City of Lars Capital of the Kingdom of Larrak King's Palace – Inner Court of Ivory Marble Year 927 – Era of Peace Five months after the Human Uprising in the Larrak Valley
"Is everyone gathered today?" the king asked, his voice echoing from the throne above, eyes sweeping across the nobles seated below him.
A man in fine blue and white linen rose from his silver seat, placing a fist over his chest in respect.
"Yes, Your Majesty. All are present—except for Baron Kaedros Vellin."
A second noble stood, this one dressed in regal red and white, his tone sharp.
"Your Majesty, you should punish him for this," he said boldly, casting glances around the court. "This is not the first time he has ignored your summons. He may be your youngest son, but the ones who truly govern his territory are not loyal to this crown. He is disgracing your rule."
The noble paused, gauging the room. Several heads nodded in quiet agreement. Confidence flashed across his face.
"Why not strip him of his land? That territory is rich with untouched resources. It's said that it alone could double the kingdom's economy. Why let it rot under a negligent boy and his scheming advisors?"
The king let out a weary sigh, his fingers tapping softly against the lion-headed armrest of his throne.
"I trust my son will learn one day," he muttered, more to himself than the court.
A low voice echoed from the rows of seated nobles—just barely audible.
"Stingy bastard…"
The whisper came from a portly noble near the back, his goblet half-raised, smirking behind his silver beard. Fortunately for him, the king did not hear it.
Then, from the far side of the court, another noble rose to his feet. Taller than most, with a clean tunic of forest green and silver trim — and no rings on his fingers.
"I bring news of great importance, Your Majesty."
The king's thoughts stirred, and for a brief moment, his expression shifted — subtle relief flashing behind his tired eyes.
Finally… one of the least corrupt speaks.
He straightened.
"You may speak, Vermon."
The noble bowed low. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
He stood tall once more, his voice calm but firm. "Travelers have returned from the borders of your son's domain — survivors, merchants, and couriers who fled the region. They report something… strange."
"Go on," the king urged.
"They claim there is a large number of humans living freely within the valley — not under chains, not in bondage. But rather… it seems they own the land."
A wave of murmurs swept the court.
Another noble scoffed, rising quickly to his feet. "We knew something like this would happen under a fool's rule. That boy was never—"
"SILENCE!" the king thundered, his voice cutting through the room like a sword.
The court froze.
"You will not speak of my son that way. Not while I still wear this crown."
The noble who had insulted the prince clicked his tongue and sank back into his seat with a forced huff, crossing his arms.
The king exhaled sharply through his nose. "Continue, Vermon."
Vermon gave a curt nod. "As I was saying, Your Majesty — we dispatched human spies into the territory weeks ago. None returned. We sent demi-human scouts… same result. Silence."
He glanced around, measuring the tension in the room.
"That's not all. Multiple reports confirm sections of the Larrak Valley farmland are being cleared and tilled — fences, roads, even irrigation. Someone is rebuilding it."
He paused.
"We fear the worst. We'd request mobilization, but… we lack the intelligence. The region is a dead zone."
Before the king could reply, a noble in gold and violet stood abruptly. "Then allow me to reclaim the land. My cavalry will ride by morning."
Another shot up. "No, I will. My house has more border claims along that territory. It rightfully belongs to us!"
A third slammed his fist against the arm of his chair. "Greedy bastards! I have more troops and triple your land. I claim first strike rights!"
Dozens more followed, rising, pointing, shouting over one another.
"Territorial war, then!"
"Let our banners settle it!"
"We'll see how brave you are when steel clashes, coward!"
The court erupted into chaos — nobles jabbing fingers, slinging insults, already measuring each other's coffers and steel.
But on the throne, the king remained silent, eyes dull and heavy.
Father… he thought bitterly, I wish you had kept power more centralized. Now look what remains — a nest of jackals ruling a kingdom meant for lions.
He rose from the throne slowly, but his presence alone was enough to silence the noise.
"Be quiet. All of you."
His voice boomed through the marble halls.
"This is the King's Court. Behave yourselves — or be removed from it."
The nobles fell silent at once, though their glares did not. Cold eyes met across the chamber — houses with old rivalries, fresh greed, and ambition barely restrained.
The king adjusted his robe and cleared his throat. "The nobles whose lands border the Larrak Valley will split governance of it… only if my son is confirmed deceased. Until then, all rights to the territory — land, labor, and tribute — remain solely with Baron Kaedros Vellin."
Discontent rippled through the room. Mouths twitched. Eyes narrowed. But none dared speak.
"Dismissed," the king said at last, and without another word, he turned and exited through the arched ivory doorway, robes flowing behind him.
As soon as the heavy doors shut behind the royal guard, the court fragmented. Nobles huddled into their factions like vultures drawn to a corpse.
"He's lost his mind," Lord Helbrant hissed, voice sharp and low. "Still clinging to that failure of a son."
"This is madness," Lord Drennos muttered. "We should've seized the valley when we had the chance. Now it's swarming with humans and gods-know-what else."
"We need to act," whispered Lady Thariel, eyes cold. "If the king won't hand the land to those who deserve it, we take it. Along with the throne."
They nodded — but not all were allies.
In the shadows of the side corridors, another faction listened. House Velgrad. House Brelmont. The old bloodlines.
"If Helbrant and his lapdogs move against the king," Count Brelmont said, "they become traitors. Easy prey."
"Then we strike first," Velgrad replied. "Assassinate Helbrant's sons. Burn his grain. Pin it on the humans."
"All to preserve peace, of course," Brelmont smirked.
And so it began — not with swords, but with whispers. Not on the battlefield, but in candle-lit corners.
The war for the throne would be one of knives in the dark.