The bells rang three times.
Low. Heavy. Measured.
Cael paused mid-step inside the shadowed corridor, counting the intervals between each toll. Not alarm bells. Not celebration.
A summons.
That meant the bodies had been found.
He adjusted the cloak around his shoulders and moved again, silent as smoke. The palace above was waking...not in panic, but in calculated motion. Servants hurried with lowered eyes. Guards shifted positions, subtly tightening patrol routes around key halls.
No one was shouting.
That was worse.
Cael slipped into an upper gallery and looked down upon the council chamber through a lattice of carved stone. The doors below stood open, torchlight spilling across polished marble.
Inside, the kingdom gathered.
Nobles in dark robes. Military officers with hands clasped behind their backs. Priests bearing the sigil of the Seal...faces grim, expressions rehearsed.
At the center stood the throne.
Empty.
A man stepped forward instead.
Lord Halverin...Royal Chancellor. Old. Calm. Sharp-eyed enough that Cael felt the weight of that gaze even from above.
"We will not spread panic," Halverin said evenly. "The disturbance beneath the capital has been… resolved."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
"Resolved?" a general snapped. "Two bodies were found in the lower sanctum. Cult markings."
Halverin's lips curved faintly. "Remnants. Fanatics clinging to a dead cause."
Liar, Cael thought calmly.
A priest stepped forward, fingers tightening around his staff. "And the seal?"
"Stable," Halverin replied without hesitation. "The hero's sacrifice continues to protect us."
Cael's jaw tightened.
Hero.
Always spoken in past tense. Always safely dead.
A younger noble leaned forward. "And if the seal reacted because..."
Halverin's gaze snapped to him.
"...because some echoes linger," the Chancellor cut in smoothly. "Which is expected when a demonic entity of that magnitude is involved."
He paused, then added, carefully, "The Third Prince's role is complete. Let us not disturb what he gave his life to secure."
Silence followed.
Not agreement.
Submission.
Cael studied their faces...the relief, the calculation, the quiet satisfaction in some eyes. He understood then.
They didn't fear the demon most.
They feared him.
A living hero could question orders. Demand truth. Refuse to die quietly.
A dead one was perfect.
Cael leaned back into the shadows, pulse scars burning faintly beneath his ribs.
"So that's how it is," he murmured.
Below, Halverin raised his voice once more.
"In light of recent events, security will be increased. No one is to access the lower sanctum without council approval."
A lock.
Cael smiled thinly.
You're too late.
As the meeting adjourned and the nobles filed out, Cael melted away from the gallery. The palace had spoken.
Not with swords.
With silence.
And Cael knew, with absolute certainty, that if his survival became known...
They would not call him hero.
They would call him a threat.