The chaos in the grand hall slowly began to coalesce, not into order, but into a new, volatile equilibrium. Lord Regent Valerius, abandoned by his own guards, was now a figure of pathetic fury, his shouts of treason echoing hollowly. Lysander, however, had already shifted his focus. The immediate objective—escape and exposure of Valerius—was achieved. Now came the consolidation.
He turned to Lord Theron, the traditionalist noble whose intervention had been crucial. "Lord Theron," Lysander's voice was calm, authoritative, cutting through the remaining din, "the kingdom stands at a precipice. The truth of its lineage has been revealed. What course of action do you propose to restore order and rightful rule?"
Theron, still reeling from the shock, looked at Lysander with a mixture of awe and suspicion. He was a man of tradition, not revolution. Yet, Lysander had presented an undeniable truth, backed by the very stones of the castle. "A council," Theron declared, his voice regaining some of its usual gravitas. "An emergency council of the highest nobles. We must verify this… this claim. And then, a decision must be made for the future of the throne."
Lysander nodded, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture of approval. "A wise course, Lord Theron. But time is of the essence. Valerius, though exposed, still commands loyalists. And the people… they will demand answers." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "I propose that Prince Elara, as the one who brought forth the truth, should preside over this council. His impartiality, and his connection to the royal bloodline, however distant, will lend legitimacy to the proceedings."
Elara, who had been listening intently, flinched. Preside? He was a scholar, not a politician. But Lysander's gaze was firm, unwavering. It was a silent command, a push into a role Elara had never imagined. Lysander knew that placing Elara at the head of the council would serve multiple purposes: it would further legitimize the discovery, distance Lysander himself from direct power (for now), and give Elara a taste of influence, binding him further to Lysander's cause.
Valerius, hearing this, let out a guttural cry. "My son! You would turn my own son against me, you serpent!"
Lysander ignored him, his attention fixed on Theron. "Lord Theron, will you stand with Prince Elara and ensure the council proceeds justly?"
Theron, seeing the path forward, a way to restore order through established protocols, nodded decisively. "I will. For the kingdom."
Within the hour, the grand hall was cleared. Valerius, stripped of his regalia, was led away under guard, his cries of protest fading into the castle's depths. Lysander, no longer a prisoner, but not yet a liberator in the eyes of all, was escorted to a private chamber, ostensibly for his safety, but in truth, for his convenience. He needed a moment to breathe, to recalibrate, and to prepare for the next phase.
As he sat in the surprisingly comfortable chair, a faint smile touched his lips. The first move of the king had been made. He had used a riddle, a forgotten tunnel, and a naive prince to shatter the illusion of power. But this was merely the beginning. The true game, the long game, was about to unfold. He had exposed a usurper, but the throne remained empty, and many would vie for it. Lysander had no intention of claiming it directly, not yet. He preferred to operate from the shadows, guiding the pieces, shaping the board, until the time was right for his true objective. The whispers of the past life, the knowledge of forgotten empires, stirred within him. He had a family to protect, and a world to reshape. And for that, he needed absolute control, a control that could only be achieved by being the unseen hand behind the visible crown.