CHAPTER 102: ASHEN COVENANT.

Aric’s reply was calm, direct.

"Wealth. More than any of you have ever known."

The priest’s brows lifted, a faint smile playing at his lips, skepticism plain across his face.

"The pockets of the fourth prince, deep as they may be, are hardly as vast as those of your brothers or the greater lords. Why should I believe you could offer us anything more?"

"Just tell me a price," Aric replied, unfazed.

The priest chuckled, his gaze drifting from Aric to the bronze statues along the cathedral walls. "The church is fractured, your highness," he said, his voice dropping to a grave murmur.

"The Council of Saints—each of them bends to a different power, each saint swayed by a different benefactor." He glanced sidelong at Aric, almost pitying. "If you want even a single saint under your thumb, you’ll need a fortune."

"I don’t want just one saint," Aric replied, steady and clear. "I want all of them."

The priest looked at him, then barked a short, humorless laugh. "That cost, Your Highness, would be immense. Beyond anything you could imagine."

Aric’s gaze remained unflinching. "I am aware," he said. "And it’s no problem for me."

For a moment, they locked eyes, and something in Aric’s unwavering confidence chipped at the priest’s skepticism. With a slow nod, the priest relented, his tone shifting to something more measured.

"Very well. I’ll relay your interest. Word will reach you soon, Prince."

Aric nodded, rose, and left the quiet of the cathedral, his cloak swirling softly as he passed through the iron doors and out into the bustling streets of the imperial city.

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Aric moved through the city like a fugitive.

Now far too famous to roam freely, his figure was cloaked and inconspicuous among the crowds. The streets swelled with life—the calls of merchants, the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, the hum of countless voices.

But as he walked, a gnawing unease grew within him—a tug at the edge of his awareness, the unmistakable weight of being watched.

His pace slowed. He glanced over his shoulder, careful not to seem obvious. Among the crowded street he caught the briefest glimpse of two figures slipping back into the flow of people. He couldn’t make out their faces, but their dark clothing stood stark against the city’s colorful bustle.

Aric pressed on, calm in his stride, though his senses sharpened to full alert. Taking an unexpected turn, he slipped down a quieter street, the noise of the main road fading behind him.

Another glance confirmed it—one figure shadowed him from a distance, while the other cut into a parallel alley, clearly aiming to flank.

His jaw tightened.

So, they were professionals, whoever they were. He led them through twists of narrow streets, testing their persistence. Each time he checked, they lingered still, patient and deliberate.

At last Aric ducked into a small, secluded alley. He rounded a corner, cloaked himself in shadow, and waited. His breathing stilled, ears pricked at the faint footsteps approaching.

As they drew near, he stepped out, presence dark and menacing, his cloak billowing faintly with the alley’s breeze.

The two men froze, startled. Aric’s cold gaze fixed on them, his posture deceptively relaxed yet sharp with threat.

"Before I begin dispatching you," he said, his voice low, each word like drawn steel, "explain what made you think tailing me was anything but foolish."

The men exchanged a glance before one stepped forward, hands raised in peace. "We mean no harm, Your Highness. We are men of the Ashen Covenant," he said. "Our leader, Viscount Kael, seeks an audience with you."

The other nodded quickly. "We only wished to approach respectfully, Prince Aric. If you’ll allow us, we’ll escort you to him."

Aric studied them, eyes narrowing as he weighed their words. They appeared sincere, and the Covenant’s interest was no surprise. Serina had spoken of them—an order of disillusioned nobles and officials. After a pause, he gave a curt nod.

"Lead the way."

They inclined their heads and guided him through a different path, away from the city’s wealth. The streets narrowed, the homes grew worn, stone walls cracked, doors sagged on rusted hinges.

Children ran barefoot in the dirt, their laughter echoing against the backdrop of poverty. Watchful eyes followed as the trio passed.

Finally, they arrived at a gated estate—or rather, its ruin. Rust ate at the iron gates, one hanging crooked on its hinge. Weeds forced through cobblestones along the path to a mansion long decayed.

Ivy strangled the walls. Windows shattered or smeared with grime stared like blind eyes. Sagging balconies leaned over broken stone, while gaps in the roof gaped like missing teeth.

They led him up the cracked steps, through doors warped and heavy. Inside, ruin deepened. The grand hall’s vaulted ceiling sagged above remnants of ornate moldings now crumbled to dust.

Paintings hung in tatters, their images little more than ghosts of former glory. The floor groaned beneath their steps, air heavy with damp and rot.

Through dim corridors they came to a pair of grand doors—one missing entirely, exposing the shadowed room beyond.

Stepping through, Aric entered what had once been a receiving hall. A ruined chandelier dangled above, its rusted frame clinging to shards of crystal like barnacles to a wreck.

At the far end sat a man in worn finery. His dark hair streaked with silver, his lined face carried eyes sharp with cunning light.

He rose as Aric entered, a smile spreading, edged with something hard—like a dagger wrapped in velvet.

"Prince," he said, voice smooth and resonant, carrying as though to an unseen audience. "I’ve dreamed of this moment."

Aric returned a curt nod, unreadable, taking in the man’s posture and carefully measured respect. "Viscount Kael, I presume?"

The man inclined his head, smile deepening. "You presume correctly. Welcome to my estate—or what remains of it."

Aric’s gaze swept the decay. "I see the Covenant thrives," he remarked dryly.

Kael chuckled, low and dark. "Appearances deceive, Prince. We have our means, but we keep them hidden. It draws less of the empire’s eye."

Aric smirked faintly, clasping his hands behind him. "Then tell me, Viscount—what do you want from me?"

Kael’s smile thinned, his tone turning serious.

"It is not what we want from you, Prince Aric. It is what we can give you—alliances, resources, knowledge." He paused, letting the words linger. "The Ashen Covenant will stand with a prince who shares our... ambitions."

Aric met his eyes, silent but sharp. In the ruin of a fallen estate, he saw loyalty not of duty but of shared disdain, of mutual betrayal by an empire that had failed them both.

And though he spoke nothing, Aric knew this might be the support he had been searching for.