Chapter 13: Shadows of the Throne

The grand council chamber of Eldrath was a cavernous hall of cold stone and flickering torchlight, its vaulted ceilings lost to shadows, as if the very air weighed heavy with secrets. Rich art depicting battles long past hung on the walls, their colors muted under years of neglect, but the faces of kings and warriors they portrayed seemed to watch us all the same. Tonight, the eyes felt more accusing than ever.

I sat upon the raised dais at the far end of the room, beneath a carved arch crowned with the Valenhart crest. Around me, the kingdom's most powerful men and women assembled. The Lord Chancellor, his pale fingers twitching nervously as he shuffled papers, the grizzled General Malric, his stern eyes scanning every face like a hawk searching for weakness, Lady Ysela, the court mage, and a dozen nobles clad in embroidered silks, their jeweled rings tapping softly on the polished oak table.

The atmosphere was taut with tension, thicker than the cold air that seeped through the cracks in the ancient stones. This was not a meeting of fellowship, but a battlefield of words and wills.

"Your Highness," the Lord Chancellor began, voice measured, "we are gathered under grave circumstances. The arrival of Minjae, this stranger who appeared unbidden within our kingdom cannot be ignored. Nor can the ancient prophecy that accompanies his presence."

A scholar stepped forward, holding an aged parchment with trembling hands. The faded ink barely legible, yet the words spoke clear in my mind

"When the shadowed veil parts beneath the flickering moon, a stranger born of otherworlds shall walk the halls of Aurenholt. Bound by fate to the crown prince, he shall bring either salvation or ruin. The kingdom's heart shall beat anew or break beneath his touch."

A chill ran down my spine, the weight of destiny pressed against my chest.

General Malric's voice shattered the quiet. "Prophecies are riddles for fools and children. What proof do we have that this 'Minjae' is anything but a spy, a saboteur sent to weaken our defenses?"

The room rippled with murmurs of agreement. Countess Rhianna, ever the pragmatist, narrowed her eyes. "He is an outsider. No noble blood, no allegiance. If he truly bears such power or fate, why has he not bent the knee? Or revealed himself sooner?"

Lady Ysela, her voice calm yet urgent, countered, "Magic is not the only sign of destiny. He lacks magic, yes, but that might be the veil's design to protect or conceal."

My jaw tightened. I had seen the way Minjae moved, careful, curious, cautious and the way his eyes flickered with questions he dared not voice aloud. He was a mystery wrapped in flesh.

—

"Your Highness, we must be realistic," said Duke Therain, his voice low and oily. "The nobles are whispering already. Some believe the prophecy was planted… fabricated even. The people grow uneasy when prophecy and politics tangle."

I narrowed my eyes. "Do the nobles speak of protecting the kingdom, or merely their own power?"

Therain offered a thin smile. "Power sustains peace."

Lady Ysela's staff tapped the floor. "And fear poisons it."

The old mage's eyes met mine, silver and unblinking. "If this boy is the fulcrum on which the prophecy balances, we must not handle him like a threat. The veil's designs are often cloaked in confusion. We must observe."

"Observe?" scoffed General Malric. "We should've locked him in the dungeons until we sorted truth from tale."

"He has no weapon either," Lady Ysela said coolly. "And has harmed no one."

"Not yet," Malric growled.

The argument dissolved into a chorus of rising voices. I let them speak, watching each face carefully the old guard, the younger nobles, the ones who eyed my throne too eagerly. This wasn't just about Minjae. This was about what his arrival symbolized, change. And change, to them, was danger.

"I will decide his fate," I said. "The crown does not bend to fear. Minjae remains under protection, mine. If the veil wills it, then let it unravel before me."

I met each pair of eyes with cold resolve. "This meeting is over."

The chamber emptied more quickly this time. Even Therain's arrogance seemed to shrink as he passed me, his gaze flicking away from mine. Only Lady Ysela lingered.

"You feel it, don't you?" she asked quietly.

I didn't answer.

She inclined her head, whispering, "He is more than what he seems. Just as you are."

And then she was gone.

I stood alone beneath the flickering chandeliers, and for the first time in years, I felt unsteady.

—

Eryndor's POV – Late Night, Eldrath

I remained in the chamber long after the last voice faded. The silence was not peaceful. It was a silence that crept under the skin.

Minjae.

The name echoed in my mind like a chime struck at midnight, unexpected, soft, and maddeningly persistent. Every instinct told me to distrust him. He was untrained by the politics and poisons of our world. Yet that was perhaps what made him most dangerous and most fascinating.

I didn't want him here and yet… When I first saw him confused, defiant, I felt something stir. Not recognition. Not attraction. Just… unease.

The prophecy spoke of a bond, a fate entwined with mine. That, more than anything, infuriated me. My life has always belonged to the throne. And now, this stranger stands at the edge of everything I've built, poised to tip it.

I looked to the arched window. Beyond it, the moons of Elyndra shimmered in the sky, veiled by a thin mist. The larger one, Aldharyn, was full tonight. The other, Virel, flickered like a candle.

He looked too ordinary for destiny. Too soft. Maybe that is the mask. Or perhaps he was the only one in this cursed palace who was real. My chest tightened with frustration.

He didn't trust me. I saw it in his eyes, the way he always seemed to measure his words. Like a man not yet convinced the ground beneath his feet was real.

Good. He shouldn't trust me. I would unravel him before he would to me. And if he truly was the one the veil had whispered of... then he would need to be tested.

If fate had thrown us together, I would not go quietly into it. Let him prove himself. Let him earn my respect or break beneath the weight of prophecy.

One thing was certain: this was no longer just a game of politics. It was something deeper. And it had only just begun.

—

The corridors of Eldrath at night were built for secrets. High-arched ceilings muted footsteps, and the ever-burning crystal lanterns cast only fractured light, leaving shadows thick enough to hide men.

A whisper from one of the guards had told me Minjae had wandered again, this time toward the eastern walkways near the Orchid Garden. He was becoming predictable in his restlessness. Still, part of me wanted to see for myself.

The garden revealed itself like a dream: pale blossoms glowing under the moonlight, their petals trembling in the gentle wind. I stayed within the alcove beneath the colonnade, silent.

There he was. Sitting alone on the marble bench, back slightly hunched, legs drawn up beneath him like he was trying to shrink into the world. He wasn't doing anything remarkable. Just staring up toward the starless sky.

His expression caught me off guard. Unmasked. A strange blend of wonder and mourning. I couldn't tell which weighed more heavily in his chest. His hands were clasped around something small, metallic. The disc?Even from here, I could sense the way it tethered him to the unknown. A relic of another life.

He shifted, the light catching on his face showing a look full of exhaustion. While looking up, I heard him say in a low voice "I have to go back home."

I stiffened. As if he sensed it, Minjae turned suddenly toward my direction. I flattened into the shadows. A heartbeat passed. Two. Then he looked away, drawing his knees up closer.

He was alone in a palace, in a world not his own, hunted by fate he didn't ask for. And still, still he looked upward, as though the sky held the answers.

I exhaled quietly, fingers tightening around the edge of the column. I should return to my chambers. I should be preparing for the next council.

But I lingered. Longer than I had any right to.