The Shattered Crown

Chapter 7 — The Mask of Loyalty

The council chamber of Ardentis was a hall of shadows. Gold-threaded banners hung limp in the still air, and the polished floor reflected torchlight like fire upon water. Here, whispers weighed more than steel, and betrayal often wore the mask of loyalty.

Prince Elias entered the chamber with Kael at his side. His cloak was stained with the dust of the South Gate, his wounds hastily bound, but his eyes blazed with defiance.

Every councilor turned. Some with surprise, others with disdain. And at the far end, draped in black velvet, sat Alaric the vizier. His expression was unreadable, his hands folded as if in prayer.

“Prince Elias,” Alaric’s voice carried like silk laced with venom. “We feared you lost on the road. Imagine our relief to see you return.”

Elias did not bow. “Spare me your relief. I know what awaited me at the South Gate.”

A murmur rippled through the council. Lords and generals shifted uneasily. The ambush was no secret now—too many witnesses, too much blood spilled.

Alaric rose with calm poise. “You accuse me? How ungrateful. While you rode, I worked to hold this kingdom together. Yet you return not with gratitude, but with baseless charges.”

Elias stepped forward, voice sharp. “Your men carried your crest. Your captain spoke your orders. Do you deny it?”

For the first time, a flicker of something crossed Alaric’s face. Not guilt, but amusement. “Men will do anything for power. Anyone could forge my crest, speak my name. And yet, who benefits from this tale of betrayal? You, my prince. You stand here, bloodied, a survivor, painting yourself as victim and hero both.”

The words cut deep because they rang with plausibility. The councilors leaned forward, weighing every syllable.

Kael hissed, hand on his dagger. But Elias raised a hand to stop him.

“This council must decide,” Elias said, steady though his heart thundered. “Will you follow a vizier whose schemes bleed the kingdom, or a prince who fights for its survival?”

The chamber grew tense. Some eyes shone with sympathy, others with suspicion. The mask of loyalty was everywhere—smiles hiding daggers, silence concealing treachery.

Alaric spread his hands in mock surrender. “If you would have them choose, then let them choose. But know this: loyalty is not won with words. It is proved with deeds. Tell us, Prince—what deed marks you worthy to lead?”

Elias’s mind raced. The South Gate proved he could fight, but not that he could rule. The kingdom teetered on the edge of civil war, and Alaric was baiting him into a trap: speak too boldly, and he would seem a usurper; remain too cautious, and he would fade into irrelevance.

Then, unexpectedly, an ally spoke.

“His deeds are written in blood,” said Lady Serenya, a councilor with eyes like a hawk’s. “I heard the cries of the South Gate from my own riders. The prince stood against them and survived where no other could.”

Others shifted again. Some nodded. Some frowned.

Alaric’s smile never faltered. “Survival does not prove worth. Even vermin survive.”

Rage flared in Elias’s chest, but he forced it down. He would not let the vizier’s words shake him. Instead, he turned to the council.

“Loyalty,” Elias said firmly, “is not blind obedience to one man’s will. It is sacrifice for the kingdom. My father lies in his grave because he trusted false counsel. I will not repeat his mistake. I ask for loyalty—not to me, but to Ardentis itself. Stand with me, and we will break the chains that bind this throne to treachery.”

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then the chamber erupted in argument—voices rising, oaths and accusations flying like arrows.

Alaric did not join them. He only watched Elias with that thin, knowing smile. A mask of loyalty so perfect it concealed even the hand that had drawn the blade.

At last, the council dismissed. Some pledged themselves quietly to Elias. Others slipped into Alaric’s orbit. The lines of loyalty were drawn, yet blurred, for no oath here was unbreakable.

As Elias and Kael stepped into the cool night air, the prince’s breath shuddered. “Every word I spoke could be twisted. Every ally I gain may betray me tomorrow.”

Kael laid a hand on his shoulder. “That is the mask of loyalty. Trust no face without testing it. And never forget—Alaric thrives because men fear him more than they believe in you. Give them reason to believe.”

Elias looked up at the moon, its light silvering the stones of the capital. The South Gate had tested his blade. The council tested his resolve. Ahead, he knew, would come the truest test of all: the people themselves.

And far behind them, in the council chamber now empty, Alaric stood alone, his hand brushing over the armrest of the throne. He whispered softly into the silence, words meant only for himself:

“Let the boy play at heir. In time, he will wear the crown. And when he does—he will find it shattered.”

---