The Conquerors Path

Chapter 863: Chapter 861-A Widow?

I couldnʼt help but mutter under my breath as we walked through the endless palace corridors, ”All this ceremony for a simple meeting seems a bit excessive.” The words escaped before I could catch them, echoing softly against the ancient stone walls. The sound of our footsteps mingled with the gentle rustling of the maidsʼ dresses ahead of us, creating an oddly musical rhythm that only emphasised the palaceʼs overwhelming emptiness.

One of the maids - Iʼd started calling her Silverthought in my head, thanks to her striking silver hair and the way she carried herself like someone who carefully weighed every word - glanced back at me. Her eyes held a hint of amusement, though her voice remained professionally neutral. ”His Majesty prefers things done properly,” she said, in a tone that somehow managed to be both gentle and absolutely final.

The palace itself felt like a living museum, every corner carefully curated to showcase dwarven greatness. Massive tapestries lined the walls, their threads still vibrant despite their age, depicting epic battles and moments of triumph. I found myself wondering how many generations of careful hands had maintained them, keeping the colours so bright and the weaving so pristine. The craftsmanship was breathtaking, but there was something almost sad about it all - like walking through a beautiful tomb rather than a living palace.

When we reached the grand double doors, I nearly stopped breathing. They werenʼt just doors; they were masterpieces of woodworking and metalcraft, dark wood inlaid with precious metals that seemed to dance in the light of enchanted lanterns. The patterns shifted and swirled, creating an almost hypnotic effect that made me wonder if I was seeing things. Zora squeezed my arm gently, and I realised Iʼd been staring.

The doors opened silently as if by magic - though knowing dwarven engineering, it was probably some incredibly complex mechanism hidden within the walls. The rush of air that escaped carried the scent of ancient stone and metal, along with something else I couldnʼt quite identify – power, perhaps, or history itself.

The Grand Meeting Hall was unlike anything Iʼd ever seen, and Iʼd seen my fair share of impressive spaces. The ceiling soared so high above us that it seemed to disappear into shadow, supported by columns that told stories in stone. Each column was a masterwork, carved with scenes so detailed you could almost hear the clash of weapons and the roar of forge fires depicted in them. The obsidian floor beneath our feet was like walking on perfectly still water, reflecting everything with an almost supernatural clarity.

But it was the four figures seated at the far end of the metallic table that truly commanded attention. The king sat at the head, his presence both magnificent and somehow deeply human. His crimson robes couldnʼt hide the powerful build of someone whoʼd likely wielded both hammer and sword in his younger days. His beard was a work of art, each braid telling its own story through carefully placed golden rings and precious gems. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention - grey as storm clouds and just as complex, holding both wisdom and weariness in equal measure.

The crown sitting next to him on the table caught my attention too - not because he was wearing it, but because he wasnʼt. It was a masterpiece of goldwork and dark stone, with tiny gears worked into it that made it look alive. But the fact that it sat there rather than on his head said more about him than any crown could. He knew he didnʼt need it - the room already knew exactly who was in charge.

Then there was this brooch on his chest, right over his heart. Iʼve seen my share of magical artefacts, but this was different. Made from metals, Iʼd only heard about in legends; it showed a hammer striking an anvil, surrounded by runes that seemed to dance if you looked at them too long. The soft light pulsing from it matched the rhythm of a heartbeat, and something told me this wasnʼt just decoration - this was power, old power, the kind thatʼs been passed down through blood and time.

To his right sat the Crown Prince, every inch his fatherʼs son but with an edge of something harder, less tempered by time and experience. His green eyes reminded me of a catʼs eyes - beautiful but predatory, constantly calculating. His armour whispered of power with every slight movement, enchantments flickering across its surface like heat waves over summer stones. The Warhammer at his side wasnʼt just a weapon; it was a statement of intent. The Queen provided an interesting contrast to her husband and son. Where they were all barely contained power, she was grace personified. Her platinum hair caught the light like freshly fallen snow, tiny gems woven through the intricate braids creating a corona of starlight around her head. Her midnight blue gown seemed to hold pieces of the night sky within its folds, and I wondered if perhaps it actually did - dwarven craftsmanship often held such wonderful secrets.

Her gown, a masterpiece of dwarven artistry, clung to her form in a way that was both regal and sensual. The neckline dipped tastefully, revealing a hint of her collarbone, where a delicate necklace rested—a single, flawless sapphire cradled in an intricate setting of gold and platinum. The gem pulsed faintly.

Her skin was smooth and luminous, the colour of the finest silver polished to perfection. But it was her eyes that truly captivated me. Deep sapphire blue, they shimmered with an almost hypnotic intensity.

But it was the Kingʼs sister who drew my eye most frequently, though I tried not to let it show. She was different from any dwarf Iʼd ever encountered, tall and striking in a way that set off warning bells in the back of my mind. Her copper-coloured hair seemed to move slightly even when she was perfectly still, and her amber eyes held an unnatural glow that spoke of power- and danger. Her burgundy dress and fur-lined cloak spoke of luxury, but there was something almost predatory in the way she held herself, like a wolf in fine clothing.

ʼShe is just stunning, but she seems to be the most arrogant one in the roomʼ

I mused, the thought being the truth, knowing how she, in a sense she is related to the war council and has quite a powerful position within the faction led by the dwarves, my eyes also caught her thick curves hidden behind her dress, looking tantalising, she had the killer MILF body hidden under there, and the best of it is that her husband is dead too.

My eyes met the womanʼs for a moment as she flinched, her body no doubt reacting in a very unique way indeed, a thin smile coming to my face as I thought.

ʼFound youʼ

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Zoraʼs discomfort was obvious in the way she shifted beside me, though she did her best to hide it. I understood her unease - this wasnʼt just a meeting, it was a performance, and we were about to take centre stage.

”This is... rather intense,” Zora whispered, her words barely audible.

I nodded slightly, keeping my face carefully neutral. ”Thatʼs exactly how they want it.”

The maids whoʼd led us here moved with practised grace, bowing deeply before melting away to the roomʼs edges like shadows at noon. The Kingʼs gaze fixed on me with an intensity that

made my skin prickle.

ʼKing Tharvin Befureez Ironhearth, Prince Orik Befureez Tharvinson, Queen Elenara Frostforge and the so-called sister of the king Lady Valdris Treezʼ

”I pay my respects to King Tharvin Befureez Ironhearth, Prince Orik Befureez Tharvinson, Queen Elenara Frostforge, and...”

As the final embers were reached, I acted as if I didnʼt know the name of the last woman, to which this arrogantly sitting woman didnʼt respond for a moment. From my angle, I could see her eyes tremble as they looked at me.

”Sister?”

King Tharvin called, to which the woman quickly got out of her daze as she replied.

”Nameʼs Valdris Treez.”

She spoke in a calm light, to which I replied.

”Itʼs nice to meet you too, Lady Valdris Treez.”

After I said this, I could see that Prince Orik wasnʼt in a good mood as he spoke.

”I didnʼt expect you to bring a woman here with you. Who is she?”

I felt the edge to his tone at that question; it had to be there after all. They called her to question my intention about Nathalia, and here I was bringing another woman into the scenee. Of ccourse, from my perspective, I donʼt know why I was called, so I kept my expression neutral as I spoke.

”This is my own personal witch. Her nameʼs Zora.”

At the mention of the indication ”witch,” the anger boiling in the eyes of the father and son

faded away, a small understanding in them. But even then, they wanted it more private, as

King Tharvin spoke.

”The girl is not to attend the meeting.”

At his command, the maid Silverthought appeared, bowing with respect.