Smoke clung to the capital like mourning cloth. Ash drifted through the streets in lazy spirals, and the air reeked of burned grain and sweat. The palace gates loomed open, beyond them, the market still hissed with dying embers.Elias rode through the haze on horseback, flanked by soldiers whose armor was smeared with soot. The people watched from shuttered doorways eyes dull with hunger, anger, and something worse: disappointment.“Your Majesty,” Captain Varric muttered, “the fires are under control. But the crowd scattered before we could find who started them.”Elias nodded absently. His gaze swept across blackened stalls and broken barrels. “They burned their own food,” he murmured. “Desperation makes fools of us all.”At the far edge of the square, Rynna knelt beside a wounded boy. Her cloak was torn, her cheeks streaked with soot, but her voice was steady as she pressed a rag to the boy’s bleeding arm. She looked up when Elias approached.“They weren’t rioting for coin,

The cries had not stopped.They bled through the castle’s stone walls faint, broken, sometimes angry, sometimes hollow. Elias stood by the window of his council chamber, staring down at the dim orange glow flickering in the distance. The capital burned in pockets; the smoke rose in slow, deliberate columns, as if the city itself exhaled its fury.Seren had urged him to rest. Mara had demanded he send soldiers again to “restore order.”But Elias couldn’t move. His hands still bore faint streaks of dried blood not his, not even his soldiers’. Civilians. The ones who had died when panic turned the marketplace into a slaughter ground.Behind him, the heavy door creaked open.He didn’t turn. “If you’ve come to tell me I did what I had to, save your breath.”The voice that answered wasn’t Mara’s it was lower, tired, almost pained.“I didn’t come to flatter you,” said Rhys.Elias turned, eyes narrowing slightly. His commander looked as though he hadn’t slept either armor half-unbuckled, gaun

The night air was sharp as a knife’s edge. The moon hung low over the spires of Dalmere, bleeding its light through the mist that veiled the capital. Elias rode at the head of his patrol, the rhythmic clop of hooves echoing through narrow cobbled streets. The city felt different now tense, watchful. Every shuttered window was a secret, every shadow a question.“Your Majesty,” Captain Roderic said, pulling up beside him. “We’ve doubled the guard at the granaries as you ordered. No more stolen shipments.”Elias nodded but didn’t speak. His eyes scanned the alleyways. Somewhere, far off, a dog barked then abruptly fell silent. The quiet that followed was heavy.Behind him, Rhys rode with a torch raised high. His expression was grim. “They’re afraid of you now,” he said. “The people whisper that you’re becoming your father.”Elias turned his head, a faint edge in his tone. “Do you think that’s true?”Rhys hesitated. “I think fear can keep order. But it can also break a kingdom.”Before El

The great hall shimmered like a lie.Torchlight glinted off gold chalices, jeweled dishes, and banners that looked too bright for a kingdom so exhausted. Laughter filled the air strained, hollow, desperate.It was the first feast since the executions, and everyone knew it wasn’t celebration. It was surveillance.Elias sat at the head of the table, crown low, expression unreadable. Before him, a goblet of crimson wine glowed like blood in the candlelight. His hand hovered near it but didn’t touch.Mara sat two seats down, radiant and dangerous. Her gown was scarlet silk, her smile a weapon. Rynna, opposite her, wore simple white eyes down, quiet, unreadable. Rhys, farther to Elias’s right, barely spoke at all. Seren stood behind the king’s chair, silent sentinel as always.The silence between them all said more than words ever could.“Your Majesty,” said Lord Halden, one of the few nobles still loyal to Elias, “a toast, perhaps? To the unity of Dalmere?”Elias smiled faintly. “Unity, L

The next morning dawned gray and bloodless. The storm had passed, but the castle air still smelled of wet stone and fear.Elias hadn’t slept. Not since the poisoned cup.He stood before the grand windows of the council chamber as dawn’s weak light crawled across the tapestries. Behind him, servants whispered like ghosts. The death bell from last night still echoed faintly in the city below.Every sound, every shuffle of boots made him flinch now.The poison hadn’t been aimed at a careless ruler. It had been aimed at him the man who’d survived every attempt so far. Someone inside wanted him gone.And that meant every friend was a possible enemy.Seren entered quietly, his boots damp, his expression grim.“The kitchens have been sealed,” he said. “Three servants missing all vanished sometime after midnight.”Elias didn’t turn. “They’ll resurface in the river or a ditch before sunset. Alaric cleans his tracks.”Seren stepped closer. “Or someone inside does.”Elias finally looked at him.