A shiver ran through several of the ministers. Some even cast frightened glances around, as if searching for a way to escape.
Among them, Minister Dagobert — a corpulent man with a puffy face and hair slicked back with oil — stepped forward. A sly smile played on his lips, and his voice was soft, a little affected and mocking:
"Your Majesty, with all due respect… but such decisions might ignite a new rebellion in the kingdom. Don't you think this approach might be too harsh?"
The king narrowed his eyes, fixing Dagobert with a sharp gaze:
"What do you suggest, Dagobert? That we let the kingdom fall and simply smile?"
Dagobert grinned cunningly, fingers interlaced, and said calmly:
"Cutting the main branches could unbalance the tree… but if we prune only the smaller branches, it might help it survive."
The king fell into thought, dragging his index finger lightly along his chin as his eyelids drooped slightly. Then he said:
"This method… could be effective, but does that mean the corruption remains?"
Without raising an eyebrow, Minister Dagobert replied in a philosophical tone:
"Where there is light, there will always be shadow, Your Majesty. Trying to eliminate every shadow ultimately extinguishes the light. Balance must be maintained. Some of these infiltrators have powerful allies among our neighbors. We must be cautious."
The king nodded slightly in approval. Then, in a calm but firm voice, he said:
"Very well, Dagobert. You will be responsible for carrying out this approach. Take the necessary actions… and report the results to me as soon as possible."
The air remained cold. Yet in the hall, the smell of burning wood from the hearths combined with political tension, creating a heavy mixture. An invisible fear spread through the space… as if everyone knew much darker nights lay ahead.
After leaving the presence of the king and queen…
The ministers and generals exited the Golden Hall one by one. The sound of their heavy footsteps echoed through the cold, long corridors of the palace. The air there was cool, carrying the scent of metal and burning wood from the flaming torches. Massive marble columns cast long shadows on the patterned floors, while golden wall motifs gleamed under the flickering torchlight.
Minister Dagobert, with his heavy body and shuffling steps, made a distinct clatter as his heels struck the polished stones. Short, broken breaths, a thin sheen of sweat on his temples, and a nervous gaze all betrayed his inner conflict. His fat, hairy hands were clasped behind his back, and he frequently glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder.
In the middle of one quiet corridor, where the light barely reached, a man leaned against the wall. Prince Alrion.
Tall, angular-faced, with sun-kissed skin and hazel eyes that shone mysteriously in the darkness. His black hair was slicked back, and a faint, enigmatic smile lingered at the corner of his lips. His arms were crossed, eyes closed, as if silently listening to Dagobert's footsteps from afar, waiting.
In a calm voice tinged with sarcasm, he said:
"What did that old hag say, Dagobert?"
Dagobert, upon seeing the prince, immediately bowed, his left knee hitting the cold stone floor, and spoke respectfully:
"Prince Alrion, my lord…"
Glancing anxiously down the corridor, he added in a whisper:
"This isn't a place to talk, my lord. Someone might hear us."
With a quick gesture, Alrion motioned for him to follow. They passed a corridor corner, past a few stone statues of angels, and reached a small, empty room — dark wooden walls, a tiny window, and a heavy door that closed behind them. Deep silence enveloped the space.
Dagobert, this time pale and frightened, bowed toward the prince and said:
"I bring bad news, my lord…"
Alrion's faint smile vanished. His eyebrows knitted, and his voice lowered, venomous like a serpent's bite:
"What happened?"
Dagobert hesitated briefly, looking into the prince's eyes before quickly averting his gaze:
"The king is suspicious… he asked why the killers haven't been caught yet. He has ordered that anyone connected to that organization be executed… along with their families and property… in front of the people."
Alrion blinked. The room seemed to grow colder. His eyebrows rose, his voice trembled, yet he remained in control:
"This… is bad news for the cult. Very bad."
A heavy silence fell. Dagobert shrugged artificially and said with a tone laced with mockery:
"I managed to control it somehow. I convinced him that by executing a few people, he could win the hearts of the people. But to avoid suspicion, we'll need to sacrifice a few. A scapegoat is necessary."
Alrion nodded slowly, a bitter shadow in his voice:
"I understand. Then some members of the cult must be sacrificed. I will speak to the leader. He knows who must be eliminated. This is a cost for the greater goal."
Dagobert suddenly leapt from his fearful humility into a sly, triumphant glee:
"So it's fine… the cult is safe, and I'm still here."
Alrion laughed. Short, hollow, yet piercing:
"Just be patient, Dagobert. A little longer, and then this entire kingdom will be in my hands. No one can stop me… not my father, not the queen, not even my sister."
Dagobert rubbed his fat hands together, a small, mocking grin on his lips:
"Your Highness, you won't forget me, right?"
Alrion's voice was calm, yet deadly:
"Forget you? No… I know what you want. The cult will deliver the kingdom to me, and I will cooperate with you."
Two men — one an ambitious prince, the other a corrupt, opportunistic minister — whispered in the darkness about betrayal, schemes, and sacrifices. And they laughed. Loud, stifled, and mysterious.