The palace of Valara was a fortress of elegance and stone, but within its walls, whispers moved faster than banners in the wind.
Lord Veric of House Dareth stood beside the High Chancellor in the royal council chamber, his fingers laced behind his back. Tall, silver-haired, and serpent-eyed, Veric had long mastered the game of power. His voice was silk laced with poison.
"The King grows quieter, more withdrawn with each passing council session,," he said, almost idly.
The Chancellor didn't respond, only glanced toward the throne at the end of the chamber—present but silent, its occupant attending to matters in private as he often did lately. that sat at the end of the chamber. Gold leaf flaked from its armrests, dulled by time and wear.
"The crown prince is too cautious," Veric continued. "Too silent. The nobles grow restless with every unanswered letter."
"You mean they grow impatient with not being heard."
"I mean," Veric said, stepping closer, "they grow tempted. Power hates a vacuum."
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In a different wing of the palace, Kael leaned over a table littered with reports from the borderlands.
Bandits in the western reaches. Disappearances near the southern mining colonies. Murmurs of old technology surfacing again—dangerous relics buried beneath ruins that no longer appear on any official map.
And worse, signs that someone was funding insurgent groups from within the capital itself.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, tension biting at the edges of his jaw.
Captain Rhyn entered the chamber quietly. "Your Highness," he said under his breath.
Kael didn't look up. "Report."
"The new recruits have been sorted. I placed 'Aeron' under Officer Dren. That one moves... differently."
Kael nodded slowly, then paused, his fingers tapping once against the edge of the desk. His voice dropped to something lower—calculated, resolute.
"Keep him in the inner circle... No. Move him directly under me. Not under the regular guard rotation. I want him reporting to me alone."
Captain Rhyn blinked. "Directly under you, Your Highness? As in—your personal palace guard?"
Kael leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on a curling edge of parchment. "Yes. Consider it a provisional assignment. He'll be assigned quarters near my wing. No intermediaries. He answers only to me."
Rhyn scratched at his jaw, clearly uncertain. "We've never had a personal guard pulled straight from open trial. The court will talk."
"The court always talks," Kael replied, voice calm but firm. "Let them. They'll assume it's politics. Or favoritism. They'll be wrong."
Rhyn raised a brow. "You think he's dangerous?"
Kael's gaze flicked up slowly. "I think he's important."
There was a pause. Then, in a quieter voice, Kael added, "I want eyes on him regardless. Quietly. If anything seems off, you come to me first."
Rhyn inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Highness. I'll make the arrangements."
Kael watched the captain leave, then turned back to the papers strewn across his desk. His thoughts, however, were nowhere near border reports or troop logistics.
He could still see her—the way she moved, the way she held the sword. The controlled posture, the flicker in her eyes. Aeryn, his little disciple, walking back into his life with a new name and a sharper edge.
She didn't recognize him yet. That was fine. For now.
But having her close again—where he could protect her this time—felt like a course correction eight years overdue.
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