Chapter 50: The King Wants Heroes Back. Beatrice Wants Them Dead

【Beatrice PoV】

The door locked behind me like a verdict.

Restricted chambers always smell the same, wax, ink, and fear. The room sat under three layers of wards, all humming soft. Guards lined the walls with polished armor and empty eyes. The table in the center looked carved for worship, wide enough to make distance feel like power.

“We are restoring the Age of Heroes.”

I let the words settle, like dust on silk.

The King stood at the head, hands braced on the table edge. He looked tired in a controlled way, like a man who slept with one eye open. Ministers sat on his right, nobles on his left, both groups pretending they weren’t counting allies. They all wore their best faces, and all of them still looked hungry.

“Your Majesty, the treasury cannot sustain another hero program.”

The finance minister spoke like he was pleading with a storm.

I stepped forward, slow and smooth, and took my seat without a sound. Chairs squeak when people feel guilty. Mine did not.

“Then we will restructure the treasury.”

The King’s voice stayed calm, but it carried steel.

I watched the room react in tiny flinches. A noble’s fingers tightened on a signet ring. A minister’s jaw flexed once. Every sound in this room mattered, because they all believed they were writing history.

“Reopen crossworld summoning, return to national glory, the people will rally.”

The war minister leaned in, eyes bright.

I kept my smile pleasant, the kind that makes people feel safe. It also makes them underestimate you, which is the whole point.

“Your Majesty, public support is not a resource we can spend twice.”

The old duke across from me spoke softly.

I met his gaze and gave him a tiny nod, like we shared a private joke. He thought it was respect. It was. Just not for him.

“Support is already collapsing, Duke, the border towns are burning.”

The King’s knuckles whitened on the table.

I let my eyes drift to the map laid out before them. Red pins dotted the northern line, and the eastern marsh. Those pins weren’t just towns. They were votes. They were food supply lines. They were the story people told themselves at night, that the crown still mattered.

“Monsters are moving in packs again, we need heroes.”

A younger noble spoke too quickly.

I watched him swallow after. He wanted approval. He wanted to be seen as brave. He looked like he’d never watched a village go quiet.

“Heroes are not tools, they are weapons with opinions.”

The high minister of law tapped the table.

I slid my gloved hand over the map’s edge and straightened it by a hair. No one noticed. They never notice the small corrections, and they always notice the big ones.

“Opinions can be managed.”

The King lifted his chin.

I felt the word managed ripple through the chamber. Half the room loved it. Half the room hated it. That split had been growing for months. It was about to become a fracture.

“Your Majesty, the last summoning cycle ended in civil fractures.”

The law minister kept his tone steady.

I thought of the last cycle in a way nobody here could. I remembered the smell of burned chalk. I remembered heroes who cried for worlds they lost. I remembered the way reality bent when the gates opened, like the sky itself wanted to throw up.

“We survived, and we won our wars.”

The King’s voice dropped.

I saw the desperation under the ambition. Not cartoon desperation. The real kind. A ruler watching his state rot while everyone demands miracles.

“At what cost.”

The finance minister’s voice turned brittle.

I let my smile widen by a fraction, polite and warm. Inside, I counted bodies the way other people count coins.

“We are not discussing the past, we are discussing survival.”

The King’s gaze swept the table.

I let him look at me last. Kings always do that with me, sooner or later. They sense the weight, even if they don’t understand it. They want someone to tell them there’s a way out that doesn’t stain their hands.

“Lady Beatrice, your Association pioneered the original protocols.”

He said my title like it was a compliment.

I inclined my head, perfect posture, perfect calm. Charm is a knife if you hold it right.

“Your Majesty honors the Association.”

I watched three nobles relax at that. They thought I was on their side. They think I am always on their side, because I always smile when they speak.

“Then honor us back, tell us we can summon again, safely.”

The King kept his eyes on mine.

I let silence breathe, just long enough to make him lean in.

“Safety is a sliding scale.”

The war minister exhaled hard, impatient.

I could feel their momentum. It felt like a river picking up speed. They wanted a story, and the Age of Heroes was the most addictive story this kingdom had ever told.

“Give us a number, Beatrice, risk percentage, success rate.”

The finance minister tried to drag it into math.

I almost laughed, but I didn’t. I saved it for later. I am generous like that.

“Numbers behave when reality behaves.”

A few brows furrowed.

I lifted my hand, and a quill on the table rolled, slow, until it lined up with the ledger’s spine. A tiny nudge. A small correction. The sort of thing you do when you want to test the air.

“Reality will behave if we bind it properly.”

The King’s voice sharpened.

I felt the ward-lines in the chamber vibrate under his words. The room was protected from eavesdropping, but not from fate. Fate always listens.

“Binding reality requires a key, and keys break.”

The old duke’s eyes flicked to me.

I held his stare, still smiling. He knew more than most. He knew enough to be afraid.

“We have keys.”

The war minister thumped the table once.

I watched the table absorb the impact, and I watched the goblet near his hand tremble. The wine inside rose toward the rim, ready to spill.

“Spills are messy.”

The goblet steadied, and the wine settled again.

No one saw it happen. They just felt relief, like the world had decided to be normal. That is what my talent looks like. Small, quiet, deniable.

“Lady Beatrice.”

The King spoke my name again.

I listened, which is my favorite form of control.

“You have studied the gates longer than any living scholar.”

His tone shifted, careful now.

I kept the smile. I kept the eyes soft. I let him think he’d found my pride.

“I have studied them a long time.”

Decades stop meaning much after the first few. People love the word decades, like it’s huge. Lowkey, it’s nothing. It’s a warm-up.

“You would not be here if the answer was simple.”

The King’s voice turned almost gentle.

I looked at his hands, at the faint tremor in one finger. He hid it well. He still had fear. Good. Fear keeps rulers from turning into monsters.

“Simple answers get kingdoms killed.”

The law minister nodded once.

I watched the nobles trade glances. They were already picking sides. Some wanted heroes to strengthen their houses. Some feared heroes would unseat them. Ministers feared the chaos. The King feared weakness.

“Beatrice, we need an edge, our rivals smell blood.”

The King’s eyes darkened.

I remembered another king who said that. I remembered his funeral too. I remembered the look on the queen’s face when she realized courage doesn’t stop poison.

“You think heroes are an edge.”

I kept my voice light.

The King’s mouth tightened.

“I think heroes are a symbol, and symbols win wars.”

He wasn’t wrong. That’s what made him dangerous. Desperation plus competence is a nasty combo.

“Symbols also ignite revolts.”

The finance minister rubbed his temple.

I watched his ring finger twitch. He wanted to flee this room. He couldn’t. Duty is a cage people thank you for.

“We can manage revolts.”

The war minister sounded excited.

I thought of bodies in streets. I thought of children staring at the sky when the gates opened, because the sky looked wrong. I thought of the way reality folds when someone with bridge-blood touches it.

“Manage is a strong word.”

I let a hint of amusement slip in.

The war minister bristled.

“Forgive me, Lady Beatrice, but your caution is excessive.”

His voice sharpened.

I kept my smile. Predators don’t bare teeth. They show warmth and let prey walk closer.

“Caution is why this kingdom still exists.”

The King lifted a hand, stopping the war minister.

I watched the war minister swallow his pride, just barely. That alone told me the King still held the room. For now.

“Tell us what you need, Beatrice.”

The King’s voice softened again.

I let my gaze drift to the chamber’s central chandelier, crystal and gold. It had been replaced twice since I first sat at this table. The faces at the table had changed more than that. I had not.

“I need time.”

The nobles shifted.

Time is the one resource rulers hate to hear about, because time feels like weakness. It also happens to be the only honest currency.

“Time for what.”

The law minister’s eyes narrowed.

I folded my hands neatly.

“Time to explore options, and time to prevent mistakes.”

The King leaned back, exhaling.

He looked like a man holding a dam closed with his hands.

“We do not have time.”

His voice went quiet.

I felt the room hang on that sentence.

He was not lying. That’s what makes this choice feel righteous to him.

“Then we borrow it.”

I let the words come out smooth, confident.

The finance minister blinked.

“Borrow time from whom.”

I tilted my head, like the question was adorable.

“From chance.”

A couple nobles snorted, like it was philosophy.

I kept smiling. Chance is a muscle. Most people don’t know you can train it.

“You mean propaganda.”

The young noble tried to sound clever.

I met his eyes and let him feel seen. He flushed, pleased.

“Propaganda helps, but it does not change physics.”

The King tapped the table once, impatient.

“I am done with poetry, Beatrice.”

I let my smile soften.

“Then I will speak plainly.”

The room stilled. Even the guards looked like statues.

“I have studied the hero project longer than most families last.”

The King’s eyes sharpened.

The law minister sat straighter.

The old duke didn’t move at all, which meant he was listening the hardest.

“How long is longer.”

The finance minister’s voice went small.

I let my gaze drift from face to face.

They all assumed I was in my forties, maybe fifty if they were generous. They all assumed I had gray hair because it was fashionable. They all assumed time worked on me like it worked on them.

“Long enough that decades stopped being a meaningful unit.”

A noble laughed, unsure.

I didn’t.

“Beatrice.”

The King’s voice turned cautious.

I leaned forward just slightly, like I was sharing a secret. I wasn’t. I was offering bait.

“I am over a hundred.”

Silence hit like a slap.

The finance minister’s mouth opened, then closed.

The war minister stared like he’d seen a ghost.

The King didn’t flinch, but his eyes did change. They got sharper, hungrier, and colder. He was thinking the same thought every ruler thinks when they meet someone who dodged time.

“Immortality.”

He said it like a prayer.

I smiled, bright and harmless.

“Longevity research.”

The law minister’s fingers tightened.

“That is classified beyond—”

“Beyond you.”

I kept my tone sweet.

The war minister recovered first, because war minds always do.

“If you solved it, then you can solve the gates.”

His voice rose.

I let my smile turn sympathetic.

“You want miracles, and I do not sell miracles.”

The King’s gaze hardened.

“Then why reveal your age.”

I let my eyes soften, like I cared about his trust.

“Because you asked for honesty, and because this decision will outlive you.”

A couple nobles bristled at that.

The King didn’t. He accepted it, which meant he understood power. He just wanted it for himself.

“Can you open the gate.”

He asked it quiet.

I watched him hold his breath, and I watched the whole room do the same.

I let the silence stretch again, just enough to make them ache.

“I can nudge.”

The war minister frowned.

“Nudge what.”

I lifted one hand above the map, hovering over a red pin at the northern border.

The pin wobbled, then steadied, then shifted a hair to the left, like someone bumped the table.

No one bumped the table.

“I can persuade space to be slightly different.”

The finance minister stared at the pin.

The law minister’s eyes narrowed to slits.

The King’s face didn’t change, but his pupils did. He was measuring me like a weapon.

“You cannot open it fully.”

His voice stayed calm.

I tilted my head.

“I can make coincidences happen.”

The young noble looked thrilled, like this was magic tricks.

The old duke looked like he wanted to vomit.

“That is still power.”

The King’s voice warmed.

I watched his ambition latch on. I watched his desperation dress it up as duty.

“Power is not the same as control.”

The King’s jaw flexed.

“You control plenty.”

I smiled wider.

“Only the small things.”

I thought of Caelan’s eyes in the ward. Too calm. Too old. I thought of the way the air folded around him, like reality wanted to obey. My nudges were pebbles. His was a door.

“And the hero line.”

The King’s voice dropped again.

He stared at me like he’d already decided. Like he’d already written his speech to the people.

“We will find candidates.”

The war minister nodded.

“We can seize bloodlines, we can—”

I let the goblet near him tremble again, just a hint, like a warning.

It steadied on its own, and he didn’t notice. His words did not.

“You can try.”

I kept my tone gentle.

The King leaned in.

“Lady Beatrice, I need a path.”

I gave him one.

I also sharpened the knife behind my smile.

“I will explore options.”

The finance minister exhaled.

The war minister grinned, satisfied.

The law minister looked uneasy, but he didn’t argue. He never argues when the King commits. He just adjusts the laws afterward, like bandages.

“And what do you require from us.”

The King’s eyes stayed fixed on mine.

I thought of Seraphina, silver hair, sweet smile, and the way she builds armies out of favors.

I thought of the political apparatus splitting, nobles into camps, ministers into factions, the kingdom into a chessboard with pieces that can bleed.

“I will require coordination.”

The King nodded slowly.

“With whom.”

I let my smile turn conversational.

“With people who can enforce silence.”

The war minister perked up.

“My soldiers—”

“Not yours.”

I kept my tone polite.

His smile faltered.

The King lifted a brow.

“Then whose.”

I didn’t look away.

“Seraphina.”

The name fell into the room like a dropped blade.

The law minister stiffened.

The finance minister looked like he’d swallowed a coin.

The old duke’s eyes shut for half a second, like he was praying.

“She is not a minister.”

The King’s tone cooled.

I shrugged, small and elegant.

“She does not need a chair to move armies.”

The war minister bristled again.

“She is unstable.”

I smiled at him like he was adorable.

“She is effective.”

The King drummed his fingers on the table, slow.

He was doing politics in his head, weighing threats against needs.

“You want her network.”

His voice went quiet.

I nodded once.

“The kingdom is about to split.”

The young noble blinked.

“Split.”

I kept my smile, but my eyes sharpened.

“Summoning heroes will create war camps.”

The law minister’s throat bobbed.

He knew it was true.

Some houses will want control of heroes. Some will want to destroy them. Some will want to sell them. Ministers will cling to their departments. Generals will demand authority. The crown will tighten its fist. The fist will crush something.

“We can manage the nobles.”

The King spoke firmly.

I let myself look impressed.

“You can manage them until you cannot.”

He didn’t like that.

“I am the King.”

He said it like a spell.

I nodded, respectful.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Then I let my smile sharpen by a fraction.

“And kings die.”

Silence slammed down again.

The war minister looked furious.

The finance minister looked terrified.

The law minister looked like he wanted to drag me to a dungeon and also ask for my notes.

The King did not flinch.

He just stared at me, and for a second, I saw it. The real him. Ambition and fear braided together, desperation wearing a crown like it was armor.

“Then help me not die.”

His voice went softer.

I let warmth return to my smile. I let him feel hope.

Hope makes people obedient.

“I will help you survive.”

The finance minister leaned forward, eager.

“Then you support the hero restoration.”

I tilted my head, like I was considering it.

“I support exploring options.”

The law minister’s eyes narrowed.

“You will draft safeguards.”

I nodded.

“I will draft safeguards.”

The war minister grinned again.

“You will reopen the gates.”

I let my smile stay sweet.

“I will evaluate the gates.”

The King watched me closely, like he understood the dance.

He knew I was not promising him what he wanted. He also knew I was not refusing. He needed that middle space, because refusal would force him to act without me.

“Then we proceed.”

He lifted his chin, decisive.

I stood with the same calm I always carry.

I kept my posture perfect. I kept my face kind. I kept my voice smooth, like honey hiding poison.

“Yes, Your Majesty, we proceed.”

Inside, I committed to a different plan.

I would kill the hero project at the root, and seal it forever.

I would use Seraphina’s force to stabilize the split, and I would use the Association to bury the bones.

I would use Rian, because the family line is the lock, and I am tired of keys that bleed.