The Court Meeting

The laughter faded. Nobles straightened in their seats.

The king leaned back, swirling the dark drink in his goblet, his gaze flicking between his son and the court.

"Let's not waste time with any more jokes and laughter."

"It has been brought to my attention that there are some concerns regarding the expedition."

The nobles nodded.

Then Durent, in an attempt to compose himself, spoke. "That is what I was trying to say, Your Majesty. We are yet to see any written reports for the money we've given."

A few nobles murmured in agreement.

August cleared his throat, the quiet sound enough to draw the room's attention. With a subtle tilt of his head, he signaled to Caelan.

She stepped forward without a word, drawing the parchments from behind her back. First, she approached the king, presenting the report with a respectful bow. Then, she moved steadily around the table, handing one parchment to each noble. The sound of parchment sliding against polished wood filled the brief silence.

Once the last document was delivered, August began.

"In front of you is a full report from our expedition north," he said, his voice even but firm. "It includes every coin spent—and what it was spent on."

There were a few murmurs as nobles skimmed through the pages, some narrowing their eyes, others raising their brows at listed figures or scribbled annotations.

August stepped away from the table, slowly circling the room as he continued.

"Now, regarding the creatures themselves—we've observed something unusual."

He paused deliberately, allowing the weight of his words to settle.

"They are smart."

The room quieted further, several nobles lifting their heads.

"They respond to fear. Not noise, not light—emotion."

He turned slightly, his gaze sharp.

"We tested this. It wasn't the screams that brought them—it was the fear behind the screams. Even silent panic drew them in."

A few nobles shifted in their seats, glancing around as if unsure whether to be skeptical or alarmed.

August moved back toward the table and gestured at the large map unfurled across its center, his finger tapping the northern border—where the land brushed up against dense forest.

"We also noticed something strange. If you stay within a hundred steps of the treeline, the monsters won't come any closer."

"As though there's an invisible barrier holding them back."

He let that sink in, waiting for a few raised brows and exchanged glances to pass before continuing.

"We combed the area, looking for a reason—tracks, markings, wards, anything. But there's no sign of why they stop. It's as if even they are afraid to cross it."

He straightened, folding his hands behind his back.

"We've begun relocating villagers who lived near forested regions. Moving them closer to the city has already reduced the number of attacks."

"To ensure a timely report, Duke Cidric offered to oversee the remaining efforts himself. I'm sure we can trust him for this mission"

He paused, letting the weight of what he was about to say settle in his throat.

"And lastly—these creatures are capable of more than physical attack. They produce a kind of mist."

That drew a shift in the room. Several nobles leaned forward, brows furrowed.

"It works like a poison. Not one that kills—but one that manipulates. It induces hallucinations—visions that prey on fear."

A beat passed, thick with silence.

"It's how they hunt."

◇◇◇◇

The discussion had stretched well into the afternoon, and the nobles had shown no mercy. They battered August with questions—some genuine, others clearly designed to corner him or test the limits of his composure.

Through it all, he remained steady. Calm. Dignified. But even Caelan, who stood silently behind him, could see the toll it took.

At last, the king stood, and the meeting was formally dismissed. Chairs scraped back. Robes swished. Quiet murmurs filled the air as the nobles filed out one by one, lingering only long enough to exchange glances or share whispered remarks. The heavy doors finally shut behind the last of them, sealing the tension outside.

August let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Without a word, Caelan moved to his side and walked with him through the long corridors.

The moment they entered his chambers, the prince sank into the chair by his desk, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Caelan stood by the door, watching him quietly for a moment before speaking. "Should I have someone prepare tea for you?"

He didn't look at her, only gave a tired nod. "Chamomile."

His voice was quieter than usual, a little strained.

"Very well," she said with a short bow.

Her tone was formal, but her gaze lingered on him—just for a second—before she turned and slipped out of the room, her footsteps fading into the silence.

◇◇◇◇

Caelan walked briskly down the corridor, expression blank as ever, steps precise and measured. But her thoughts were far from calm.

She could still see him.

That minor noble with the clipped accent and painted smile — the one who kept raising his hand just when August had begun to steady himself. Always polite, always respectful, and always with a question so carefully phrased it barely skirted mockery.

And the way he grinned—subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable—when August faltered for just a second. Just one second.

Her hand twitched at her side.

She remembered his name. Of course she did. She remembered the color of the jewel at his collar, the tilt of his chin when he addressed the prince, and the way his fingers tapped idly on the parchment as if he were bored.

Caelan did not forget faces like his.

She reached the kitchens and relayed the order for chamomile tea in her usual clipped tone, but even as the servants moved with urgency, her eyes were distant. Cold. Focused on something no one else could see.

It wasn't her place to interfere. Not publicly.

But she would remember. And if that same noble tried again—if he even thought of cornering August with that smug little smile—Caelan would make sure the next time he opened his mouth, he'd find it hard to speak at all.

Maybe a small, unexpected accident during training. A misstep. A stray blade.

Just enough to humble him.

She accepted the tray from the servant with a nod, her reflection faint in the silver teapot's surface. Calm. Controlled. Dutiful.

No one needed to know what lay beneath.