The air of the room seemed to compress under the silence — dense, static, as if even time waited for the next word.
Ereon remained before the throne, his eyes fixed on the figure that observed him with an impossible calm.
Vaelrion Níðhael, the King of the North, did not move. Only the golden gleam of his eyes — intense and almost inhuman — reflected the flicker of the torches, revealing the dragon asleep beneath the human form.
The black silk mantle, embroidered with golden threads that formed dragons and ancient symbols, rested upon his broad shoulders with natural grandeur.
His long black hair fell in soft waves, touching the royal collar with delicacy contrasting the rigidity of his posture.
The face, pale and aristocratic, seemed sculpted by divine hands — beautiful and unattainable, like a living statue.
Several golden rings adorned his fingers, glinting subtly when he moved his hand, and even the simplest gesture — resting his chin upon it — carried the silent weight of an ancestral royalty.
There was something predatory in his serenity, an aura of power that did not need to impose itself: it simply existed, dense and inevitable.
Ereon raised his gaze, fixing the throne with icy intensity. A short and ironic smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, almost imperceptible.
"And that is how I came to this throne, Majesty. The rest… you already understand," he said, low voice, loaded with contained threat. "Everything is part of the same board that now finds us here."
The King of the North kept his gaze steady, the deep and controlled voice cutting the silence like a sentence:
"So… you are telling me that one of the reasons for the Central King to declare war on the neutral nobles — was to possess your body, and place in it a divinity under his command?"
Ereon remained still, the cold gaze holding the king's for long seconds. A brief diversion, a restrained breath — and the smile returned, discreet, poisonous.
"Besides my body, there was another thing he sought." Each word dripped danger. "I don't know how the Baron could lay his hands on it… nor what its purpose would be."
The King of the North spoke, low voice but firm, loaded with ancestral authority:
"And what would be the second thing he desires desperately?"
Cassian, beside the king, remained rigid as a statue, but his fingers slightly tightened the sheath of the sword, almost imperceptible. Ereon looked at him for an instant.
The man of fair skin, marked by golden reflections that danced under the light, observed every nuance of the situation.
The golden eyes stared at Ereon with total distrust — cold, calculating, and precise.
The long black hair fell to the middle of his back, loose or partially tied, reinforcing the aura of contained nobility.
The outfit in shades of gray and black, adorned with flowers and golden filigrees, showed his direct connection to the royal blood of the North.
Ereon slightly inclined his head, the smile disappearing, replaced by a firm and sharp look, measuring every atom of the room:
"I suggest you send someone you trust, Majesty." He paused, letting the weight of the phrase fall like a stone. "Go to my mother's room. She will know what it is about."
The room seemed to shrink; even the shadows withdrew. Cassian blinked, surprised, his eyes scanning the king's expression, attentive to the silence that extended, dense as a blade about to cut.
Vaelrion remained static, eyes fixed on Ereon, absorbing every gesture, every nuance of the provocation contained under the prince's calm.
For an instant, it seemed that the very air bowed before them.
The king slightly inclined his head, his fingers forming a subtle gesture, almost imperceptible, accompanied by a firm word:
"Go."
Cassian made a short bow, recognizing the command, and left without delay toward the princess's chamber. The silence that followed filled the hall like lead.
Vaelrion broke the stillness with a measured, almost cold question:
"You said they were three… and the last one? Has not presented himself yet?"
Ereon maintained the firm posture, eyes fixed on the throne, expression impassive:
"He had some matters to resolve, Majesty. As a mercenary, he needed to conclude certain pending issues first."
The king slightly inclined his head, golden eyes fixed on him:
"The queen will return from the Central Kingdom in a few days."
Ereon did not allow himself to be intimidated, answering with the same sharp calm:
"I believe she is already aware of our arrival."
Vaelrion arched an eyebrow, pondering the prince's shrewdness:
"I see that you are a perceptive person."
"My father always said," retorted Ereon, dry and firm tone, "since young, be prepared for any situation."
The king sketched a restrained smile, evaluating him with interest:
"I see he was a man of principles."
"But those same principles," continued Ereon, eyes shining with contained intensity, "led my father to death. That is why today I follow my mother's teachings."
Vaelrion only smiled, almost imperceptibly, absorbing every word.
Cassian returned, this time carrying a small box, precise steps, rigid posture, eyes attentive to any movement.
He approached the throne and handed the object to the king.
Vaelrion accepted the box with a minimal gesture, golden eyes fixed on the smooth surface, evaluating every detail before opening it.
The silence in the room seemed to compress itself; even the torches trembled slightly, anticipating what was to come.
When the lid lifted, the pistol rested inside, black and polished, details that exhaled precision and contained danger.
Vaelrion inclined his head slightly, long fingers hovering over the weapon, hesitating for an instant — a minimal gesture, but loaded with evaluation.
Ereon remained motionless, cold and direct:
"It is what the Central King wishes to keep hidden." His cutting voice broke the silence, revealing nothing more.
Vaelrion turned the pistol slowly between his fingers, absorbing the weight and the intention contained in that tiny object.
Ereon continued, pausing only enough for each word to penetrate the charged environment:
"With the information I obtained in the Marquisate, I realized that the Democrats are divided. The Right supports beings who called themselves Abyssae, and the Left follows a group known as Hive."
"The Central King is involved," continued Ereon, firm voice, loaded with warning, "but no one knows for sure what his purpose with this weapon would be. He wants to keep it secret, and his true objective remains obscure. What is certain is that it can influence those factions… and, at the same time, strike us where it hurts most."
The king lowered the pistol slowly, still contemplating the object with contained respect. Every word of Ereon seemed to weigh more than the weapon itself.
The tension remained dense, as if the air had become solid, loaded with possibilities and imminent danger.
A faint sound of trembling steps echoed through the corridor, accompanied by a faltering voice, almost suffocated:
"Sir… I… I need to inform…"
The silence cut the phrase, but not the urgency. The guard entered hastily, pale, trembling hands. Each step seemed to weigh tons.
Before the throne, he bowed deeply, kneeling in sign of absolute respect.
The shock stamped on his face made it impossible to hide the gravity of the news. Each breath trembled, as if carrying the weight of a world about to collapse:
"Sir… someone with the same appearance as Prince Ereon… is… is outside the castle."
Ereon lifted the corner of his mouth in a cold, calculating smile, full of irony.
"Interesting… it seems that my brother, Éon, decided to appear before expected," he said, calm voice, loaded with contained power. "Majesty, he had said he would arrive only in a month."
The king looked at him with golden eyes, penetrating, evaluating every gesture as if he could read hidden intentions.
"You may leave. We will resume this conversation at another moment."
Ereon gave one last look to the door closing behind him before following the guard, measured steps, almost defiant.
Vaelrion turned his gaze to Cassian.
"And then… what do you think?"
Cassian observed every nuance before responding, low and controlled voice:
"If you are referring to the prince… I would say he is dangerous."
"And then?" questioned the king, firm, pausing only enough to measure every word.
"In his current state, he does not represent a direct threat to you." Cassian kept his gaze fixed, measuring the impact of every syllable. "But if we intend to keep him here, I can affirm: he will be useful. The rats of the Central Kingdom are everywhere, ready to act."
Vaelrion inclined his head, absorbing the meaning of the information, golden eyes cold as steel.
"Even if we wanted to get rid of him," he murmured, low and cutting voice, "he has already thrown us into this board the moment he arrived… and has already been used against us."
Cassian closed his eyes for an instant, breathing deeply, and then spoke slowly, each word heavy with weight:
"Yes… when I arrived at the princess's chamber, there was a servant of the queen. From what I could notice, she saw what was inside the box. If my suspicions are correct, it was not coincidence. Ereon made sure that she witnessed — probably so that the queen would begin to wonder what you intend with it."
"Excellent." murmured Vaelrion, firm voice, almost like a seal upon the situation. "After the queen's arrival, watch them closely. If they prove useless… get rid of them."
Cassian nodded, firm steps echoing through the corridor, leaving the hall once again immersed in heavy silence, loaded with tension and possibilities.