The Throned Crown

The morning sun crept over the palace walls, gilding the towers in pale gold. Yet the light failed to warm Aelric as he stood at the edge of the training grounds, his thoughts a storm of calculated moves and uneasy truths.

Cassiel's warning echoed in his mind: "I'm watching you, Thorne. And I don't miss a thing."

The prince's calculated presence in the dungeons hadn't been a coincidence. Aelric had walked straight into his trap, but for what purpose? To intimidate him? To gauge his reaction? Or perhaps to plant another seed of doubt in his resolve?

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. He didn't have the luxury of distraction—not when his every move could mean life or death.

The clash of steel against steel pulled him from his thoughts. Soldiers sparred across the training grounds, their shouts and grunts filling the crisp air. Aelric watched them with a critical eye, the habits of command too deeply ingrained to ignore.

But he didn't miss the subtle shift in the air when Cassiel arrived.

The prince strode onto the field, dressed in black leather and steel that gleamed in the sunlight. His presence was magnetic, commanding the attention of every soul in the vicinity.

"General," Cassiel called, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise.

Aelric turned, his expression neutral. "Your Highness."

Cassiel's smile was razor-sharp as he approached, his gray eyes glittering with amusement. "I hope you're ready for another test today."

Aelric's jaw tightened. "As always, Your Highness."

"Good." Cassiel tilted his head toward the sparring soldiers. "I've been hearing whispers, Thorne. Some say your prowess is unmatched on the battlefield. Others… are less convinced."

Aelric didn't rise to the bait. "I trust my actions will speak for themselves."

"Then let's give them a reason to talk," Cassiel said, stepping closer. "Spar with me."

The challenge hung in the air like a blade between them.

Aelric hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. "As you wish."

The soldiers cleared the center of the training grounds as Cassiel and Aelric stepped forward. Aelric's hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword, his mind already calculating. Cassiel wasn't like the nobles who dabbled in combat for sport. He was dangerous—trained, cunning, and utterly ruthless.

Aelric drew his blade, the weight of it familiar and reassuring. Across from him, Cassiel unsheathed his own weapon, the steel glinting in the sunlight.

"First to yield?" Cassiel asked, his tone deceptively casual.

Aelric nodded. "Agreed."

The prince's smile widened. "Let's begin."

Cassiel moved first, his strike quick and precise. Aelric deflected easily, his movements fluid as he countered. The clash of their blades rang out, each strike calculated and deliberate.

Aelric quickly realized that Cassiel wasn't testing his skill—he was testing his control. The prince's attacks were designed to provoke, to push him into making a mistake.

But Aelric refused to falter. He matched Cassiel's pace, his focus unyielding as he parried and countered. The tension between them crackled like a storm, their unspoken rivalry playing out in every clash of steel.

Then, in a sudden move, Cassiel feinted left before pivoting sharply, his blade coming dangerously close to Aelric's neck.

Aelric twisted away, using the momentum to disarm Cassiel with a well-placed strike. The prince's sword flew from his hand, landing in the dirt a few feet away.

The crowd erupted in murmurs, their surprise palpable.

Cassiel straightened, his chest heaving as he met Aelric's gaze. And then, to Aelric's shock, the prince smiled—a slow, predatory curve of his lips.

"Well done, General," Cassiel said, his voice low. "You've proven your worth once again."

Aelric inclined his head, his grip tightening on his sword. The way Cassiel was looking at him made his skin crawl, as if the prince were peeling back every layer of his defenses.

"But," Cassiel continued, stepping closer, "skill alone won't keep you alive in this court."

His voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough for Aelric to hear.

"Remember, Thorne," Cassiel murmured, his eyes boring into Aelric's. "Loyalty isn't given—it's taken. And I always get what I'm owed."

Before Aelric could respond, Cassiel turned away, his smile firmly back in place as he addressed the onlookers.

"Dismissed," he called, his tone commanding.

The soldiers dispersed, their voices rising as they discussed the sparring match. Aelric sheathed his sword, his mind racing.

Cassiel's words weren't just a warning—they were a declaration. The prince was tightening the noose, and Aelric was running out of room to maneuver.

That Night

The letter was waiting for him when he returned to his chambers.

It was slipped beneath his door, sealed with a wax insignia he didn't recognize. Aelric broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, his pulse quickening as he read the message.

You're not alone. If you seek allies, meet me in the old chapel at midnight. Come unarmed.

Aelric frowned, his instincts screaming caution. But the warning from the night before—the note in the dungeons—had already planted a seed of doubt.

If there were others who opposed Cassiel, others who could help him achieve his goal, he couldn't ignore the possibility.

He glanced at the dagger on his table, the blade glinting in the dim light.

Unarmed? Not a chance.

Midnight: The Chapel

The old chapel was a crumbling ruin on the outskirts of the palace grounds, its once-grand arches now cloaked in ivy. Aelric slipped inside, his movements silent as he scanned the darkened interior.

A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked and hooded. Their voice was low and unfamiliar.

"You're cautious. Good. You'll need to be."

"Who are you?" Aelric demanded, his hand resting on the hidden dagger at his side.

"Someone who knows the truth," the figure said. "About Cassiel. About the Altheon throne."

Aelric's eyes narrowed. "Speak plainly."

The figure hesitated before stepping closer, their voice dropping further. "Cassiel isn't as loyal to the crown as he seems. He plays his own game, one that will tear this kingdom apart if he succeeds."

Aelric's breath caught, but he forced himself to remain calm. "And why should I believe you?"

The figure pulled back their hood, revealing a woman with sharp features and piercing green eyes.

"Because I've seen what happens to those who stand in his way," she said, her voice trembling. "And if you don't stop him, you'll be next."