The Sovereign Court did not disperse after Arcturus's decree. Instead, the hall seethed with quiet venom, nobles clustering into corners like serpents knotting together, each whispering schemes against the other.
Lady Seliora moved with calculated grace, her crimson gown whispering across the marble. She gathered a ring of loyal houses around her, their sigils glittering in hushed defiance. Her voice, though soft, carried daggers:
"Mark me well. If this Kael is claimed by the Sovereign, our fate is sealed. Arcturus sees not a boy, but a weapon to crown his wars. Yet what ruler keeps a weapon he cannot control? If the Crimson Spark grows, even the Sovereign himself will be ash."
Across the chamber, General Kaelor barked laughter, his scarred jaw twisting. "You play at shadows, Seliora. Better a weapon at our leash than one wandering the wilds. The boy must be bound by oath or chain. The Black Host will see it done."
Her eyes flashed, cold and luminous. "And when he cuts through your chains as if they were cobwebs? What then?"
Kaelor leaned close, lowering his voice to a growl. "Then I'll carve out his heart myself."
Not far from them, High Chancellor Veyra moved like a spider at the web's heart. She whispered into the ears of lesser lords, sowing fear with practiced ease. A boy who burned through the Veil. A spark that could ignite kingdoms. If Arcturus falls, who rules? Who takes the throne?
The whispers spread, quiet rebellion hidden beneath polished courtesies.
At last, Sovereign Arcturus himself rose once more, silencing the room with nothing more than presence. He looked down upon the fractured court, his gaze a brand that seared through silk and steel alike.
"You quarrel like children over crumbs," he said, voice iron-clad. "Kael Rivenhart is not yours. He is not Seliora's dagger, nor Kaelor's hound, nor Veyra's scheme. He is mine. Mine to wield, mine to break, mine to burn."
A shiver rippled through the chamber. Some bent their heads in obedience. Others hid their clenched jaws.
And from behind the throne, Kaelen finally stepped forward, robes trailing like smoke. His violet-glimmering eyes swept the court. For the first time in years, he spoke aloud.
"The Sovereign is wrong."
Gasps tore through the hall. Even Arcturus froze.
Kaelen's voice was soft, but every syllable carried. "The boy is not yours. He was never yours to claim. His fire will not serve you. It will consume you."
Silence, thick and dangerous, held the court like a blade at its throat.