– The Edict of Shadows
The great hall fell into a hush as the Sovereign rose from their throne, a silver crown glinting beneath the braziers' dim light. The silence was not demanded; it was *commanded*.
"The traitor has written among us," the Sovereign's voice echoed, smooth yet cold. "And so, the silence shall become law."
A ripple of unease spread through the gathered nobles. Each eye darted, each breath weighed. The courtiers bowed deeper, masking fear with obedience.
At the center of the chamber knelt the accused messenger, pale and trembling. A crumpled letter lay in the Sovereign's gloved hand, its ink betraying whispers of treason.
The Sovereign descended the steps, every stride deliberate. "You carried words not fit for loyal ears. Speak the author's name, and mercy may yet find you."
The messenger swallowed hard. His silence stretched like a noose.
A hand flicked. Steel flashed. A guard's blade hovered at his throat. The crowd tensed, awaiting blood.
But before the stroke fell, a noble stepped forward. "Your Grace," the baron's voice broke the stillness, "perhaps the ink is a ruse. Enemies beyond our walls… they seek to pit us against each other."
The Sovereign's gaze lingered on him—sharp, measuring. "You dare soften treachery with excuses?"
The hall froze.
The messenger gasped, caught between doom and salvation. The baron's gamble had turned every noble's stomach.
At last, the Sovereign raised a hand. The blade withdrew—but only just. The messenger's life hung suspended by a thread thinner than silence itself.
"Very well," the Sovereign murmured, voice cutting like glass. "We shall test loyalties not by words, but by deeds. The Shadow Edict is now in force. Let silence betray no truth, and those who falter shall be the first to drown in it."
The decree rolled across the chamber like thunder, binding every tongue, every heart. In that instant, the silence became more dangerous than any blade.
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