Year 2035 – The United Kingdom of Areja – Earth
The heavy oak door groaned, signaling the interruption Prince Malik had been waiting for. A bald man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that cost more than most citizens earned in a lifetime, stepped into the private chambers.
The man bowed deep—a gesture of reverence, but also of complicity. When he straightened, a satisfied smile played on his lips.
"Your father, the King, has passed, my Lord," the man said, his voice steady. "Your brother has finished the funeral rites and is currently in the midst of the coronation ceremony. However... we have prepared the board. The pieces are set for you to take the crown. Your older brother won't see the blade until it's already between his ribs."
Malik's lips curled. It wasn't a happy smile; it was the expression of a predator spotting a limping gazelle. He spoke in a whisper, low and sibilant.
