Asriel Digmun—the loose thread in the royal tapestry. The flaw in an otherwise perfect lineage. The kingdom had done its best to hide the truth, to bury it beneath layers of deception. But they had spies. They had ears in every corner of the castle. And they had learned the truth.
The firstborn prince was a failure. Powerless. Unworthy of the throne.
That was the key. The weakness they had been waiting for. The chance to tear the Digmun family apart from the inside.
'And during the next Hubris…' Henry thought, his smirk deepening. 'Let's see if the Digmun family will have anything left to convince those four-winged bastards to pass the throne to them again.'
The thought alone filled him with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
They had waited. Bided their time. And now, everything was coming together. The rage in Arin's eyes, the frustration etched into his clenched jaw—they would use it all.