Rowan and Aelric returned to the palace under the watchful eyes of Ferris and the knights. The tension from the attack still lingered in the air, though the streets had calmed. No more assassins showed themselves along the way, and soon enough, the high gates of the palace closed behind them.
They were escorted straight to the King's study. Ferris walked at their side, his expression as unreadable as ever, but Rowan noticed his hand never strayed far from the hilt of his weapon.
When the doors opened, King Vexlaar was already waiting inside. The chamber was quiet, its shelves heavy with old tomes and maps. A single lantern flickered on the desk where the King sat, his eyes steady as they entered.
Near the far window, an old man stood with his hands folded behind his back. His hair was silver, his eyes deep with quiet wisdom, one of the King's oldest advisors, Rowan guessed.
Aelric smiled upon seeing the old man, and the old man returned the smile.
"Sit," the King commanded, his voice low but firm.
Rowan and Aelric obeyed, taking the seats before his desk. Ferris remained standing behind them, bowing briefly before launching into a detailed account of the ambush. He left nothing out: the sudden fireball, the cloaked figures, the desperation of the attackers, and finally their choice to poison themselves rather than be captured.
When Ferris finished, silence filled the room. The King's gaze drifted first to Rowan. "So, it seems these are the same people who sent you the threat letter."
Rowan's eyes lowered. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Beside him, Aelric frowned, confusion flashing across his face. "What letter? What are you saying?"
Rowan's breath stilled. He had hoped to put off this moment, but there was no avoiding it now. Turning to his brother, he answered quietly, "I received a threat letter a week ago. It said not to go to the Crownlands Academy, or I would be killed."
Aelric's voice sharpened. "So you told Father and Ferris about it, but not me? Do you not trust me, Rowan?"
Rowan shook his head quickly. "It's not that. I only didn't want you to carry that burden. I thought it better to spare you the worry. And… His Majesty ordered me to remain silent."
Aelric turned, his expression wounded, toward the King. "You told him not to tell me?"
King Vexlaar's gaze hardened. "Do not look at me that way, boy. If you had known, you would have acted differently. The plan to lure them out would have failed. Sometimes secrecy is necessary, even between family."
Aelric clenched his jaw, reluctant but unable to argue further. At last, he muttered, "I might have acted… but I had the right to know."
The King leaned back in his chair, his expression grave. "And yet, the ambush proved unfruitful. They poisoned themselves rather than speak. Loyal, disciplined, and professional. Whoever commands them will not be easy to expose."
He tapped the desk once, fingers heavy against the wood. "But one thing is certain. We face enemies who do not fear death. And that makes them dangerous beyond measure."
The old man by the window finally spoke for the first time. His voice was soft but carried easily. "Indeed. Fanatics like that act on devotion, not greed. That makes them unpredictable."
He looked at the two boys again. "You've both had enough for one day. Rest. The palace will remain on lockdown until further notice. Leave the rest to me."
Aelric stood first, bowing stiffly. "Yes, Father."
Rowan followed, his movements calm, though his wounded arm still throbbed beneath the bandage. "Understood, Your Majesty."
Ferris bowed and gestured for them to follow. The heavy doors opened once more, and the three stepped out, their footsteps echoing down the marble hall.
When they were gone, silence settled back into the room. The King let out a slow breath and turned to the old man still standing by the window.
"What do you think, Merath?" he asked quietly. "Who could it be?"
The old man, Merath, stepped closer to the light. The flicker of the lantern caught the sharp lines of his face. "Assassination always requires motive, Your Majesty. Profit or purpose. But this was not a simple attempt to kill, not at first."
He paused, folding his hands behind his back. "The letter warned Lord Rowan not to attend the Crownlands Academy. That was their demand. The assassination was only a consequence of his refusal."
King Vexlaar's expression darkened. "Go on."
"Then the question becomes," Merath said, "who benefits from Rowan staying here, instead of training in the Crownlands?"
He let the thought hang for a moment before continuing. "There are two possible suspects. The first, and most likely, is Duke Thalnor."
The King's brows lowered, but there was no surprise in his face. "I expected that name."
"As you should," Merath said. "The Duke's hunger for power is well known. He's been waiting years for your nephews to mature. Once one of them ascends, he expects his influence to double. But Rowan complicates that plan."
"How so?" the King asked.
"Because Lord Rowan carries royal blood, and his right to the throne is as strong as your own children's. More importantly, he's shown exceptional potential, especially in swordsmanship."
The King's fingers stilled.
Merath said, "Tell me, Majesty, if Rowan grows up to be more powerful and capable than your own sons and desires the throne, would you not support him?"
The King replied, "Of course I would. I would do what is best for the kingdom. I love my family, but that doesn't mean I will do injustice to my people. Whether he is my own son or not, Rowan is still family. If he has what it takes to be King, then so be it."
Merath smiled. "That's what I'm talking about. Everyone knows you are impartial when it comes to the kingdom, the Duke too. And this threatens his long game. If Rowan continues to grow, there is a chance he could surpass the other heirs, and nobles who oppose the Duke would rally behind Rowan's strength. The Duke doesn't want to take that risk."
The King was silent for a moment, then nodded. "So his goal was never the assassination itself, but to limit Rowan's future."
"Exactly," Merath said. "Stopping him from going to the Crownlands would slow his growth and isolate him from external allies. That would also keep Rowan within the kingdom, under the Duke's reach and influence, unlike in the Crownlands, where the Duke can do nothing."
The King nodded grimly.
Merath inclined his head. "However," he added, "there is another suspect, though less likely."
The King's eyes flicked to him. "The Vexlaar faction?"
"Indeed," Merath said. "But I doubt they are involved. House Vexlaar does not yet see him as a threat. Although he has awakened a decent affinity, which is a small miracle considering how his early test showed low magical talent, it's still not something that would concern them. They would not waste resources on letters and warnings. If they wished him gone, they would send a blade to his throat without ceremony."
"True," the King murmured. "Vexlaar does not waste words."
He leaned back. "So it's most likely the Duke, huh? I ignored his mischief over the years, thinking he would learn, but he has crossed the line this time. Even Ember reminded me to keep him in check last year, and I did nothing. I don't even want to imagine what she'll do when she finds out about this incident."
Merath said, "I'm sure His Majesty had already figured out it was the Duke, but just wanted my confirmation."
They stood in silence for a while. The only sound was the faint crackle of the lantern.
Finally, the King said, "Increase surveillance on Thalnor's estate, quietly. Find the whereabouts of the attackers and any necessary evidence."
Merath nodded. "Understood, Your Majesty."
The King exhaled slowly, his voice low. "I will not allow another attempt. If they wish to strike again, let them do so where the Crownlands' eyes can see."