“Could you tell me more? If it’s awkward, I won’t press.” His tone fell like soft rain under the eaves, a door left kindly ajar.

His reaction was steady; he didn’t chase the question, just offered a retreat like stepping stones across a stream.

That bit of grace eased Ling. The little cloud of doubt that had risen in her thinned like morning fog.

After all, King Alex’s calm felt carved by many storms. A man shaped by earthquakes won’t flinch at a tremor about her.

“You flatter me. There’s no ‘awkward.’ In fact, we’ve already passed the coordinates to the Queen of the Elvenfolk. If nothing goes wrong, they’ll come soon. If I remember right, they plan to set their roots near us…”

“Wait.” King Alex cut in, his voice a firm oar-swipe on quiet water. “Are they planning to move the entire forest here?”

Ling didn’t mind the interruption. Patience settled in her like still lakewater. “Exactly. The Queen intends to swap the land in front of the Mystic Realm. Trading one stretch of soil for another shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No problem. That barren patch is cracked pottery no one wanted. In exchange for the Elvenfolk, that’s fair. But I have one—well, two small requests.”

He wasn’t a fool; he knew no bait comes without a hook hidden in the glint.

“I’m listening.”

He nodded, called a maid, and had a sheet brought up, the paper fluttering like a pale leaf.

“When the Elvenfolk arrive, we hope the Mystic Realm can act as a bridge. Thread the needle for us, help us build a steady relationship.”

Seeing the paper, Ling had expected some mountain of trouble that needed ink to anchor it—yet the thunder broke as a gentle drizzle.

Truth was, even without his asking, Alicia would find a chance. If the Moser Empire keeps its sails full, this is a wind she welcomes.

Ling studied King Alex. His hair was all white—not gleaming silver, but a weary chalk-white. His brow held three ridges like old tree rings. Age spots mapped his face, and his skin was parched parchment. The old king looked truly old.

Human frailty doesn’t vanish, even in a world steeped in magic; winter still bites through silk.

Old—and Alicia had left home. Perhaps he feared the old saying, that a married daughter is like water poured out. Afraid the stream would never circle back to his well, he asked for this straw of comfort.

“Of course. We can do that.” Her answer laid a warm quilt over cold worry.

King Alex smiled, a tired lantern brightening, and handed the paper to Ling.

“This is a contract I signed with a merchant. He wants to trade with the Elvenfolk as an independent dealer. Would that be… acceptable?”

It did feel like he was pushing his luck—one favor given, a second hand reaching for another grape. In bargaining, that always draws frowns.

Ling didn’t mind. This is the Elvenfolk’s business. Her role is to stand as an unshakable wall and nothing more. At most, she’ll tie the first red string between them.

“Alright. I’ll try. But it’s not state to state. And the Elvenfolk dislike humans. Whether he succeeds is on him. If he fails, don’t come knocking with empty sacks at our gate.”

“Ah… that’s fine. I’ve told him. He said he understands.”

“Good. If there’s nothing else, I’ll head out. I need sleep—today weighed on me like wet sand.”

She turned to go, but King Alex rose from the throne first, the old wood sighing like an old tree in wind.

He came to her and set his aged hands on her cheeks. Ling didn’t resist; a single beat of her wings could bruise him.

There was no heat of greed in his eyes. Instead, a father’s gaze searched her face, like looking for a familiar silhouette in candlelight—perhaps seeking traces of his daughter.

She didn’t want to dim the old king’s lamp. She hoped he could hold himself upright; if Alicia came back to find her father so lost, her heart would wither too. That mustn’t happen.

“Ling, can I ask you one last question?”

He was pushing his luck again, but he was the elder—and her father-in-law. She let the winter keep its chill.

“Ask. I’ll answer what I can, as fits the moment.”

His hand moved higher, brushing behind Ling’s ear, gentle as dusk wind. In his eyes stirred a tide she couldn’t name—perhaps that’s what they call a father’s love.

“Then… Ling, answer me honestly. Is Alicia connected to this Daemon incursion?”