CHAPTER 48: THE WAR COUNCIL

Arthur hadn’t seen much of Elliott lately. Not since Beatrice had started calling him "big brother" while also sharing his bed. The knight-captain’s jaw was clenched, his hand resting on his sword hilt with white knuckles.

"Sit," Arthur commanded, taking his place at the table’s head. His supernatural senses picked up everyone’s emotional state—excitement from most, anxiety from Elliott, and something else... He filed it away for later. "Hawklight, brief them."

The commander stood, manipulating Arthur’s projected map with practiced ease. "Bloodfang Stronghold. Three hundred defenders, mostly green warriors. Their chieftain took his veterans south for a succession challenge. We have a seventy-two hour window."

The 3D projection zoomed in, showing the mountain fortress in detail. Arthur’s enhanced reconnaissance had captured everything—guard positions, structural weaknesses, even the kitchen schedules.

"Three-pronged assault," Hawklight continued. "Sergeant Klaus leads a diversionary force to the main gate. Makes noise, draws attention. Captain Morris takes climbers up the north wall here—" he highlighted a blind spot, "—while the defenders rush to Klaus. Once they’re inside and chaos spreads, His Majesty enters with the reserve force."

"What about their shamans?" Morris asked, studying the cliff face she’d need to scale. "Orc magic’s nothing to sneeze at."

"Five shamans total," Arthur answered. "Two are apprentices. My presence will... discourage their casting." He let a hint of his aura leak out, just enough to make everyone shift uncomfortably. Even enhanced, they felt the predatory weight of his power.

"The goal isn’t destruction," Hawklight added. "We’re testing a new doctrine. Conversion over conquest. His Majesty believes we can recruit the orcs."

Klaus whistled low. "Recruit orcs? That’s... ambitious."

"They respect strength," Arthur said simply. "I’ll show them strength. Those who kneel will be enhanced. Those who don’t..." He didn’t need to finish.

"Equipment?" Elliott spoke for the first time, his voice carefully neutral.

"Standard gear plus climbing equipment for Morris’s team. I’ll personally enhance key weapons before we leave." Arthur met Elliott’s eyes. "Your Brightblade techniques will be valuable in the confined spaces. I want you with Morris’s climbers."

Something flickered across Elliott’s face—relief? Disappointment? He nodded stiffly.

They spent another hour on logistics—supply lines, medical support, contingency plans. Arthur’s system interface fed him probability calculations that he kept to himself. 89% success rate with current plan. 96% if he fully unleashed his aura. 99.3% if Sera provided air support, but he’d held that option in reserve.

"Questions?" Hawklight asked finally.

"Rules of engagement?" Morris wondered. "If they won’t convert?"

"Minimal casualties," Arthur stated. "We’re building an empire, not a graveyard. Disable when possible. Kill only if necessary. The system indicates orcs who witness their chieftain kneel will follow suit. We just need to break their leadership."

His supernatural senses suddenly spiked. There—a familiar presence trying very hard to remain hidden. Arthur kept his expression neutral while his perception traced the source. Behind the war room’s eastern tapestry, where a servant’s passage allowed discrete access. A small figure pressed against the stone, heart racing.

Beatrice.

"If there’s nothing else," Arthur said smoothly, "dismissed. Elliott, remain behind."

The others filed out, Hawklight shooting Arthur a knowing look. When the door closed, leaving just Arthur and Elliott in uncomfortable silence, Arthur didn’t immediately address the knight.

"I know you’re there, Beatrice," he said instead, voice carrying clearly. "Come out."

The tapestry rustled, and Beatrice emerged, face flushed with embarrassment. She wore a simple blue dress, her mage’s robes probably too conspicuous for sneaking. Her eyes darted between Arthur and her brother.

"I... I was just..." she stammered.

"Spying," Elliott finished, his protective instincts flaring. "Bea, what are you thinking? This is a classified military briefing!"

"I was worried!" she shot back, chin lifting defiantly. "You’ve been avoiding everyone, especially me, and now you’re going on some dangerous mission—"

"It’s my job," Elliott interrupted.

"Because you requested field duty!" Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears. "Because of... of us." She gestured between herself and Arthur.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Elliott’s hand moved to his sword—not to draw it, but for comfort. Arthur watched the siblings, reading the complex emotions with his enhanced perception.

"Elliott, patrol the corridor," Arthur commanded softly. "Make sure we’re not disturbed. Beatrice and I need to talk."

For a moment, Arthur thought Elliott might refuse. The knight-captain’s jaw worked, struggling with conflicting loyalties. Then he gave a sharp nod and left, closing the door with deliberate care.

Beatrice immediately started babbling. "I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have listened, but I heard about the mission and I’ve been researching orc culture in the library and I found these old texts about their honor systems and—"

Arthur crossed the room in two strides, gently placing a finger on her lips. "Breathe."

She did, shakily. This close, he could feel her emotional turmoil through their bond—worry for Elliott, guilt about their relationship, fear of losing either of them, and underneath it all, that warm affection that made her call him "big brother" in their intimate moments.

"I don’t want him to get hurt because of us," she whispered.

"He won’t," Arthur assured her. "Elliott’s one of my best. The climbing mission is dangerous, yes, but he’s skilled enough. And I’ll be enhancing his equipment personally."

"But he’s only taking dangerous assignments because—"

"Because he needs to prove something to himself," Arthur finished. "Not about us. About him. Elliott’s spent years as my protector. Now I’ve evolved beyond needing protection. He needs to find his own path."

Beatrice leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her smaller frame. Through their bond, he felt her brilliant mind racing.

"The orc texts," she said suddenly. "I found something important. Their honor code—*grathar’nok*—means a defeated chieftain’s followers transfer loyalty completely. But only if the victory is *mak’thor*—achieved through personal strength, not trickery."

Arthur pulled back to look at her. "You learned Orcish?"

She blushed. "Just some basics. I thought... maybe it would help." Her eyes widened. "Oh! And their shamans use a different casting framework than human mages. If you disrupt their *tok’ran*—their spiritual anchor—they can’t cast at all."

His system chimed softly:

**[Bond Insight Achieved]**

- Beatrice Brightblade’s Research: Orcish Cultural Understanding

- Tactical Advantage Unlocked: Shaman Disruption Technique

- Language Comprehension: Basic Orcish (Shared Through Bond)

"Clever girl," Arthur murmured, and she beamed at the praise. "This will save lives. Maybe even orc lives."

"Really?"

"Really." He tilted her chin up. "But no more spying on classified meetings."

"I promise," she said quickly. Then, quieter: "Will you... watch out for Elliott? I know he’s being difficult, but he’s still my brother."

"I’ll enhance his sword personally," Arthur promised. "And assign him to Morris—she’s the best climber we have. He’ll be safer with her than in the main assault."

Relief flooded through their bond. Beatrice stood on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you... big brother."

The title sent the usual complex thrill through him—innocent and decidedly not innocent simultaneously. She knew exactly what she was doing, the little minx.

"Go back to your quarters," he told her. "I need to speak with Elliott."

She nodded, but before leaving, pulled a small journal from her dress pocket. "My notes on orc culture. Page twelve has the shaman stuff."

Then she was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of lavender and old books. Arthur smiled despite himself. She’d make a formidable queen someday, if her research skills translated to statecraft.

Elliott returned moments later, having obviously been waiting just outside. His expression was carefully blank.

"She’s too young for these games," the knight said without preamble.

"She’s 19," Arthur reminded him. "A grown woman and a brilliant mage."

"She’s my little sister."

"And she’s under my protection," Arthur said, letting steel enter his voice. "As are you. Sit."

Elliott sat reluctantly. Arthur studied his former bodyguard, seeing the conflict written in every line of his body.

"You requested field duty to get away from the palace," Arthur stated. "From watching Beatrice with me."

"I requested field duty because I’m a soldier," Elliott replied stiffly.

"You’re one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom. I could use you here, training others. Instead, you want to climb cliffs in hostile territory." Arthur leaned back. "This isn’t about proving yourself as a warrior, Elliott. This is about reconciling your loyalty to me with your role as a brother."

Elliott’s composure finally cracked. "She calls you ’big brother’ when she thinks I can’t hear. Do you have any idea how that feels? Watching my actual sister—"

"Love someone who makes her happy?" Arthur interrupted. "Yes, I imagine that’s quite difficult."

Elliott’s hand clenched. For a moment, Arthur thought he might actually take a swing. The system helpfully calculated dodge patterns, but Arthur dismissed them. Elliott needed this.

"I’ve watched you grow from that uncertain prince to... this," Elliott gestured vaguely at Arthur. "I’ve seen you make impossible choices, seen you become something beyond human. I respect you. Gods help me, I’d follow you into any hell. But Beatrice..."

"Is the one pure thing in your world," Arthur finished. "And you think I’m corrupting her."

"Aren’t you?"

Arthur considered the question seriously. "I’m changing her. As she changes me. That’s what relationships do, Elliott. But corrupt? No. She researched orc culture for hours to help with this mission. Not for glory or power—for you. To keep you safe."

Elliott’s shoulders slumped. "I know. That’s what makes it worse. She’s happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen her. And I hate that it’s with—"

"The man who claimed his stepmother as queen and destroyed his brother’s mind?" Arthur suggested dryly. "Yes, I can see how that might concern a protective older brother."

"That’s not—" Elliott stopped, frustrated. "Maybe it is. You’re different now. Darker. More..."

"Dangerous?"

"Ruthless."

Arthur nodded. "True. Power changes people, Elliott. But my feelings for Beatrice aren’t about power. She grounds me. Reminds me why I’m building this empire—not just for conquest, but for the people I care about."

"And if she gets hurt? If being close to you makes her a target?"

"Then I’ll burn down anyone who threatens her," Arthur said simply. "Just as I would for you. You’re not just my knight, Elliott. You’re family. Both of you."

Elliott was quiet for a long moment. Then: "She really researched orc culture?"

"Three notebooks worth, apparently. Including shaman disruption techniques that will save lives tomorrow."

A ghost of a smile crossed Elliott’s face. "She always was too smart for her own good."

"She gets that from her brother," Arthur said. "The one who requested the most dangerous position in tomorrow’s assault because he couldn’t stand watching his sister be happy."

Elliott flinched. "When you put it like that..."

"I’m putting you with Morris because you’re the best blade fighter we have for close quarters. Not as punishment. Not to separate you from Beatrice. Because I need my best people in key positions." Arthur stood. "But if you need distance to process this, I understand. After Bloodfang, you can have your pick of assignments. Leading expeditionary forces, training elite units, whatever you need."

"And Beatrice?"

"Will be here when you’re ready to accept that your little sister isn’t so little anymore."

Elliott stood as well, straightening his shoulders. "I’ll... think about it. And Your Majesty? Keep her safe."

"Always."

They clasped forearms, warrior to warrior. Some of the tension that had poisoned the air between them dissipated. Not gone—that would take time—but better.

As Elliott reached the door, Arthur called out: "Bring your sword to my chambers before dawn. I’ll enhance it personally."

Elliott paused. "That’s not necessary—"

"It is," Arthur cut him off. "You’re climbing into an orc stronghold for me. The least I can do is make sure your blade can cut through their armor."

Elliott nodded and left. Arthur remained in the war room, studying the Bloodfang projection. His system interface flickered with calculations and projections, but his mind was on the complex web of relationships he navigated.

[Relationship Dynamic Updated]

- Elliott Brightblade: Loyalty Strained but Holding

- Beatrice Brightblade: Bond Strengthened Through Trust

- Strategic Gain: Orcish Cultural Intelligence Acquired

- Mission Parameter Updated: Shaman Disruption Technique Available

Tomorrow, they’d take their first step toward empire. But tonight had been about something equally important—maintaining the bonds that made that empire worth building.

Arthur smiled, picking up Beatrice’s journal. Page twelve, she’d said. Time to learn how to break orc shamans.

The conquest could wait a few more hours.

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