The great hall of the royal court shimmered in the golden hues of the afternoon light, filtering in through the high stained-glass windows that depicted the legends of Eldoria's founding.
Beneath the painted saints and sacred beasts, Queen Adrian sat at the throne, her posture regal, her icy blue eyes sharp.
She was surrounded on either side by nobles, ministers, and advisors, all seated in a crescent formation before her.
Among them stood Cedric, ever watchful beside Victoria, his expression guarded yet thoughtful.
Cedric's internal thoughts stirred as he glanced across the assembly.
"Another court summoned in barely a fortnight. The queen grows concerned… rightfully so."
His gaze swept over the noble houses, some loyal, others absent.
"Some don't even bother to show anymore. They test the weight of the crown, seeing how far it bends before it breaks."
Murmurs quieted as Queen Adrian rose.
"I summon you here," she began, her voice smooth but firm, "because the realm bleeds. Riots in the capital. Merchant caravans ambushed just days from our gates. Fields left fallow. And I ask, where are the shields of the realm? Where are the arms of the nobility that should stand with crown and country?"
She looked out over them, her jaw set.
"Some of you," she continued, "have been conspicuously silent. Absent from council, unwilling to lend troops, or coin. I demand answers."
Lord Vernon Carrington stood slowly, his rich burgundy robes trailing behind him.
"Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "no one here doubts your desire to protect Eldoria. But might it be… time to consider that your approach may need... reform."
A ripple moved through the court.
Lord Larth Rohan stood next to him, adding, "The people are restless. The treasury is strained. Perhaps, Your Grace, you should allow the nobility to advise more directly. Perhaps… a shared council of governance."
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
"You mean to divide my rule? A queen shares counsel, not command."
Cedric stepped forward.
"My Queen speaks truth. The nobles are to uphold the crown, not fracture it. I too have seen the unrest, but it will not be quelled by chaos within these walls."
Victoria spoke next.
"Bandits prey on our merchants not from policy, but from emboldened rebellion. If we begin pulling apart our own authority, what message does that send?"
The court buzzed louder now, voices raising in tension.
"We have to think of the people!" cried a younger noble. "They are starving!"
"And who let the farms fall behind?" retorted another nobleman. "The same lords asking for more power?"
"Enough!" Queen Adrian slammed her scepter to the floor. "I will not see this hall become a bickering pen!"
Suddenly, the tall doors of the court opened.
A hush fell.
Prince Ethan strode in, dressed in polished blue and silver, his expression unreadable.
He approached with measured steps and bowed curtly to his mother before speaking.
"Perhaps," he said calmly, "we should listen to what Lords Carrington and Rohan have to say."
The air froze.
Even the most vocal lords stilled.
Adrian's face was pale with disbelief.
"Ethan."
He stood taller.
"Mother… I see the unrest. I've spoken to merchants, walked through the streets in disguise. The people are angry, scared. They feel unheard. These reforms might, at least, deserve our ears."
"Are you questioning me, " she asked, low and cold.
"I am questioning the silence around action!" he snapped. "I am not your enemy, but I am no child. Perhaps it is time that someone led a reform for this kingdom."
"Then do your royal duties," she bit back. "Ride with the knights, meet with the ministers, not play puppet to scheming lords."
The nobles erupted.
Some shouting support for the queen.
Others raised voices in favor of the prince.
Cedric glanced across the court and noticed a nobleman shouting with such fury his face turned red.
Another drew attention by banging his cane against the floor in protest.
Arguments broke out in pockets.
Prince Ethan's face tightened.
"If my loyalty is questioned for wanting to help the people, then maybe the crown's weight should be shared."
Larth Rohan and Vernon Carrington smiled, but said nothing.
They simply took their seats, victorious in silence.
Queen Adrian stared at her son, her eyes glinting with fury and heartbreak.
"Leave," she said softly, "before you disgrace yourself further."
With a flash of his cloak, Prince Ethan turned and stormed out, his footsteps echoing behind him.
As the echoes faded, Cedric's mind raced.
"The rot is spreading fast. The prince… they're turning him. And the queen, gods, she still loves him. But this court will tear apart if this continues."
He looked toward Adrian.
She stood alone again, proud and tall, yet more vulnerable than ever before.
…
The heavy doors of Prince Ethan Eldoria's private office slammed open with a bang, nearly rattling off their hinges.
"Damn her!" he shouted into the empty chamber, storming across the ornate rugs and past the gilded furniture. "She humiliated me, again! Before every noble in the realm!"
He tore off his cloak and threw it across the nearest chair.
His breathing was ragged, sharp with frustration.
The fire in the hearth crackled, but it felt no warmer than the cold storm surging within him.
"All I wanted was to be heard," he spat. "To offer a voice. A solution! But she treats me like a child! Like I'm too naive to understand the weight of the crown."
The prince paced, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists.
For a long moment, he stood in silence, staring into the fire, then, as if answering his rage, the door creaked open behind him.
Soft footsteps glided across the marble floor.
"Your Highness," came the gentle, familiar voice of Lucy, his maid, shadow, and most loyal confidant.
She carried a silver tray, on which steam rose from a freshly brewed pot of tea.
"I brought something to calm your nerves."
"I don't want tea," he muttered.
She set it down anyway, with practiced grace.
"You're angry," she said soothingly, stepping closer. "And you should be."
He looked at her sharply, but she did not shrink.
She poured the tea, the light clink of porcelain the only sound between them for a moment.
"She dismissed me," he said, lower now. "Dismissed me like I was a child speaking out of turn. I am the crown prince."
Lucy handed him the cup.
"That you are."
He took it, drank, but not for the tea.
For the calm in her voice.
"You were right to speak, Ethan," she continued softly. "You were bold. Commanding. The court saw it. The nobles listened. You didn't just speak today, you led."
He scoffed, but her words clung to him.
"Did I lead, or did I simply challenge her?" he asked, voice strained. "And now look, I've possibly made an enemy of my own mother."
"No," she said, stepping closer, "she made one of you."
He turned to face her, expression unreadable.
"Lucy—"
"She fears your strength. She sees what you could become. That's why she tries to cage you."
Her words dripped like honey, sweet but sharp.
Each syllable a carefully placed thread in the web she spun.
"I don't want to take the crown from her," he said, hesitating. "But if she won't see what's happening to the realm, what choice do I have but to—"
"To lead," Lucy finished for him, gazing up into his eyes. "The people already see you as a symbol. Now it's time you see it too."
The firelight danced across the lines of tension in his brow, the flicker of doubt in his stormy eyes.
Lucy placed a hand lightly on his arm, then slowly up to his shoulder.
He didn't pull away.
"You were born for this, Ethan. Not to wait, not to be coddled in your mother's shadow, but to rise."
He stared down at her, his anger giving way to something else, something vulnerable, uncertain, burning.
"And what would you have me do, Lucy?"
She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing a lock of his hair away from his temple.
"Gather those who believe in you," she whispered. "Speak again at the next court. Let them hear your vision for Eldoria. Show them that a true king listens to the cries of his people."
He didn't answer immediately.
The warmth of her presence, the intoxicating rhythm of her voice, pulled him in like a tide.
"You always know what to say," he murmured.
"I only speak what you already know to be true."
She leaned in slightly.
"Your mother may wear the crown," she said, her voice like silk, "but you… you were born to command it."
He kissed her.
A sudden motion, driven by fire and frustration and something deeper... need.
Her hands moved to his chest, unfastening the upper buttons of his collar with ease.
Their mouths met again, more urgently this time, as Ethan pulled her closer, surrendering to the one place where the noise of doubt quieted, her arms.
The tea cooled on the desk.
The fire burned low.
And as the curtains fluttered against the open window, the shadows within the room deepened.
…
Couple hours pass
…
The soft sound of clothing being adjusted broke the hush that had fallen over the prince's office.
Ethan sat with his back half-turned toward the fire, hair tousled, his jaw clenched as he stared into the dying embers.
His shirt was buttoned again, but not all the way.
He had not spoken since their embrace ended.
Whatever passion had flared was now buried beneath a smoldering mix of anger, guilt, and grim contemplation.
Behind him, Lucy moved with careful grace, smoothing her apron and adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves with practiced indifference.
When she glanced at the prince, her expression was one of gentle concern, but the sharpness in her eyes betrayed deeper thoughts.
"I'll fetch you fresh tea," she said softly.
He gave no reply.
With a quiet nod, she turned and slipped through the side door of his chambers, into the silent hallway that led into the servant wing.
But instead of heading for the kitchens, she moved in the opposite direction, down a stone stairwell, then along a narrow corridor behind a false tapestry.
Torchlight flickered ahead.
Two figures stood waiting in the secret chamber beneath the eastern wing, Lord Larth Rohan, and Lord Vernon Carrington, arms folded over their chests with a perpetual air of restrained contempt.
"You're late," Vernon growled as Lyra entered.
She raised an eyebrow.
"You're lucky I came at all. His Highness needed soothing."
Larth's lips curled faintly.
"So we heard. We arrived earlier than planned… caught the end of your little 'soothing' session."
Lyra tilted her head but didn't flinch.
"He needed… reassurance."
"You're getting far too close," Vernon snapped, taking a step forward. "You're supposed to guide the boy's thinking, not climb into his bed."
"I do what's necessary," she said coolly. "And you'll address me with more respect, Lord Carrington."
Vernon's nostrils flared.
Larth placed a hand on his arm.
"Enough," Larth said. "She's executing her role well. The boy's already questioning his mother's rule. That's what matters."
Lyra approached them, her tone still neutral but edged with something colder.
"He's raw, emotional. And ripe for persuasion. But push him too fast and he'll crumble, or worse, run back to his mother. The intimacy builds trust. With trust, I can shape his convictions."
"And how long will that take?" Vernon asked sharply.
"Not long," Lyra said. "He already believes he should be king. He just doesn't know what to do with that belief yet."
Larth nodded slowly.
"Good. Then it's time we prepare the next phase."
Lyra crossed her arms.
"I will decide when we do that or have you forgotten that I'm in charge of this mission."
Larth grumbled under his breath.
"A message arrived this morning with additional orders."
At this mention, Vernon's gaze sharpened.
"Additional?"
"King Perceus wants the boy fully committed, emotionally and publicly. He must begin speaking against his mother not just in court, but to the people. If he can make speeches, draw a following…"
"He becomes the symbol of a new regime," Vernon finished.
"Exactly."
Vernon glanced at her, still tense.
"You'll keep him close?"
Lyra smirked.
"Closer than ever."
A silence fell between the three of them as the implications deepened.
Then Larth spoke, quieter now.
"And what of the Queen?"
"She's suspicious," Lyra said. "She knows something's off, but not what. Yet."
Larth's eyes glittered in the torchlight.
"Let's keep it that way."
They turned toward the stairs again, cloaked in shadows.
"We'll meet again soon."
"Until then."