The King's Guard

Chapter 73

The Academy’s bells rang through the courtyard the next morning, summoning every division to the annual Strategy Seminar: a tradition older than the Shadow Corps itself.

Kyna fell in beside Kael as they crossed the colonnade. Her tone was quiet but firm. “You and Jared made quite the scene yesterday.”

Kael didn’t look at her. “You heard?”

“Half the Academy heard. Ember’s still trying to scrub scorch marks out of the yard.”

Kael sighed. “He pushed first.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “You both lost control.”

They entered the great hall: rows of seats cut into rising tiers, an amphitheatre of stone and brass. The banners of Veridale hung from the rafters: the twin hawks of vigilance, the sigil of the Shadow Corps below.

Students murmured, their whispers rising and falling like wind before a storm. At the front stood a raised dais where Darius waited, arms crossed, beside an empty chair reserved for Archon.

Reyna slipped in behind them, cloak damp from the morning fog. “I heard Archon won’t be speaking this year,” she whispered. “Some council meeting.”

“Good,” Kael muttered.

Kyna’s eyes flicked toward him. “Still sore?”

“Still breathing,” he replied.

Darius’s voice cut across the room. “Seats.”

The hall fell silent.

He scanned them, his stare enough to straighten every spine. “Today is not about rank. It’s about reflection. You’ll hear from those who led before you. Learn what they did right… and what cost them everything.”

He gestured toward a crystal device embedded in the wall. “Begin recording.”

The orb flared to life, projecting a faint, wavering image: an old recording, grainy yet clear. Darius’s younger voice echoed through the hall, colder, harder.

> “Truth means little if the throne is rotten. Loyalty means less when the hands that command it are stained.”

A ripple went through the recruits. Reyna looked at Kael, but he didn’t move.

The recording continued:

> “The Shadow Corps was built to defend Veridale, not its politics. Remember that distinction, because one day you’ll be ordered to forget it.”

Someone whispered, “Is that allowed?”

Darius turned from the projection, voice measured. “It was allowed then. Now, I suspect, it would not be.”

A nervous chuckle drifted through the crowd.

Kyna leaned close to Kael. “This is the lesson they play every year. But he cut half of it last time.”

Kael frowned. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Ask Archon. He controls what gets archived.”

On the dais, Darius looked toward the empty chair beside him. His tone cooled. “We’ll proceed without interruption.”

He began recounting a mission from years past: the Siege of Halden’s Gate, when Veridale nearly fell. “We were outnumbered three to one,” he said. “Archon commanded the front line. His decisions saved lives, but they also cost us the civilians trapped behind enemy walls.”

Reyna’s brows drew together. “He left them?”

Darius’s jaw tightened. “He made a choice. Sometimes command demands that. The question is whether the cost serves the realm… or your ambition.”

Kael heard the shift: not accusation, but warning.

A recruit raised a hand. “Sir, are you saying Archon betrayed Veridale?”

Darius’s response was slow. “No. I’m saying men don’t wake up intending to become villains. They convince themselves it’s necessary.”

Kael looked down, hands clasped. That sounded too much like what he’d overheard weeks ago: Archon’s voice, cold and quiet in the corridor: ‘If the King falls, Veridale rises stronger.’

The lesson continued, cycling through recorded case studies, failed missions, false reports, political cleansings. The same theme repeated beneath each: deception dressed as duty.

When the session ended, Darius dismissed them in small groups. The moment Kael turned to leave, his voice called, “Stay a moment.”

Reyna hesitated. “You want me to…”

“No,” Darius said. “Just him.”

Kael followed him to the dais as the hall emptied. Darius deactivated the recording crystal, its glow dimming.

“You noticed the cuts,” Darius said quietly.

Kael nodded. “Kyna mentioned Archon edits them.”

Darius studied him for a long moment. “You have a habit of seeing what others miss.”

Kael said nothing.

“Archon dislikes questions,” Darius continued. “He prefers obedience. Remember that.”

Kael frowned. “Why tell me this?”

“Because I think you already know something you shouldn’t.”

Kael froze.

Darius’s gaze sharpened. “Whatever you overheard, keep it buried until you understand its weight. Archon isn’t careless… if he suspects you, you’ll wish you’d never listened.”

Kael’s throat went dry. “You’re saying I’m right to be cautious.”

“I’m saying you’re right to be afraid.”

Their eyes met: mentor and student, one burdened by experience, the other by discovery.

Then Darius’s tone softened. “You’re growing into something dangerous, Kael. Not because of your Rift. Because you care. People like Archon see that as weakness.”

Kael asked, “And you?”

“I see it as the only thing keeping this Corps human.”

He clapped Kael’s shoulder. “Go. Before someone wonders why we’re talking.”

Outside, the corridors hummed with post-seminar chatter. Reyna caught up with Kael near the courtyard arch. “What did he want?”

Kael hesitated. “Nothing. Just… feedback.”

“Liar,” she said lightly, but her tone carried worry.

He almost told her the truth: about the overheard conversation, about Archon’s plans, but something in Darius’s warning held him back.

Kyna appeared from behind a column, hood drawn. “You two look like you just got sentenced.”

Reyna sighed. “Feels like it. Archon’s still got half the hall trembling.”

Kyna grinned faintly. “Good. Fear keeps them loyal.”

Kael looked at her. “You don’t sound like you disagree.”

“Oh, I disagree,” she said. “I just know how it works.”

Before Kael could reply, the hall doors slammed open. Archon himself strode through, cloak trailing, boots echoing on stone. The crowd parted instinctively.

Kael felt his pulse spike.

Archon’s gaze swept the recruits, then landed briefly on him. A pause. A fraction too long.

Then he spoke. “Fine words from Darius today. But remember, lessons are one thing. Orders are another. You follow the latter.”

No one dared answer.

Archon turned, eyes still fixed on Kael. “How charming, Kael. Darius’s prodigy making little waves.”

Kael forced his tone even. “I just follow orders, sir.”

A thin smile. “Then you’ll go far.”

He moved on, voice dropping low enough only Kael could hear. “Just make sure you follow the right ones.”

When he was gone, Kael realised he’d been holding his breath. Reyna whispered, “What was that about?”

Kael shook his head. “I don’t know.” But he did.

Kyna’s brow furrowed. “He’s watching you.”

“Then let him.”

Reyna frowned. “That’s not a plan.”

“It’s enough for now.”

That night, Darius stood alone in his quarters, the flicker of candlelight cutting across his face. He poured himself a drink but didn’t touch it. His gaze lingered on the locked cabinet beside the desk: the one containing reports Archon had ordered destroyed.

He whispered to the empty room, “If the boy’s right… then the Corps has already fallen.”

The candle guttered, flame bending sideways, and for a moment his reflection in the glass looked like someone else, someone harder, colder.