The Shattered Crown

Chapter 8 – Whispers in the Dark

The corridors of the royal fortress were never silent. Even at night, when the torches flickered low and the guards spoke in hushed tones, the castle seemed alive—breathing, listening. Elias moved like a shadow, his cloak pulled tight, footsteps muffled against the stone. He was not meant to be here, not after curfew, but there were whispers he had to chase.

The rumors had begun innocently enough. A soldier claimed to have overheard a servant speaking of secret meetings in the lower halls. Another guard swore he had seen cloaked figures slipping into the abandoned chambers once used by the late queen’s council. Elias knew better than to dismiss such talk. In a kingdom already poisoned by betrayal, whispers could be daggers waiting to strike.

He descended the spiral staircase, his hand brushing the cold wall for balance. The torches thinned the deeper he went, and soon he was moving in near-darkness. At the final landing, he paused. Faint voices drifted from beyond the heavy oaken door at the corridor’s end.

“…the boy suspects nothing,” one voice rasped.

“He’s young, but not blind,” another countered. “If he learns the truth before we’re ready—”

“Then we silence him.”

Elias froze. His hand instinctively found the hilt of his sword. They were talking about him.

The door creaked slightly, and he pressed himself into the shadows as two cloaked figures emerged. Their faces were hidden, but their movements were purposeful, almost rehearsed. He followed at a distance, each step careful, each breath measured.

The figures led him not toward the council chambers, but toward the outer wall, where the fortress met the cliffs overlooking the raging sea. A hidden passage—one Elias had never seen—yawned open as a stone slab shifted under their touch. He hesitated only a moment before slipping inside after them.

The passage smelled of damp earth and secrecy. Roots curled through the ceiling, and the floor was slick with moss. The voices ahead echoed strangely, words overlapping and distorting. Elias strained to hear.

“…the crown will break…”

“…he cannot be allowed to unite them…”

“…the pact is almost sealed…”

The air grew colder the deeper he went, until his breath fogged. At last, the figures stopped in a cavern lit by a circle of dim blue flames. Strange symbols were carved into the stone floor, glowing faintly, pulsing as though alive.

Elias ducked behind a jagged rock, heart pounding.

The two cloaked figures knelt within the circle. A third presence appeared—not flesh, but shadow, rising from the flames, its voice a low rumble that scraped against Elias’s bones.

“Soon the kingdom will kneel,” the shadow intoned. “The prince’s death will mark the beginning. His blood will open the path.”

Elias’s throat tightened. They weren’t planning to merely dethrone him—they meant to use him as a sacrifice.

The cloaked figures bowed deeper. “As you command.”

A rock shifted under Elias’s boot. The sound cracked through the cavern like thunder. The shadow’s head—or what resembled one—snapped toward his hiding place.

“Who’s there?” one of the cloaked figures snarled, leaping to their feet.

Elias turned and ran. The cavern walls blurred past as he sprinted, the flicker of blue fire chasing him. Behind him, voices shouted, and footsteps pounded against the stone. The passage twisted and forked, but instinct guided him upward, toward air, toward light.

He burst from the hidden exit onto the cliffside, gasping. The night wind hit him like a blade, salty and sharp. But there was no safety here—the cliff was narrow, the sea roaring below, and the traitors closing fast.

Elias raised his sword, breath ragged, eyes locked on the figures approaching. “Come then,” he hissed, voice steady despite the terror clawing at his chest. “If it’s my blood you want, you’ll have to fight for it.”

The shadow’s voice echoed on the wind, chilling and triumphant.

“Then let the hunt begin.”

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