The heavy mahogany windows of the upper-floor gallery offered a sickening, panoramic view of the capital plunging headfirst into absolute anarchy.
Thick, greasy plumes of black smoke billowed upward from the lower districts, staining the pale morning sky a bruised, bruised-violet color. Down below, the massive reinforced gates of the palace were being battered by an endless sea of screaming, rioting citizens—their minds warped and amplified by the volatile, toxic hysteria of Black Dandy. The guards had initially tried holding them back in tight formations, shields raised and spears braced but the sheer numbers forced the to retreat behind the walls and rather issue threats from the walls.
First Prince Leon Zeppelin stood at the window, his golden eyes fixed on the sea of faces below. They were not fighters. They were not organized rebels. They were ordinary citizens—merchants, laborers, , fathers, mothers with children clutched to their skirts—all driven to fury. His hands clasped neatly behind his back, his expression as cold and smooth as carved marble, calculating the unfolding disaster like a chess player watching a pawn sacrifice.
Behind him stood his two attendants.
Leif, his butler, remained perfectly composed despite the chaos outside. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, his posture immaculate. Standing on the other side was Sonnet, a sharp-eyed maid whose hands were perpetually folded over her apron, ready to execute any unspoken command though unlike Leif she looked considerably less comfortable.
"Where is Raileigh?" Leon asked softly, his voice cutting cleanly through the muted, distant roar of the mob filtering through the glass.
Leif shifted half an inch, his voice smooth and measured.
"Reports from the outer guards indicate he departed early this morning, My Lord. He is currently visiting the Lord Alaric's estate at the residence."
A faint, sardonic curve touched the corner of Leon's lips.
"He is no doubt going to meet with his fellow miscreants."
Sonnet frowned.
"That seems rather presumptuous, Your Highness."
Leon glanced toward her.
"Does it?"
She hesitated.
"No, Your Highness."
"Good."
Leon turned away from the window.
"Though, if anything, this timing works out quite magnificently in our favor. While the rest of the court is panicking over headless corpses and burning streets, we have a throne to consolidate. Come."
Leon strode down the opulent, vaulted corridor, heading straight for the grand drawing room where the emergency conclave of the royal siblings had been hastily convened. Leif and Sonnet fell in step immediately behind him, their footsteps making not a single sound against the plush carpet.
Most of the servants had been sent to their quarters, and the guards were focused on the perimeter. But the tension in the air was palpable.
The drawing room was already occupied when Leon entered. All of his brothers and sisters, save for Raileigh were seated loosely around a long table.
Some looked irritated.
Others looked frightened.
A few were simply exhausted.
Nobody spoke loudly anymore.
Every distant crash from outside caused heads to turn.
Every shout beyond the windows reminded them that their father's condition remained unchanged.
Their father was unconscious, having fainted after being informed that one of his Lords was dead and the people were rioting. Most of the Queens had gone to his bedchamber to aide the royal physician in nursing him but that fact alone made this whole scenario that much more dire.
The kingdom was unstable.
And their succession was no longer a distant political game.
It had become a matter of survival.
Hermes sat at the head of the circle, his black-accented robes stark against the pale furniture. He looked pleased with himself, as always, his golden eyes glittering with cold calculation.
He was the one who had summoned the meeting.
"Ah, brother Leon," he said, inclining his head. "Thank you for joining us."
Leon took his seat, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands on his lap with a neutral expression and a faint smile. His attendants stood behind him just like their contemporaries were doing with their princes.
Hermes waited until everyone was settled.
Then he spoke.
"Our situation has changed. Dramatically."
Several siblings exchanged glances.
Hermes folded his hands.
"Raileigh."
The name alone caused irritation to spread through the room.
"Raileigh has acquired allies. Powerful ones. The Dukker boy—Elias—is the heir to Blackwood. His father, Lord Alaric, is arguably the most influential lord in the Privy Council. And the girl, Jamie Thorne, despite her boorish personality is still the daughter of the former Hunter Chief and thus must have some connections to other strong hunters. In fact, I have been informed that she is quite close with Head Hunter Dante Clementes and his daughter."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Whether we like it or not, our youngest brother is now in a considerably better position than any of us anticipated. With an Anomaly Trait and these connections he is no longer just a fool."
"That is an understatement." a murmur.
Hermes glanced toward him.
Leon shrugged.
"I said nothing, please proceed."
"I trust you've all looked out the window," Hermes continued, his voice carrying the oily charm of a serpent.
"The city is burning. The public trust in our father's regime has fractured beyond repair. For months, our ambitions for the throne have been deadlocked. But, as I assume most of you have come to realize, the landscape has shifted to a better position for one of us to be named as the true heir."
Silence.
Then Phoebe spoke, her voice distant. "What are you proposing?"
Hermes smiled.
"An alliance."
A sharp, cynical laugh cut across the table. Kush narrowed his eyes at his brother.
"And what? We form an alliance just so we can be your stepping stone? What makes you think any of us would agree to make you king, Hermes?"
Hermes smiled, shaking his head slowly.
"Make me king? Oh, perish the thought. I said nothing about all of us collectively crowning myself though this alliance would be a means to that end. No, what I am putting forward is a temporary gathering of interests. We pool our resources, our influence, our networks—just long enough to eliminate the biggest threat to our individual ambitions."
"Raileigh," Kush said flatly.
"Raileigh," Hermes confirmed.
Hermes leaned forward.
"We are siblings."
His voice hardened.
"We should be close enough that his elimination should not be difficult."
The room was silent.
"But just like you plan to eliminate our dear younger brother, how do we know you won't use the information gathered from this alliance to also do use in?" Bjorn asked with an eyebrow raised.
"Hmmm, that's a good question Bjorn."
He looked around the table.
"Now I'm not pushing for use to share all our secrets and make sure to drag every last person to the finish line. We don't have to like each other. We don't have to trust each other. We just have to work together long enough to remove him from the board."
"And then what?" Orion asked, his voice light but his eyes sharp. "We go back to trying to kill each other?"
"Of course," Hermes said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"But at least we'll be on equal footing again."
Murmurs of consideration rippled through the room.
Leon studied Hermes.
'Interesting. Hermes was usually careful. Now he sounded desperate. The question was why?'
Before anyone could respond, a chair scraped against the floor and Viola rose to her feet. Her frame trembling not with fear, but with white-hot, uncontrollable fury. Her eyes burned into Hermes.
"Listen to yourself," she hissed, her voice vibrating with venom.
"What kind of pathetic, cowardly excuse for an elder brother gathers his own flesh and blood in a back room just so you can gang up and murder the weakest among us? I expected far better from you, Hermes. This is nothing but skullduggery and butchery."
Hermes's smile faltered, replaced by a cold, manipulative gleam. He leaned back, his tone dripping with patronizing condescension.
"Oh, save the righteous theater, Viola! You're putting up a transparent front and you know it, we all know it! You want the crown just as badly as the rest of us do. Why else are you sweating through your silk bodice?"
Hermes tilted his head, a sickeningly sweet smile spreading across his face.
"Or is it... because you secretly harbor some twisted, pathetic affection for our little bastard brother?"
The words dropped into the room like a physical blow.
For a terrifying heartbeat, the air pressure in the drawing room plummeted. Viola's breath hitched. A rush of blinding, incandescent rage snapped her self-control.
Flick.
The space directly around Viola's body violently fractured. The bangs concealing the right side of her face shifted to reveal the shifting into the terrifying, multi-layered geometry of an activated Arcane Eye. A wave of crushing distortion blasted outward from her slender frame, slamming into the mahogany table and sending porcelain cups and silver silverware shattering across the floor.
A collective gasp of sheer terror echoed through the room. Several princes shoved their chairs back and scrambled away in blind panic, their attendants rushing in front of them to shield them. Only Leon remained seated.
The world appeared chromatic contortions of space that constantly bended away from her. Before their very eyes The walls seemed to bend inward and outward irregularly and objects were warped into other shapes or matter entirely or even destroyed. The very fabric of space buckled under the sheer weight of her Presence, threatening to tear the room apart at the seams. This was the power of Distortion.
For a terrifying second, it seemed she might let loose an absolute catastrophe. But with a supreme, agonizing effort of will, Viola clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned ghostly white. She reined the chaotic spatial energies back in. The violent shaking stopped instantly, leaving the room twisted and dead silent, save for the heavy, ragged breathing of the petrified royalty.
Without a word, Viola closed her burning eyes, blinking away the terrifying ocular manifestation. She turned her back on Hermes and the rest of the cowering siblings, marching toward the heavy double doors with her attendants.
"If you are willing to follow a man who would betray his own family without hesitation, then I hope you are prepared for the day he decides that betraying you is worth more than protecting you."
She walked toward the door.
Leon pushed himself up from his chair, dusting off his lapels with exasperating calm.
" Well, that certainly livened up an otherwise dull morning." he said, his voice calm.
I won't stop you, Hermes," His voice suddenly became serious.
"But I would advise you to watch yourself."
He followed Viola out of the room.
Some of the other princes rose as well— Phoebe, Kush, Mirelle, Naomi and Selene—opting out of this proposed alliance because they too agreed with their sister Viola that it was too cowardly.
Hermes's face darkened into a scowl, watching them leave. But he quickly smoothed his features, turning to the remaining sycophants with a chillingly reassuring smile at those who remained.
Rowan, Orion and Bjorn.
"Pay them no mind." He said looking around the room.
"Let the cowards run. As soon as the dust settles, we will be the ones standing at the very top."
Outside in the sunlit corridor, Leon fell back into stride with Leif and Sonnet, his boots clicking smoothly against the polished flags.
Without breaking his pace, Leon cast a sidelong glance at his butler.
"Leif. Tell me our preparations ready?"
Leif inclined his head smoothly, his expression unreadable.
"All moving parts are in absolute alignment, My Lord. The loyalist regiments within the third vanguard have been successfully subverted. They await only your direct signal to mobilize."
Leon's smirk widened into something predatory.
"Good."
The army. That was the key. If he could secure the loyalty of the military, he could seize power regardless of what his father or the Privy Council. The rabble tearing down the palace gates also provided him with a convenient smokescreen. If he deploy the army swiftly under the guise of restoring order, He could easily can seize control of the situation, effectively dealing with the revolution and locking down the capital before the other factions even realize the board has flipped in his favor.
He paused, a flicker of dark satisfaction crossing his face.
He was able to achieve this by having Sir Damtse Okko securely tucked in his pocket as a sniveling little lapdog is an absolute stroke of genius. There were knights all over Aerthos all led by a captain or a Sir and Damtse happened to be the chief who all the other captains answered to.
Leon had Found out about the Aethelberg knight captain's little indiscretions and execution-worthy treason and offering to keep it hush hush in exchange for his cooperation.
Before he could give his next order, a concussive shockwave ripped through the palace walls.
BOOM!
The floor beneath their feet trembled violently, sending a cloud of ancient plaster dust cascading down from the vaulted ceiling. Carriages outside screeched, and the distant, chaotic roar of the rioters spiked into a frenzy of terrified screams.
Leon, Leif, and Sonnet instinctively jerked to a halt.
"What was the hell was that?" he demanded.
Sonnet rushed to the nearest window.
"Your Highness—you need to see this."
Leon turned toward the massive, arched stained-glass window that overlooked the inner bailey and the towering outer curtain wall of the palace where Sonnet was standing.
"What manner of fools are attempting to blow up my future inheritance." He muttered as he peered outside.
What he saw froze the breath in his lungs.
Standing entirely alone, perched casually atop the razor-sharp iron spikes of the towering outer wall—surrounded by thousands of screaming, chaotic rioters below—was a solitary figure. The man was completely shrouded in a dense, unnatural, stylized smoke that swirled around his limbs like living serpents. His face was entirely obscured by...a fox mask? and he radiating an aura of unsettling, theatrical menace.
Leon's jaw tightened. "Who in the hell is that?"
Even as he spoke, a squad of elite palace guards—dozens of heavily armored men brandishing bows and steel pikes—rushed out into the bailey and onto the wall on either side of the intruder, shouting commands of surrender or death. They raised their weapons and unleashed a coordinated volley of heavy iron spears and black-tipped arrows aimed straight at the figure on the wall.
Leon watched in absolute disbelief.
The projectiles struck dead-center, but they didn't pierce flesh. They simply passed straight through the man's silhouetted form as if he were nothing more than a phantom made of morning mist.
Before the guards could even register the impossible evasion, the smoky figure raised his hands. With a blur of motion, he hurled two heavy, gleaming silver chakrams into the air.
SWISH-THWACK!
The spinning steel blades moved with terrifying, unnatural velocity, unraveling slightly so they had metallic ropes swinging off of their sides and arcing through the air and striking the front-line guards squarely on their helms with bone-crushing concussive force ricocheting to strike more of them. In less than a heartbeat, half a dozen elite soldiers crumpled to the stone flags, knocked completely unconscious before they could even draw their swords.
Leon stepped back from the window, his eyes wide, a cold shiver racing down his spine at the sheer, casual display of overwhelming strength.
"Good gods... Just who or what is that monster?"
Yet, even as warning bells screamed in the back of his mind, Leon's toxic ambition—his unrelenting need to manipulate every moving part on the political chessboard—instantly short-circuited his common sense. A reckless, terribly foolish idea bloomed behind his eyes.
A manic, opportunistic grin slowly stretched across his face.
He turned sharply to his attendants, his voice dropping into an excited, breathless whisper.
"Leif! Sonnet! Do you see this? This chaos... this is another opportunity the gods have granted me!"
Leif's eyes widened slightly in alarm, reading the dangerous glint in his master's eye.
"My Lord... surely you cannot mean—"
"I mean exactly what you think I mean!" Leon interrupted, brushing aside his butler's hesitation with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Turning every single crisis, every unexpected disaster, to one's absolute advantage is the true, defining essence of a statesman! Think about it, Leif! The city is in flames, the other princes are cowering like frightened mice, and some random lunatic is tearing through the outer defenses."
Leon chuckled, a dark, intoxicating sound.
"If I make a move right now —while Father is incapacitated... wouldn't my chances for the throne be elevated beyond any possible contest? When Father finally wakes up, he will find that I am the only son who had the spine and the capability to save the crown from ruin!"
Leif and Sonnet exchanged a long, deeply troubled glance. They knew Leon. They knew his brilliant, calculating mind, but they also knew his fatal, unyielding arrogance. Once Prince Leon set his sights on a grand play, there was simply no stopping him.
Leon turned back toward the corridor, striding forward with reckless, feverish momentum.
"Come! Follow me. We are going to make history today."
Leif let out a slow, heavy sigh of resignation, adjusting his cuffs, while Sonnet gripped her tray with white knuckles as they trailed hastily behind him into the storm.
On the wall, Elias glanced at the rabid crowd and a single phrase came to mind.
'Well, fuck.'