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TWL Chapter 458: Alliance Sealed in Blood
🕑 Added 2025-06-16 20:14:53 +0000 UTC“My lord, the capital has already been corresponding with Vizima. They know we’re arriving today. But now that we’re all armored cavalry, it
“My lord, the capital has already been corresponding with Vizima. They know we’re arriving today. But now that we’re all armored cavalry, it’ll be a bit tricky to arrange things right away… We may not get to meet King Foltest until tomorrow—”
Before House could finish his sentence, the Witchers’ medallions began to vibrate against their chests.
A portal opened ten paces ahead of the formation.
Seeing who stepped out from within, Triss lit up with surprise.
Keira Metz was dressed, as always, in her signature Carreras-patterned indigo blouse—cut low enough to draw the gaze of every nearby male.
She offered Triss a faint smile, then bowed respectfully to Lann.
“Duke Lannister. Your movements have been relayed by every outpost along the route. His Majesty has been expecting you.”
So, Foltest couldn’t wait to see him.
And from the sound of it… he didn’t exactly come in peace.
Of course not.
Lann idly rubbed his reins.
“Then I’ll trouble you, Advisor Keira, to lead the way. And see that my men are properly settled in.”
…
The royal palace in Vizima hadn’t changed much since Lann’s last visit. Nor had the reception room.
King Foltest still wore the same handsome expression that bordered on beautiful, sitting silently by the hearth, warming himself by the flames.
After pulling out a chair for Lann, the wine steward was promptly dismissed. Then, with a wave of his hand, Foltest ordered the dozen guards in the room to leave as well.
“Your Majesty…”
The lead knight hesitated, glancing at the lion-eyed man who stood as the embodiment of martial prowess in the North.
“Out,” the king said. His tone allowed no argument.
And so, only two people remained in the room.
The fireplace crackled as the wood popped, releasing a fragrant aroma into the air.
An awkward silence settled over them.
Five breaths.
Ten.
Twenty…
Lann pressed his lips together. He understood perfectly well the reason for the tension in the room.
After all, he was the one in the wrong here.
He decided to offer the old man some leeway. Clearing his throat, Lann prepared to say something conciliatory.
“Your Majesty—”
He even used an honorific.
But the moment he opened his mouth, Foltest cut him off—almost as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment to strike.
“This is payback, isn’t it?” The king’s voice was rigid.
“Hmm… what?”
“Or perhaps… a plot,” Foltest snapped, turning to face him directly. His teeth clenched tight enough to grind.
“A plot of yours, Lannister?”
...
This was the fourth time Lann had met with Foltest.
The first had been before the Northern Summit, when he came seeking aid—back then, they could hardly finish half a sentence without clashing.
The second was during the summit itself, where Foltest opposed nearly every one of his proposals. Only through the mediation of Queen Meve and Vizimir II had they finally reached an agreement.
The third had been outside the capital of Lyria, when they had driven back Nilfgaard’s central army. Foltest had unexpectedly arrived with reinforcements, fought, and left without saying a word—quick and to the point.
Across all three occasions, the Foltest standing before Lann had always been noble, elegant. Even in anger, he exuded royal authority—as if he were constantly ready to have his profile etched in oil by a painter.
But this time… was different.
Foltest glared at him, molars clenched so tightly it was as if his upper and lower jaws held a grudge against each other. His cheeks bulged with tension.
That look could only be described as grief-stricken rage.
Lann let out an awkward laugh after hearing Foltest’s words. “Your Majesty jests… There’s no feud between us. Why would I seek revenge?”
'Because I once proposed that my bastard son marry Ciri, and now you’re taking revenge!' Foltest howled inwardly.
Of course, all that screaming was confined to his thoughts. After that initial outburst, the seasoned king quickly regained control over his emotions.
He let out a cold snort. “So this is a conspiracy, then? You must have heard the rumors—that Radovid of Redania wants to marry Adda. And now, not wanting to see Temeria and Redania united, you resort to this kind of petty, underhanded trickery to sabotage our alliance!”
Lann couldn’t help but shake his head. “If I were truly that kind of villain, Your Majesty, then you’d have even less reason to meet with me alone like this.”
“Let’s speak plainly, Your Majesty. This circling around the point is an insult—to both of us.”
Foltest’s cheek twitched again at the impertinent tone. The golden-haired young man showed no trace of guilt.
The king took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
He stated the first purpose of today’s meeting with Lann: “Adda’s child will inherit Cintra.”
“Absolutely not,” Lann replied without the slightest hesitation.
Foltest slammed a hand down on the armrest. “That’s your child!”
Lann looked at the king, whose chest was rising with fury, and pressed his lips together. Then, in a perfectly justified tone, he said, “Which is precisely why I want him—or her—to inherit Temeria.”
As expected, in the very next second, King Foltest’s chest swelled like a balloon about to burst.
A deafening roar erupted in the meeting room. The guards and attendants outside, alarmed, tried to rush in, only to be angrily driven back out by an even more furious Foltest.
The sound of heavy breathing repeated over a dozen times.
When Foltest had finally calmed down somewhat, Lann stood up and set the overturned wine goblet upright, filling it again.
To be fair, after doing what he had done, standing so firm in front of the girl’s father did feel rather inappropriate.
“Your Majesty,” Lann began, after a moment of consideration, trying to offer some consolation. “What’s done is done. We should be looking forward.”
Foltest nearly thought the man intended to infuriate him to death on the spot just to clear the path for Adda’s ascension.
Lann went on, “I know you might have had other ideas. But I hope we can skip past all the probing and posturing—if you truly love Adda.”
Foltest’s face flushed another shade deeper. The man’s blood vessels had remarkable elasticity.
Still, after that, he no longer said anything about having Adda’s child inherit Cintra.
He downed the cup of wine in one swift motion, eyes locked onto Lann. And Lann, calm as ever, topped off the cup again.
“What makes you think she has any right to inherit Temeria?” Foltest growled. “Adda is a daughter. I have other sons.”
Lann replied unhurriedly, “But Adda is the daughter of your lawful queen. Your sons are illegitimate.”
“Bastards can be legitimized.”
“But under his rule, Temeria will never be as prosperous as it would under Queen Adda.”
Foltest emptied another cup in a huff, though this time, a faint trace of relief passed through his heart.
Lann’s words were firm, yes, but between the lines they carried a promise: if Adda were to inherit, then Lannister would stand behind her—would support a Temeria under her rule, and its ‘prosperity.’
And that was all Foltest had truly wanted—to secure that promise for his daughter.
Did Foltest love his daughter? Without question. As Lann had said, Adda was the daughter of the queen he had deeply loved. Even the name 'Adda' had been his wife’s name.
But as a king, Foltest had to consider more. As a princess, Adda had never been part of the original succession plan. In fact, Foltest had always intended to legitimize his bastard son and name him heir.
Yet Adda’s union with Lann—and the child it produced—had unexpectedly strengthened her position in terms of hard power.
After all, this was Cintra. Following the Northern War, voices had already begun to speak of a 'Five Great Kingdoms' rising in the North.
The other three major kingdoms might not have fought yet, but it was now certain—Cintra's strength had surpassed that of Aedirn. And Cintra, being a neighboring state, would soon become Temeria’s ally through Adda. That was undeniably good news for Temeria.
Whether the current situation had stemmed from Adda’s little schemes or from some deeper plot of Lann’s, in a way, Foltest found himself not entirely opposed to this outcome.
The fire crackled in the hearth as Foltest drank without pause, and Lann, without pause, refilled his cup.
Gradually, the wine doused the flames of his fury, one sip at a time.
After a long silence, Foltest finally asked, slowly, “Do you love Adda?”
“You jest, Your Majesty,” Lann replied tactfully—yet without a moment’s hesitation.
Before Foltest could erupt again, Lann quickly cut him off: “Do you think Adda loves me?”
Foltest froze in place.
“We both know how this happened. It was something none of us saw coming… a coincidence—but one that, however unexpected, manages to solve quite a few problems for us. Looking at the outcome, this is a good thing.”
“If you're asking whether there’s any emotion to be soothed between us, all I can say is: I will love Adda’s child. That’s all. And I believe Adda feels the same.”
This was the kind of conversation that, in modern society, would get someone crucified. But in this context, it couldn’t have been more appropriate.
To be honest, with Adda’s background, insight, and strong-willed nature, she was never the type to fall in love in any emotional sense. That night had simply been—well, something both sides understood for what it was.
