Conspiracy in the Court

Aldric sat alone in the war room beneath the throne chamber, parchment maps and enchanted sigils spread before him. He traced the last three Herald breaches—each more violent, each closer to the city's heart.

He wasn't alone for long.

Lord Daevos stepped from the shadows, hood down, voice calm.

"We have a problem."

"I'm aware," Aldric replied without looking up.

"I mean Elara."

Aldric did look now. "Careful."

"She's becoming something more than we predicted. More than you can control."

"Control was never the goal."

Daevos chuckled. "Then you've forgotten what made you king."

Aldric's eyes narrowed. "No. I just remember what it cost."

Daevos leaned in, lowering his voice. "There are those in the Court who would see you replaced. If not killed. They believe you've chosen love over legacy."

Aldric stood slowly, voice like ice. "Let them come."

"They won't come for you," Daevos said, stepping back. "They'll come for her. Tonight."

And then he was gone, leaving behind only the smell of iron and betrayal.

Aldric stared at the map again—this time at the lines not drawn in ink, but in blood. And with a whisper, he vanished into shadow.