The Gentle Maiden and Five Lustful Brothers-Chapter 165: The War Tent

***AUTHOR’S NOTE: SORRY I’VE BEEN DEATHLY UNDER THE WEATHER AND LOOKING AT A SCREEN TOO LONG MAKES ME SICK. I AM GRATFEUL TO ALL OF YOUR PATIENCE. THIS SICKNESS IS KICKING MY ASS ***

Arya thought to herself ’I should have practiced the words. But how does anyone prepare to tell a mother her child is lost to their enemy? How do I tell Kalvin that the woman he loves is beyond our reach? How do I stand before these people, my friends, and say: "We have abandoned you?" when I know it will feel like I have abandoned them myself?’

The planning tent was large enough to hold an entire war council. Lanterns cast long shadows on maps and plans, that covered the oak table. Outside, wind whirled in restless gusts.

Inside, the air was heavy, tight, like a lung that refused to expand. At the head of the table, Violet stood with her back rigid, her hands gripping the edge so hard her knuckles had turned white. Her magenta eyes burned with a feral intensity, like a wild animal cornered and ready to strike.

Arya had barely stepped inside when the tension struck her, a wall of sharp, unrelenting expectation.

Roland, sat to her left, his calm expression. Kalvin, their son, sat to the right, shifting constantly, unable to keep still. His jaw twitched, his bright eyes frantic.

Ash leaned forward on the opposite side, his fingers resting under his chin, his gaze cold and calculating. Oliver, Gabriel, and Jeremy sat nearby, each brimming with their own brand of quiet, dangerous energy.

Rosa, paced near the entrance, her boots clicking, her sharp gaze flicking from face to face. Lilith, lounged in the corner with the coiled patience of a serpent, her dark lips curled in a faint, amused smile. Vlad, sat with his arms crossed, his face a mask of resigned sorrow.

All eyes turned to Arya. Their anticipation weighed a thousand pounds.

She felt Violet’s stare dig into her skin like claws, but she forced herself forward, her boots heavy on the ground. She paused by the table, her heart pounding like a war drum.

Violet’s glare cut into her, a hot brand. "Speak," she demanded, her voice low, trembling with barely contained rage.

Arya swallowed. Her throat felt dry as sand.

"The Crone has spoken," she began, but her voice faltered when Violet’s nails screeched across the wooden table, leaving deep gouges.

"Spare me the ceremonial preamble," Violet hissed. "What does this have to do with my daughter?"

Arya’s lips trembled. "Odette... she is with the wolf shifters. With the chosen people of the goddess Artemis."

Kalvin stood so quickly his chair slammed backward. "What do you mean ’chosen’? She was taken! She is my fiancée! Chosen my ass, mother. The wolves are not the ’chosen’ people of the goddess." His voice cracked, his anger echoing in the tent like a gunshot.

Roland moved to Kalvin’s side, trying to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. Kalvin shrugged him off violently. He wanted none of the comfort only what belonged to him.

"She’s exactly where the gods want her to be," Arya continued, forcing each word out like shards of glass. "The goddess Artemis... just like she said, is where she is supposed to be. She is not merely a vampire princess, or your daughter, and we all know this. She is Artemis’s daughter. The MoonChild. Her soul is divine, and her place is with them, right now, not reclaimed to us."

Violet laughed, a sound so hollow it seemed to pull the warmth from the lantern flames. "Divine will? You come to me with talk of gods?" Her voice rose, echoing like a dragon’s roar. "My daughter was stolen, by wolves, who tore through my city like rabid dogs! You stand there and tell me it was fate?!"

Arya flinched as if she were struck. Her eyes darted around the table.

King Ash’s voice low and unyielding. "Is this a final decree?"

Arya hesitated, her breath stuttering. "Yes. The Maiden, Mother, and Crone has forbidden any further aid. We will withdraw immediately."

A snarl ripped from Violet’s throat. He grabbed a heavy map marker from the table and hurled it across the tent. It shattered against a wooden support beam, splintering into shards.

"NO!" she shouted, her voice ragged with pain. "You can’t leave her there! You can’t" Her words devolved into an animalistic growl as she turned away, her fists slamming into the canvas walls.

Oliver stepped forward, his eyes narrowed, voice soft but cutting. "We were so close. We had the routes. The enchantments. The witches’ tracking spells. The bait. And now you rip it away?"

Gabriel stood next to him, fists clenched, head lowered in silent fury.

Jeremy slammed his palms on the table, rattling the maps. "So, we’re just supposed to roll over and let them keep her? Let them break her? You expect us to do nothing?!"

Arya’s shoulders sagged, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I don’t want this," she whispered. "I fought. I begged. But they stood firm... they the voice of the goddess. I cannot defy them."

Violet’s magenta eyes glistened, her voice cold enough to crack bones. "Arya. Look at me."

Arya’s gaze lifted, trembling.

"If you were not a friend, I would tear your heart out myself for this betrayal."

The words carved through Arya, leaving her breathless.

Rosa stepped forward then, her voice a whip of sharp steel. "Violet, stop. We need her. She’s our friend. Killing Arya won’t bring Odette back."

Violet turned on her, fangs gleaming. "Do not lecture me, Rosa. You have never lost a child."

Rosa flinched but held her ground. "No. But if you hurt Arya, that makes you nothing but a monster.

A beat of silence, heavy and suffocating.

Lilith’s dark laughter finally cut through it, cold and unhurried. "Ah... this is delicious. The goddess moves her pawns, and the children rage against the board." She tilted her head, lips curling into a sinister smile. "How beautifully futile. How wonderfully tragic."

Vlad, who had been silent until now, finally stood. His old eyes carried centuries of sorrow. "Violet," he said gently, his voice cracking under its weight, "she is right. If the gods have placed Odette there, forcing her return could bring ruin on us all. You are a mother, yes, but you are also queen to a kingdom that cannot afford a divine war. We know what’s coming and we also need to prepare."

Violet’s glare snapped toward him, fury blazing. But then her expression faltered. Her lips trembled, her shoulders quivered, and for a moment she looked less like a queen and more like a grieving mother lost in an endless winter.

Arya took a shuddering step forward, her voice cracking. "Violet, please. I did not want this. I would give my own life to bring her back. But I cannot fight the coven or a goddess."

Violet turned slowly, her eyes wet but still blazing. "Leave."

Arya’s heart cracked so loudly she thought they might all hear it. She looked to Roland, her for support, he reached out his hand and Arya took hold of it, gripping it with force. As if, letting go meant she would crumble at their feet.

She turned to Kalvin, her son, who refused to meet her eyes, his shoulders shaking.

Gabriel and Jeremy watched her go, their disappointment sharp as knives.

Oliver only crossed his arms staring.

Arya forced her feet to move, one step at a time, each as heavy as a tombstone.

She paused at the tent entrance, her hand gripping the flap.

She stepped into the howling wind, the cold stinging her tear-soaked face like knives.

Inside, Violet collapsed into a chair, her hands over her face as silent sobs wracked her frame.

Rosa knelt beside her, one hand on her back, whispering words that would never be enough.

Kalvin sank to the ground, his body folding inward, caving under the crushing weight of his broken plans.

Ash rose slowly, his expression unreadable, and placed a heavy hand on Kalvin’s shoulder.

Lilith watched, her smile fading, a flicker of something almost, familiar, crossing her ancient eyes.

In that tent, the weight of the covens decision to honor the goddess and withdraw their support, pressed down on them all like a crumbling mountain.