"Your Highness."
He opened his eyes to find Glade standing over him, already dressed for court.
"You're being summoned to the council chamber," Glade said. "Urgent. Lord Ardent is dead."
The last threads of the dream burned away fast. This wasn't about heritage or the crown. This was blood in the castle.
Within minutes, the maids were at his side—warm water in silver basins, steam curling into the cool morning air. They moved with the same wordless precision as always: a quick wash, hair combed, the faint scent of citrus oil on their hands. Silk undershirt, fitted coat, the polished leather belt that carried his dagger.
It was efficient, almost military in its choreography—but the wrong kind. The water was too warm, the hands too gentle, the pace too slow. They treated him like glass, like he'd shatter if he so much as buttoned his own coat.
In his old life, he could be ready to move in under sixty seconds—dressed, armed, and halfway out the door before the enemy even registered the breach. Here, it took twice as long just to decide which collar sat better against his neck.
Glade was waiting by the door.
Red rose, fastening the dagger at his hip. Brayl was outside the barracks hall when they passed.
"You're not coming," he told her. "Get what you can from the guards—rumors, sightings, anything."
She frowned. "That's more Glade's trade than mine."
"I trust Glade to get me there. I trust you to find the cracks no one else sees."
A beat, then a reluctant nod. "Fine. But if anyone asks, you didn't give me orders."
He left her behind and followed Glade into the council chamber.
The chamber was already at each other's throats when they stepped inside.
Kleitz leaned forward, neck cords tight. "Don't pretend innocence, Aurum. Your miners fought Ardent's tax reforms for years."
Aurum, draped in gold-dusted silks, didn't flinch. "And you stand to gain more. Ardent hated your hunting preserves."
"Better that than digging holes for coin you'll never spend."
Lady Corna's voice cut through, smooth as polished silver. "Commerce thrived under Ardent because of my low tariffs. His death frees you all to meddle with my routes. And our prince? He gains the most."
Her violet gaze pinned him. "Perhaps you hastened his breath."
The table stilled.
Aurum steepled his fingers. "Corna has a point."
Garath, youngest at the table, leaned forward. "Ardent's levy chained my horse sales to the royal guard. Now I can sell to every lord here. Still… the prince gains most in power."
The accusations circled.
"Enough," Red said evenly. "At least give me the official report before you start carving me up."
Garath's tone was gravel. "Ardent was found in his chamber. Split clean in half."
The image was instant—the black-armored man with the axe.
"They say it's the astral witch," Garath added. "We should finish her execution."
Glade bristled. "The Astral Caller isn't even in her—"
Red caught his eye. Too late.
Whispers spread.
"I had another vision," Red hastily said. "Lumiaris was taken by a man in black armor with a giant axe."
Corna's smile sharpened. "Not in her chambers, and yet the prince speaks of visions. Convenient."
Aurum sent for a guard. Minutes later, the man returned, pale. "The witch is in her room—door sealed with astral magic."
Noise surged—Kleitz wanting her dragged out, Corna wanting her to rot, Aurum pressing for trial—until Baram slammed the table.
"This is about Ardent's death, not the prince's visions."
Kleitz recovered first. "No word leaves the kingdom. Panic will cut through the capital faster than any blade."
Aurum nodded. "And our enemies can't know we've lost both king and councilman in the same week."
Corna's gaze swept the table. "Then we hold it here. Any messenger spreading rumors answers to us."
Garath grunted. "Fine. But without Ardent, who leads?"
Kleitz gestured at Red. "The heir is right here."
Aurum shook his head. "The prince just returned to court. We need someone tested—until this is contained."
Baram's voice was calm. "If no one else steps forward, I will lead. Temporarily. With the intention of passing the torch to the prince."
Kleitz narrowed his eyes. "Intention can change."
"Which is why I'm safest," Baram said. "I hunger for stability, not the throne."
The silence wasn't agreement—it was calculation.
At last, Aurum nodded. "So be it. Baram will lead… for now."
The decision hung in the air like a blade balanced on its tip.
Baram straightened. "Then so be it. I will handle the immediate matters of state, and when the time comes, the prince will take the seat."
No one argued. Those who thought they could outwait him were already planning their next moves.
Red said nothing, but inside, the calculus had already begun.
Men who wanted power outright were easy to track—they left trails, made bargains in the open, gambled big and often. But men like Baram, the ones who claimed not to want it, were the ones you watched in the dark. They could take everything without ever appearing to reach for it.
The lords saw a scholar in an old chair. Red saw a strategist settling in.
Chairs scraped as the council adjourned. The lords filed out in silks and furs, whispers trailing like smoke. Lady Corna was already murmuring to a merchant envoy at the door. Aurum lingered just long enough to send Red a glance sharp enough to mine ore.
When the chamber emptied, Baram stayed seated, fingers drumming lightly on the table's fractured edge.
"I don't like what's happening here," he said quietly. "And I believe your vision. That black-armored man is real. If I'm next, Schlager will fracture before you take the crown."
Red caught it—the way Baram didn't hesitate, didn't question the figure's existence. Agreement without pause meant foreknowledge. Baram knew something.
The old man met his eyes. "Help me. Before it's too late."
Red gave a single, measured nod. Not out of trust. Not out of loyalty. But because something bigger was in play—and he intended to unravel it.