The Shattered Crown

Chapter 5 — Shadows on the Council Floor

The capital without Alaric felt deceptively calmer, but Elias knew better. Wolves didn’t leave their dens unguarded. If the vizier was marching south, then the council chamber—the true battlefield of the kingdom was left to his pawns.

From the gallery above, Elias watched as the lords assembled once more. The king sat heavy on his throne, his crown weighing as though it were forged of stone rather than gold. The whispers circling the chamber were venom cloaked in silk.

“Prince Elias grows restless,” one baron muttered. “Too reckless for the throne.”

“He has Kael in his ear,” another said, voice sharp. “The shadow of a rebel, nothing more.”

Elias ground his teeth. He wanted to storm down there, to silence them with steel, but Kael’s voice echoed in his mind: Your blade cannot cut every tongue. Power is not in striking, but in choosing when to strike.

Then the doors groaned open. A woman stepped in, cloaked in deep crimson, her presence commanding silence. Lady Selene—Alaric’s ally in the court. Her beauty was as dangerous as any blade, her smile a weapon sharpened on secrets.

She bowed low before the king. “Your Majesty, while your loyal vizier rides to protect the realm, the matter of succession must not lie unattended.”

Elias’s chest tightened.

“Succession?” the king barked. “I yet draw breath.”

“Of course,” Selene purred. “But what if breath falters? The attempted poisoning proves shadows already circle this crown. Should we not prepare?”

The lords murmured in agreement. Eyes turned not toward Elias, but toward Alaric’s cousin—a weak man, easily bent, who now stood tall under Selene’s shadow.

Rage surged through Elias. He leapt to his feet in the gallery. “You dare!” His voice thundered across the chamber. “Plotting the crown’s inheritance while the king yet rules? This is treason!”

Gasps filled the air. The king’s face hardened. “Elias”

But Selene only smiled, cool and unshaken. “Treason, my prince? No. Prudence. The realm must endure, even if fate claims its sovereign. Or would you rather see the kingdom collapse for your pride?”

The chamber erupted in debate, voices clashing like steel. Elias’s words were drowned in the tide. He could feel himself losing ground, every noble face turning from him, every whisper sowing doubt.

And then, like a blade through the noise, came a messenger’s cry.

“News from the south! A massacre at the border! The vizier’s men… slaughtered!”

The hall stilled. All eyes widened.

Selene’s mask cracked for only a heartbeat. Then she recovered, lifting her chin. “The vizier endangered himself for the realm. If he falls, then his allies must ensure his work continues.”

But Elias’s blood ran cold. If Alaric’s men were dead, it wasn’t defeat—it was design. A staged disaster, meant to tighten his grip.

He turned on his heel, storming from the gallery. Kael found him in the corridor, eyes narrowed.

“You see it now,” Kael said. “The council is theirs. The south is theirs. If you remain chained to these halls, you will lose before the war even begins.”

Elias’s fists trembled. “Then I will not remain chained.”

“Good,” Kael replied, voice like flint. “Because the trap is already sprung. Alaric did not ride south to defend the border. He rode south to draw you out.”

Elias froze. The realization hit like ice down his spine. He had followed Alaric into open ground. And now the noose was waiting.

That night, beneath the cover of moonlight, Elias stood at the southern gate. His horse stamped impatiently, mist rising in the chill air. Kael handed him a bundle—maps, rations, steel.

“Once you cross,” Kael said, “you walk into the wolf’s den. Every ally you think you have may already be his. Every stranger may bear his coin. You must decide now—are you heir to a crown, or hunter of a usurper?”

Elias tightened his grip on the reins. “I am both.”

Kael gave a single nod, then stepped back into the shadows.

The gates creaked open. Beyond lay the road to the south, empty and endless. Elias urged his horse forward, heart pounding, breath sharp.

He would face Alaric. He would uncover the truth, or die in the attempt.

As the gates shut behind him, he didn’t see the pair of eyes watching from the darkness above the wall. Lady Selene’s spy leaned against the stone, lips curling into a cruel smile.

“The prince rides to his ruin,” he whispered, before vanishing into the night.

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