The reborn palace of Ihmiris echoed with anxious voices.
In the great council hall, torches burned bright, casting the freshly cleared walls and the empty throne's wavering shadows in flickering light. Kaelen had not yet entered. Around the circular table, his advisers fidgeted.
Lysia, draped in black and scarlet, held a bundle of reports. Her face was tense, her tone razor-sharp.
— Caravans have stopped coming through the Asmar Pass. The roads are no longer safe, and the surrounding villages refuse to cooperate. If we want to build a capital, we need more than stone and iron. We need grain. Artisans. Faith.
— And taxes, added Vaeron, the former captain of the guard, his gaze cold. These people are starving but withdrawn. As long as they have nothing to lose, they have no reason to swear allegiance. Take the little they have, and they will come begging for their livelihood.
A murmur of disapproval rippled through the room. Ceylen, standing off to the side, remained silent. His dark eyes swept over each speaker, then the empty throne. The hint of a smile touched his lips.
Kaelen entered.
Instant silence.
He no longer wore the garb of a fugitive or the cloak of a prince in exile. His breastplate was blackened, etched with a phoenix, and his travel-worn cloak had been cut and mended with noble care. On his brow rested the Black Crown—still chipped, but cleansed, as if it had found its rightful place.
He seated himself without a word. Then, slowly:
— Speak.
Lysia bowed her head, yet spoke plainly.
— Three villages refuse to recognize your rule. A fourth was razed last night by an unknown armed band. We must act swiftly, or rumors that your throne is empty symbolism will spread.
Kaelen's jaw tightened.
— And what do you propose?
— Send envoys… with supplies. Win them by hope, not by fear. Let them see you as a protector, not a lord who demands.
Vaeron nearly sprang from his chair.
— That is weakness. The world respects only fire and iron. If you do not seize control, others will.
Kaelen rose; his fingers grazed the table's surface.
— If I crush the doubters, I will build a kingdom on ruins. If I extend a hand to those who hate me, I will build a kingdom on sand.
A long silence.
Ceylen then stepped forward for the first time during the council. He was not an official adviser, yet no one had chased him away from this table.
— And what if you built on fear… without ever dirtying your own hands?
All eyes turned to him.
— Speak plainly, Kaelen commanded.
Ceylen shrugged.
— Send a clear—but ambiguous—message. An act that shows you cannot be ignored. That an invisible hand watches over this throne. Do not be the executioner. Let them believe a specter strikes on your behalf.
Lysia growled:
— Such tactics only produce tyrants.
— No, said Ceylen softly. They create myths.
Kaelen's gaze darkened. He knew he tread a dangerous line. Yet part of him listened.
— Enough, he decreed. I will decide by dawn.
All bowed, grudgingly.
When the hall emptied, only Lysia remained.
— You cannot heed his counsel, Kaelen. He plays a game we cannot fathom.
— And you? Do you think I can win this kingdom with sweet words and stale bread?
— I believe you can be a king to respect without becoming a monster.
He closed his eyes.
— Perhaps it is too late for that.
---
In the palace's northern wing, night fell slowly. Ceylen wandered the corridors, his shadow slipping across walls still blackened by ancient fire. Behind him, a faint footstep echoed.
He halted.
— You have been here a long time, haven't you? he whispered.
Lysia emerged from the gloom, arms crossed.
— I do not trust you.
— Nor should you.
— Then why does Kaelen listen to you?
Ceylen smiled.
— Because I do not lie to him.
She stepped forward, threatening.
— If you betray him…
— This throne needs shadows as much as light, Lysia. You will learn to embrace that.
---
Meanwhile, Kaelen sat alone in the ruined throne chamber. Moonlight glinted through shattered windows, splashing silver shards across cracked marble.
He stared at the crown lying before him.
— Which part of me will remain intact when all this is over?
The crown offered no answer.
Yet in the silence, he thought he heard… a whisper.
And somewhere in the corridor's darkness, a figure watched.
To be continued…