The council chamber smelled of ink, steel, and unease. Sunlight poured through stained-glass windows, painting the marble floor in fractured color, yet the atmosphere was anything but bright. King Alden sat at the head of the long oak table, fingers drumming against the polished surface, his crown heavy with expectation. Around him, nobles and generals murmured with thinly veiled fear.
"The scouts report enemy banners flying at the northern frontier," General Varic said, voice like gravel. "The houses of Tharos and Veylin have united. If they march, they march with fire in their bellies and vengeance in their eyes."
A hush followed. Every noble knew what that meant—Eloria's most bitter rivals, long kept at bay, now threatened to strike together.
King Alden's gaze swept the room before settling on Adrian. "My son. You will ride to the northern border at once and command our forces. Eloria must see her heir not only wear the crown but defend it."
Adrian's chest tightened. The words felt like shackles. He bowed his head. "Yes, Father."
But Alden was not finished. His tone sharpened, a blade unsheathed. "And before you leave, you will take steps toward securing Eloria's future. The nobles grow restless. An heir must wed, and soon. Lady Evelyne of House Cindral is most suitable."
The council murmured approval, though Adrian's pulse hammered. Lady Evelyne—kind, beautiful, yet wholly wrong for him. He forced his face into marble calm. "I understand, Father."
Beside him, Selene's fists clenched under the table. Her eyes flashed with anger, though she said nothing. For her, the talk of alliances was more than politics—it was a noose tightening around her secret with Elara.
When the council dismissed, Selene stormed into the palace gardens. She found Elara waiting beneath the shade of the old willow, its leaves whispering like conspirators.
"They mean to marry him off," Selene hissed, pacing like a caged lioness. "Adrian will be forced into chains, and I—what if they discover us? What if they use you as a pawn to bind your family's loyalty?"
Elara reached for her hand, steady as stone. "Then let them. If I must stand in chains beside you, I will."
Selene's fire softened, though her heart ached with the truth she could not deny—love was not enough to shield them from politics sharpened into blades.
Elsewhere in the palace, Dorian lingered in the corridors, listening with feigned nonchalance. Whispers drifted from the shadows—servants and courtiers speaking in hushed tones.
"…someone in the council feeds word to Tharos…""…a traitor walks among us, closer than we think…"
Dorian smiled faintly, though unease coiled in his stomach. Gossip was his favorite game, but this time the stakes were higher than scandal. Secrets in Eloria had always been dangerous—now, they might be fatal.
That night, as the torches flickered low, the royal siblings stood in their separate corners of the palace, each carrying a truth too heavy to voice. Outside the walls, enemy banners gathered like storm clouds, and Eloria stood at the edge of both war and revelation.