The Throned Crown

The council session dragged on, a symphony of empty promises and thinly veiled threats. Aelric kept his expression neutral, his sharp mind cataloging every word, every fleeting glance between nobles. Each one of these men played their own game, but none could rival the man seated at the head of the table.

Cassiel Altheon.

The crown prince exuded an air of disinterest, but Aelric wasn't fooled. Cassiel was watching, listening, every bit of his presence like a blade concealed in velvet. The tension in the room was palpable, and Aelric couldn't shake the sensation that Cassiel's earlier words weren't just a warning—they were a challenge.

"General Thorne," Cassiel's voice cut through the room, pulling Aelric's attention back to him.

"Your Highness?" Aelric met his gaze evenly, careful not to let his unease show.

Cassiel leaned back in his chair, studying him with the same unnerving intensity as before. "The council has no further need of you tonight. However, I require your assistance with a more… pressing matter."

Aelric's jaw tightened, but he dipped his head in a show of deference. "As you wish."

The meeting ended shortly after, the nobles filing out with murmured whispers and sideways glances. Aelric remained behind, his pulse quickening as Cassiel rose from his seat and strode toward him.

The prince stopped just short of invading his space, his presence a tangible force. "Follow me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Aelric fell into step behind him, his mind racing. Was this a trap? A test? Whatever it was, he couldn't afford to falter. He had spent years preparing for this, perfecting his act. Cassiel would see only what Aelric wanted him to see.

They walked in silence through the winding halls of the palace, the lavish decor seeming to close in around them. The air grew colder, the golden light of chandeliers giving way to the dim glow of torches.

Cassiel finally stopped before a heavy wooden door, its iron hinges gleaming faintly. He pushed it open, revealing a small chamber lit by a single candelabra.

"Inside," Cassiel said, his voice soft but unyielding.

Aelric hesitated for the briefest moment before stepping inside. The room was bare save for a long table and a map spread across its surface. His eyes flicked over it, taking in the marked territories, the troop formations—details of the war that had ravaged the kingdom.

Cassiel closed the door behind them, the soft click of the lock loud in the silence.

"Do you know what this is, General?" Cassiel asked, gesturing to the map.

"A battlefield," Aelric replied, his tone cautious.

"Correct." Cassiel moved closer, his presence like a shadow at Aelric's back. "And every battlefield has its players. Kings, soldiers… traitors."

Aelric stiffened, the word slicing through him like a blade.

Cassiel circled him slowly, his footsteps echoing in the small room. "Traitors hide in plain sight, wearing masks of loyalty. They think they're clever, that they can outmaneuver the crown. But you know what I find, General?"

Aelric's mouth was dry, but he forced himself to answer. "What is that, Your Highness?"

Cassiel stopped in front of him, his storm-gray eyes boring into his. "They always slip."

The tension in the room was suffocating. Aelric held Cassiel's gaze, refusing to look away even as the prince's words seemed to weigh heavier and heavier on his chest.

"And when they do," Cassiel continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I'm there to remind them why betrayal is a sin no god forgives."

For a moment, silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Then Cassiel stepped back, his lips curving into a faint smile.

"You may go," he said, his tone as casual as if they had just discussed the weather.

Aelric blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt dismissal. "Your Highness?"

"I've seen enough for now," Cassiel said, turning back to the map. "We'll speak again tomorrow."

Aelric hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to read between the lines, to find the trap hidden in Cassiel's words. But he couldn't risk pushing further.

With a curt bow, he turned and left the chamber, the prince's voice echoing in his mind.

"They always slip."

Later that night, Aelric stood at the window of his quarters, staring out at the darkened palace grounds. His fists clenched at his sides, the memory of Cassiel's piercing gaze burning in his mind.

The prince was no fool. He was dangerous, unpredictable—a predator hiding behind a crown.

And yet, despite everything, Aelric couldn't shake the feeling that Cassiel's words had been more than just a threat.

They had been a promise.

Aelric's jaw tightened as he turned away from the window. If Cassiel wanted to play games, Aelric would oblige. But the prince would learn soon enough: some wolves didn't just bare their teeth.

They struck.