AWAKENING OF THE HIDDEN HEIR (REBORN INTO THE THRONE)

008: Poisoned Thrones

The corridors of the palace had never felt heavier than this morning. Selara stormed through the halls, her silk skirts swishing sharply against the stone.

Her eyes, sharp and calculating, Rykal her son, followed her, guilt etched on his face.

“You idiot!” she snapped, voice echoing through the hallway. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? How could you let kael stop his daily dose of medicine? One mistake, and—” She cut herself off, breathing sharply,

Rykal flinched, raising his hands defensively. “Mother, I—”

“Don’t speak!” she hissed, pressing a hand to her chest to steady herself. “You promised me, Rykal. Every step of this plan was to be flawless. And now? Now Kael is up and moving freely. The timing—ruined!”

Her words were like sharp daggers, her fury consuming the hall. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, as her mind raced. The prince, frail and sickly in appearance, had been the easiest tool for her schemes. And now… now he was walking, thinking, planning. That fragile mask had shattered.

She needed a new plan.

Selara’s gaze flicked toward the far corridor.

Kael was walking towards them, a guard at his side, moving with quiet, deliberate steps toward the king’s chambers. She caught the faint gleam of determination in his eyes—the same resolve she had thought was broken.

Her lips curved into a cruel smile.

“Well, if it isn’t the sickly little prince,” she taunted, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

“I hear the palace whispers about your miraculous recovery. How fortunate that the gods—or perhaps mere chance—kept you this long.”

Kael’s gaze did not waver. He passed her without a word, his shoulders straight, his presence calm, measured. Selara’s smile faltered for a brief second—one she quickly masked. Her hand twitched, fingers brushing the pendant at her neck as if to remind herself she still had power, influence, and cunning.

“You should be careful, Kael,” she said, softer now, deceptively gentle. “There are forces here far stronger than you, forces that do not take kindly to… weakness.”

He ignored her entirely. Every step carried purpose, and every glance or whisper from her was irrelevant. Selara’s eyes narrowed, fury simmering beneath the surface, but Kael’s focus was fixed ahead.

The heavy double doors of the king’s private chamber opened before him,

Selara sneered and turned to Rykal

“Make sure the poison is delivered to him, by any means necessary or else I will kill you myself”

She stormed off leaving Rykal standing there

King Alaric lay upon his bed, coughing violently, blood staining his lips. Kael’s pulse quickened—not with fear, but with sharp clarity.

The same herb, he realized. The subtle, hidden poison that had weakened his own body had been used on the king. Someone was trying to finish what they had started.

“Your Majesty,” Kael said, moving to the bed with controlled calm. “You should not exert yourself.”

The king lifted his head weakly, eyes searching. “Kael… you’re awake… and moving freely,” he rasped. “You look… recovered.”

“I am getting better sir ” Kael said softly. His eyes scanned the king’s face and posture. “But you… you are coughing blood. This is the same herb I was given. Someone has poisoned you.”

The king’s eyes widened, awareness flickering like a fragile candle. “Poisoned… again? By whom?”

Kael studied him carefully, voice steady. “I do not know yet. But the symptoms are clear. You must avoid anything that could carry the same herb. I can advise antidotes, and we need to investigate immediately.”

Alaric’s gaze softened as he leaned back weakly. “I… I thought I was surrounded by loyal men… Yet the palace… it is full of traitors Can I even trust anyone?”

Kael placed a firm hand on the king’s shoulder. “Trust is rare in times like these, My king But I will stand with you. Every decision, every step, I will ensure your safety and the integrity of the throne.”

The king coughed again, gripping the sheets.

“I need to ask you something dad" kael said the word feeling foreign, he didn't know the last time he called someone that.

Alaric looked at kael expectantly

“What of Lysera? The marriage… can it be stopped?”

Alaric's face tightened

“Kael, there's no way to stop the marriage, you were dying, we had to give the princess of the north to the other prince to stop a war”

Kael’s jaw tightened. biting back frustration. If there was no legal or political solution, he would need to find another way—a loophole, an opportunity, a challenge he could manipulate.

He left the king’s chambers with the same quiet precision as before, heading directly to the library. The grand hall of scrolls and books was cool, silent, and smelled faintly of old paper and ink. The scribes glanced up, startled at the prince’s arrival, but Kael ignored the murmurs.

“I need information,” Kael said, voice calm, deliberate. “The marriage of Princess Lysera to Prince Rykal… is there any formal process, or tradition that could override this arrangement?”

A young scribe hesitated, eyes wide. “The only… loophole, Your Highness, would be the Tournament of Succession. Traditionally, the victor earns the right to make significant claims, including marital arrangements for heirs and wards of the crown. But—”

Kael’s eyes sharpened. “But?”

“It’s rare,” the scribe said, voice low. “Few have ever attempted to leverage it. The tournament is brutal, and many assume a frail prince would be incapable of competing.”

Kael’s lips curved into a faint, controlled smile. “Then it will suit me perfectly.” He leaned closer to the parchment-strewn desk, absorbing every detail: rules, timing, registration, potential opponents. “This… this is the only way.”

The scribes looked at each other, hesitant, uncertain if the prince understood the danger. But Kael already had his answer. The path forward was clear. Every step would be calculated. Every opponent studied. Every advantage exploited. The tournament would not just be a contest of skill—it would be a statement.

Kael rose from the desk, shoulders squared, mind racing. He thought of Lysera, her trusting eyes, her soft smile, her belief in him. Every memory of her fueled a determination deeper than any desire for power. The king’s poisoning, the treachery of Selara and Rykal, the danger to his sister—all of it converged into one singular resolve: he would reclaim what had been taken from the prince.

He would take the throne.

***