The private terrace of Caer Thalyss overlooked the glittering city, its towers and spires bathed in moonlight. But Aelric barely noticed the view as he leaned against the balcony rail, waiting.
The faint hum of magical wards crackled around him — courtesy of Rhea, who now paced by the door with arms crossed, eyes sharp. Bren stood silently by the shadows, his bulk like a looming statue.
They were hidden, for now. But time was running out. The assassination attempt had shattered any illusion of safety.
Soft footsteps approached. Aelric tensed — then relaxed as Seraphina Vale emerged from the darkness, cloak billowing behind her like molten silk.
Her eyes flicked over him, lingering briefly on the faint bruise along his jaw. "They moved faster than I expected."
"You knew," Aelric stated, voice quiet but edged with steel.
Seraphina didn't deny it. "I suspected. House Morgrave moves in whispers until they're ready to strike."
"They were ready tonight," Bren rumbled.
"They won't stop," Rhea added, glancing toward the city. "Not until he's in the ground."
Aelric met Seraphina's gaze. "And where do you stand in all this?"
She held his stare, unflinching. "Not with them."
Aelric wasn't satisfied. "But not with me, either."
A shadow of a smile touched her lips — tired, sharp around the edges. "Yet."
For a moment, silence hung between them, filled only by the distant hum of the city below. Finally, Seraphina sighed and stepped closer, her voice lower now, stripped of pretense.
"My father's court is a nest of wolves. House Morgrave serves the Crown… but their true loyalty lies with themselves. They see you as a disruption — a threat to the order they've bled to maintain."
"Because of the Riftborn?"
"Partly. But more because you refuse to kneel." Her eyes darkened. "You're unbound. Not shackled by the System. Not bought by the gods. That terrifies them more than any monster."
Aelric's jaw tightened. "So they try to kill me."
Seraphina nodded. "Or bind you. Same end."
Rhea stepped forward, voice sharp. "We should leave the city. Tonight."
"No." Aelric's voice was quiet but final. "Running proves them right. We stay."
Bren grunted approval. Seraphina tilted her head, faint approval glinting in her gaze.
"Dangerous," she mused. "I like dangerous."
Aelric ignored the flirtation. "If Morgrave wants me gone, they'll escalate. I need allies."
Seraphina considered him for a long moment. Then, without a word, she reached into her cloak and withdrew a small silver pendant — shaped like a phoenix feather wreathed in flame.
"This marks you under my protection," she explained, offering it. "It won't stop the knives. But it'll make them hesitate."
Aelric took the pendant, fingers brushing hers briefly — her skin was warm, unnaturally so. Power hummed faintly beneath her calm exterior.
"And in exchange?" he asked.
Her smile returned, sharp and knowing. "We burn the old order to ash… together."
Aelric tucked the pendant away, his decision made.
The game had changed. The knives were drawn.
It was time to start cutting back.
...
The glow of dawn had yet to touch the city when Aelric entered the hidden chamber beneath the palace. It was cold here — colder than mere stone warranted. Old magic, faded but lingering. Forgotten by most, but not by all.
Bren and Rhea flanked him as they approached the waiting figure near the far wall.
Captain Varin. Once a decorated officer in the palace guard. Now, a bitter man relegated to the shadows — but still dangerous, and more importantly, disillusioned.
"You made enemies fast, Lord Veyne," Varin greeted, voice low and rough like gravel. "I respect that. Suicidal… but respectable."
Aelric didn't waste time. "You said you had information."
Varin tossed a sealed parchment onto the table between them. The wax bore House Morgrave's crest — the coiled serpent and crown.
"Orders," Varin explained. "Direct from Lord Albrecht Morgrave himself."
Aelric unfolded the parchment, scanning the precise, clipped handwriting. His jaw tightened.
"'Eliminate the Riftborn liability before the Summit concludes,'" he read aloud. "'Preferably discreetly. Publicly, if necessary.'"
Rhea swore under her breath. Bren's expression darkened.
"So it's official," Aelric muttered. "I'm inconvenient."
"You're worse than that," Varin corrected. "You're unpredictable. And you're not on a leash."
Aelric's eyes narrowed. "You could've buried this. You could've left me to die."
Varin shrugged, but there was something dangerous simmering beneath his tired eyes. "I swore an oath to the Crown. Not to the snakes behind it."
"And your price?" Aelric asked bluntly.
Varin met his gaze without flinching. "When this starts — and it will start — I want my people protected. The good ones. The ones who still remember why we served."
Aelric considered him for a moment, then extended a hand.
"Done."
Varin shook, his grip calloused and solid. For the first time, there was no lingering doubt.
The first alliance was forged. Fragile, perhaps — but real.
"Morgrave won't stop," Varin warned. "They'll come harder next time. And they've got half the council in their pocket."
"Then it's time to loosen their grip," Aelric replied evenly.
Bren chuckled darkly. "Careful, lad. That sounds dangerously like rebellion."
Aelric allowed himself a small, grim smile.
"It's not rebellion," he corrected. "Not yet."
But it would be.
Because the Crown thought him a threat.
It was time to become one.