In the cold, shadowed corridor of the palace, Eliosa's tears were still fresh when the Second Prince, Keibrant Emberclaw, stepped fully into the light. Unlike Draven, whose presence was a roaring fire, Keibrant was like the deep winter—silent, still, and unnervingly observant.
He stepped closer to Eliosa, his voice a smooth, calming silk that seemed to weave through her distress. "It is a cruel thing," Keibrant whispered, offering her a silk handkerchief. "To see a woman of your light treated with such disregard by a man who should be your shield."
Eliosa looked up, startled. "Prince Keibrant... I didn't see you."
"Most don't," he replied with a faint, knowing smile. "I watch from the periphery while my brother stumbles through his own pride. He doesn't value you, Eliosa. He sees you as a burden because he is terrified of Regina. He is cowed by her shadows, and in his fear, he lashes out at the only pure thing left in his life."
Eliosa's heart hammered. To hear her own insecurities echoed by a Prince was a dangerous drug. "He thinks I'm childish," she choked out.
"He is blinded," Keibrant countered, his eyes narrowing. "But we are not. If we work together, we can plan for her fall. We can remind this Empire that shadows are things to be purged, not invited into the Ministry. Wouldn't you like to see him realize his mistake when she is finally exposed as the monster she is?"
Eliosa wiped her eyes, the grief in her heart turning into a sharp, poisonous ambition. She looked at Keibrant and, for the first time, saw a path back to the top. "What must I do?"
The scene shifted to the West Wing of the palace, into a study that felt more like a vault than a royal chamber. Keibrant entered, closing the heavy doors behind him.
Waiting by the hearth was Cornelius Stoutforge. As the eldest son of Count Vargulf Stoutforge, Cornelius represented the oldest blood in the Empire—men who valued iron, stone, and tradition above all else. He was a man of sharp angles and even sharper intellect, acting as the tactical brain behind Keibrant's quiet ambition.
Cornelius looked up from a map of the Imperial Church's inner sanctum. "The Saintess has returned to her quarters?"
"She has," Keibrant said, pouring himself a glass of dark wine. "She is exactly where I need her to be—wounded and hungry for vengeance."
Cornelius leaned back, his brow furrowed. "Are you truly targeting the Sovereign of Night, Keibrant? Regina is not a foe to be trifled with. Her shadows see through walls."
"I am targeting both Regina and Draven," Keibrant corrected, his voice devoid of emotion. "If Eliosa trusts me, she will soon leave my brother's side for mine. My position strengthens with the Church behind me, and Draven loses his greatest public asset."
He walked to the window, looking out toward the capital. "Imagine the scene, Cornelius. Regina is exposed as a lethal threat to the nobility, and Draven is revealed as the weakling who was too afraid to speak against her. Eliosa and I will be the ones who 'saved' the Empire. The nobility will flock to me as the rightful heir."
Cornelius tapped his fingers against the table, his expression wary. "The Sovereign has the Umbra Stone and the King's favor. We must be incredibly careful. One slip, and the shadows will have our heads before we can even scream."
Keibrant turned, his gaze cold and absolute. "I have planned for every variable, Cornelius. The trap is already set; we only need the right bait to spring it. Prepare the execution of the first phase."
Cornelius felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty room. He looked at the Second Prince and realized that while Draven was the Crown, Keibrant was the dagger hidden behind it.
"As you wish, Highness," Cornelius whispered, nodding reluctantly.