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Chapter 34 - Not All Assassins Use Daggers

"Not all assassins use daggers. Some use applause."

Through the arched windows of the King's private quarters, moonlight spilled like silver ink across the floor. King Theron sat at his war table, his back rigid, gaze fixed on the map spread before him. Borders shifted. Crowns toppled. But no kingdom pressed heavier on his mind than the one unraveling inside his own walls.

A knock sliced the quiet.

"Enter."

Captain Roran stepped inside. Dust clung to his boots, and lines of travel and tension etched his face.

"You took longer than expected," the King said.

"Because what I found wasn't simple," Roran's voice was low. "And it's not complete."

He extended a folded parchment. The edges were damaged, the ink was barely legible, but the name stood out: Seraphina.

The King's breath hitched.

"This was recovered from a scribe's vault," Roran explained. "Someone loyal to the old Flame Court. It confirms she lived long after the reports of her execution."

"Where is the rest?"

"Destroyed. Carefully. But there were whispers a child, a servant bribed, a hidden escape."

The King closed his eyes. "Clear enough."

He folded the parchment slowly, reverently.

"Say nothing," he said. "To anyone. Not the Empress. Not the council."

Roran bowed. "As you command."

He turned to leave, the fire crackling louder behind him as if Seraphina herself had heard her name.

The Grand Hall shimmered with veiled tension. Elara stood at its heart, steady amid a storm of glances and whispers.

Nobles lined the benches like vultures in silk. The Empress? With her eyes shut, she sat calmly on the dais. Still.

Lord Gerran's voice rang through the silence.

"Before proceedings begin, Lady Vera of House Virelle requests an audience."

The tension tightened.

Lady Vera entered in velvet, every step deliberate. She bowed to the dais, then turned to Elara.

"Your Majesties. Flamebearer."

Elara returned a measured nod.

Vera's voice dripped with civility.

"In light of recent upheavals, I propose a formal test of legitimacy. To affirm the Flamebearer's right. For the realm's stability."

Gasps broke the silence.

Elara met her gaze. "And if I pass?"

Vera smiled. "Then we celebrate you. And if you fail… the throne remains protected."

The Empress said nothing. No agreement. No objection.

Elara didn't wait for permission. "Let it be done."

Outside the chamber, the wind picked up, whipping cloaks and nerves alike.

M stepped into her path.

"That wasn't just a test. That was a trap."

Elara met his eyes. "Then let them see me clearly."

"Not all assassins use daggers," he said. "Some use applause. They cheer as you climb, just to savor the fall."

Elara smiled faintly. "Then I won't fall."

Ana limped toward them, her wrist freshly bandaged.

"Fire flows deeply in her veins, but M's not wrong. That court smells like blood under perfume."

"Good," Elara said. "I've never feared wolves."

In the Empress's private wing, shadows stretched long. A servant entered, silent and swift, scroll in hand.

"From House Virelle."

The Empress took it without a word.

She read.

Then smiled.

And let the flame consume the parchment.

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