The council chamber was a cathedral carved from arrogance. Black marble rose into spires, banners of old houses drooped like vultures waiting for meat. Twelve seats encircled the obsidian table, but only half were filled tonight. Enough to poison. Enough to whisper.
Elma stood at Nitron's right hand. Her gown was sharp white silk, slit high enough to wound pride, but under it her ribs still ached from the leash's last audit. The shard pulsed faintly against her wrist, hidden but alive.
Calista sat across the table, veil pinned, posture perfect, the kind of queen who made porcelain look breakable. She didn't look at Elma. Not directly. Not when eyes this sharp could cut for noticing.
Lord Adrien Rauth lounged two seats down, gold hair tied back, grin too casual for someone who had crossed the lines of Thorn to be here. His eyes flicked between Calista and Elma like he was already sketching his betrayal.
Nitron Vale opened the session with a word. Not a speech. Just a word.
"Loyalty."
It dropped like a stone into a frozen pond. The ripples were visible: glances traded, throats tightened, hands twitching over rings that meant contracts.
"We gather," Nitron said slowly, "because the world mistakes rumors for teeth. They whisper that Vale weakens. That leashes fail. That donors drift."
His eyes cut across the table, landing on Adrien last.
Adrien's grin widened. "Whispers always travel faster than truth."
"And yet truth arrives eventually," Nitron said. "Tonight, it will arrive here."
The leash seared under Elma's skin. She kept her face smooth, her stance lazy, her grin sharp enough to dare anyone to doubt.
The system purred in her skull:
[Council Suspicion: 61%]
Narrative: Vale strength questioned.
Risk of fracture: high.
Calista's hand lifted delicately, drawing the chamber's attention like a conductor snapping a baton. "Perhaps rumors spread because some members invite them. Lord Rauth, for instance, who dines in Vale's halls while whispering in Thorn's."
The smile slid from Adrien's mouth. He leaned forward. "Careful, wife. Thorn's halls have longer memory than Vale's leash."
Gasps curled through the chamber.
Nitron didn't move, but the air thickened, heavy enough to suffocate. Elma's pulse skipped. This was the kind of silence that ended in blood.
So she broke it.
"Elma," Nitron said, eyes never leaving Adrien.
Her leash burned. The command was clear: prove.
She stepped forward, hips rolling like a predator unchained, and set her palms flat on the obsidian table. Her smile was all teeth.
"You want truth?" she asked softly. "Here it is."
Her fingers brushed Adrien's sleeve. The shard pulsed. For a heartbeat, threads of red contract flared around his wrist—visible to everyone. Binding sigils, cruel and tight.
Gasps again. Louder. Even the banners seemed to lean closer.
Adrien ripped his hand back, fury breaking his mask. "You dare—"
Elma cut him off with a laugh. "Dare? That's my only job description."
The shard cooled. The image faded. But the seed was planted. Everyone had seen. Rauth wasn't free. Thorn had him on a tighter leash than Vale ever dreamed.
Calista's smile was razor-thin. "How tragic. Lord Rauth, boasting of Thorn's strength, when Thorn doesn't even trust him to breathe alone."
The chamber erupted in whispers.
Nitron finally moved—just one clap, sharp as a blade through silk. Silence snapped back instantly.
"Enough," he said. "Vale remains. Thorn fractures. This council remembers who owns its teeth."
His voice was iron. But his eyes, when they slid to Elma, were coals. Burning. Watching. Too aware of the shard's trick.
The leash hummed warning.
[Audit Pending]
Suspicion: elevated.
Elma smirked anyway. Because across the table, Calista's knuckles had finally loosened, her eyes meeting hers for half a breath. Victory shared. Danger multiplied.
The council broke apart in waves of perfume and perfume-thick whispers. Adrien stormed out first, mask cracked, oath sigils glowing faint under his sleeve. He would come back—betrayals always did.
Nitron dismissed the room with a flick of his hand. But when Elma moved to leave, his voice halted her.
"Stay."
Calista froze mid-step. She didn't turn. She left without a word, silk trailing like smoke.
The doors shut. The chamber emptied. Only Nitron and Elma remained.
He circled the table, slow, deliberate, predator disguised as patience.
"You think I don't see," he said softly. "Every look. Every spark. Every trick you use to paint me weak."
The leash burned. Elma clenched her jaw.
"I see," he murmured. "And still, I keep you."
Her grin broke, bitter. "Because you're afraid of what happens if you don't."
Silence. Then his laugh—low, humorless. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply enjoy watching you burn."
The leash seared white-hot. Her knees buckled. She gasped, tasting blood.
[Penalty: Suspicion Response]
Loyalty threshold: unstable.
He crouched beside her, voice like smoke in her ear. "Burn slower, Elma. I want the whole house to see."
Then he stood, turned, and left her kneeling on the black marble, shard still pulsing against her wrist like a second rebellion.
She spat blood, wiped her mouth, and whispered to the empty room:
"One week. Then the masks come off."
The system purred.
[Quest: Overthrow in Motion]
Progress: 27%.
Calista's vow active.