying Alaric's decree to their respective kingdoms, the seeds of rebellion were being sown. The whispers of discontent, fueled by Alaric's tyranny and the fear of the blood magic, were growing louder. The storm was brewing, and the fate of Carlradon hung precariously in the balance.

  End of Chapter Six