The first light of dawn crept through the tall, arched windows of the royal bedchamber, gilding the marble floor in soft gold. Alaric Veyron stirred beneath layers of silk and fur, his eyes snapping open with the alertness of a man who had long ago learned that even sleep was a luxury guarded by trust.
This world did not permit comfort.
He sat up, rolling his shoulders as the dreams of his past life—the back alleys, the gunshots, the blood-slicked deals—faded into the silence of morning. Here, his enemies smiled in court robes instead of leather jackets. Here, danger spoke in riddles and custom.
He swung his legs out of bed, the cold stone underfoot grounding him. A servant entered quietly at his signal, bringing water and fresh robes, and helped him dress in muted silvers and midnight blues. The ceremonial garb of Eldoria's king, complete with a simple circlet—a reminder of power he did not yet wield.
He studied himself briefly in the tall mirror.
A king in the eyes of the people. A free meal in the eyes of the council.
He left his chambers without a word. The palace was slowly stirring to life—courtiers emerging from their rooms, pages bustling down the halls, guards shifting at their posts. Yet the air was heavy with anticipation. Today's council meeting wasn't just routine.
It was the first thread in a tapestry he intended to weave.
The Royal Assembly Hall was a dome of elegance and deception. A massive round chamber with white marble columns and an obsidian floor polished to a mirror finish. Stained glass panels filtered colored light into patterns of old kings and glorious battles—legends that few in the room lived up to.
Alaric entered with measured steps, his face composed, his pace deliberate.
Seated in a semi-circle were the high lords and councilors of Eldoria: Lord Berrin of House Thorne, broad and loud; Baroness Liren of House Ravell, whose request today masked a deeper motive; Lord Vayne of House Celdar, and others. Some did not attend because their business in the capital was finished, and they had already departed for their minor territories.
The moment Alaric took his place on the raised dais, all rose.
He gave a brief nod. "Let the assembly begin."
The Master of Records stepped forward and began reading the day's agenda. Land disputes, tax collections, grain shipments—tedious distractions. Alaric's fingers drummed quietly on the throne's armrest. Then, at last:
"...and lastly, a request from Baroness Liren of House Ravell regarding safe passage to her territory."
The hall buzzed with murmurs.
Baroness Liren stood. "Your Majesty, esteemed council, I request that the royal army escort me and my merchant caravan back to Ravell territory. The roads have become unsafe. Since the crown's forces are already charged with maintaining order, it would be more efficient to use them for this task."
Alaric leaned forward, voice calm. "Are there reports of bandit activity within your lands, Baroness?"
She hesitated, then offered a practiced smile. "Not within my lands, no. But the surrounding regions have seen unrest. A show of royal presence would deter any foolishness."
Lord Berrin grunted. "And who shall bear the cost of this noble escort?"
Baroness Liren did not flinch. "It is a matter of royal representation. Let the treasury fund the movement—it is, after all, a crown-sanctioned deployment. Any goods or compensation gained from the journey—should we encounter actual threats—will be accounted and returned to the treasury."
It was clear to everyone in the hall that Liren was attempting to exploit the crown's resources for her own benefit. She had no intention of spending her own coin on protection when she could manipulate the system to her favor. Yet no one said a word.
Not because they were fooled—but because they approved.
Several nobles exchanged silent glances, each understanding the opportunity. If one could use the royal army and treasury under the guise of duty, why not all? Liren's request, while transparent, opened a door they were eager to walk through.
Lord Vayne frowned but didn't press. Alaric's voice broke the silence.
Alaric hesitated for a moment, sensing the undercurrent of manipulation. But before he could object, Lord Vayne spoke up.
"If the royal army is seen aiding our nobles, it reinforces stability. This is not merely about one baroness. It is about presence."
Another noble added, "Such gestures enhance the crown's image. Let it be seen as proactive, not passive."
They argued it would enhance the crown's image and reinforce the idea that the royal family protected the realm. With growing consensus and subtle pressure, Alaric gave his approval, and the motion was passed.
Alaric spoke again. "Captain Renholm will command the escort. A select unit only. This is a display, not a campaign."
After a moment, the nods came.
After the assembly ended, Alaric made his way toward his private study. On the way, he instructed a page to summon several individuals to meet him there: Captain Renholm of the royal guard, two senior knights, and a civilian officer named Caldus—a capable man with no noble lineage and no real authority.
By the time Alaric reached his study, the tall oaken doors were opened by guards and closed behind him with a heavy thud. He paced the room for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts until the group arrived.
One by one, they entered, standing in respectful silence. Alaric turned, his voice firm but neutral.
"Captain Renholm, you will lead the escort as discussed. Ensure discipline and avoid unnecessary engagement."
He gave further instructions to the others, reinforcing the official mission.
"Now," he said after a pause, "you may all leave—except Caldus."
The others exchanged brief looks but obeyed.
When the doors closed again, Alaric faced the civilian officer. "Caldus," he began, "you serve without a noble house behind you. You have little influence, little recognition. Yet your work has not gone unnoticed."
Caldus straightened, unsure of what was coming.
"I need someone I can trust," Alaric continued. "I want you to report to me directly during this mission. Not through your commander. Not through official channels. I want updates delivered via raven or pigeon. Discreetly."
Caldus's eyes widened slightly. "Yes, Your Majesty. I will do as commanded."
"There may come a time," Alaric said, stepping closer, "when I will give you an order that must be followed without question. I will not explain it now. But when that time comes—you must act. Can you do this?"
Caldus swallowed, then nodded. "I can. I will."
Alaric studied him for a moment longer, then nodded.
"Complete this task faithfully, and I will ensure your position is no longer symbolic. You will have real power—earned, not inherited."
With that, he dismissed him.
Caldus stepped out of the study and was immediately greeted by the sharp voice of Captain Renholm.
"What did His Majesty want with you alone?" Renholm demanded, eyes narrowing.
The other noble-born officers hovered nearby, clearly curious.
Caldus masked his irritation. He hated how they wore their status like armor, how they sneered at anyone without bloodlines to back their titles.
He offered a respectful smile. "His Majesty wanted my opinion on supply logistics. Nothing more. He commended your leadership, of course."
Renholm smirked at the praise. "Naturally."
Satisfied with the flattery, they dismissed him with nods.
Caldus walked away in silence, his thoughts racing. He had no noble crest, but he was willing to do whatever it took for the chance the king had promised him.