ALISTAIR
The council chamber had never felt smaller.
Grand Duke Montclair sat at the long table, surrounded by men who once stood proudly beside him. Now they shifted in their chairs, speaking in hushed tones, their eyes avoiding his. The gilded crests on the walls caught the morning light, but to him, the gold seemed dull, tarnished.
He had spent the entire morning reading reports that carried the same poisonous thread. Whispers. Glances. The faint, mocking words that moved through the court like smoke.
A boy built with lies.
He closed the parchment and set it aside. His hands were steady, but his pulse was not.
"Your Grace," said Lord Delamere from across the table, his tone carefully measured. "Perhaps it would be wise to address these rumors openly. The court grows uneasy."
Alistair looked up slowly. "Uneasy?"
Delamere hesitated. "The story of your parentage has spread beyond control. It is reaching the provinces now. Merchants speak of it as if it were the truth. The longer we remain silent, the more it takes shape."
Another lord cleared his throat. "Perhaps a public statement—"
Alistair's voice cut through him, quiet but sharp. "Silence is strength. If we give voice to lies, we give them life."
The room stilled. No one met his gaze.
He rose from his chair, moving to the tall windows that overlooked the inner courtyard. Servants crossed below, their chatter carrying faintly upward. Every sound felt like mockery.
He spoke without turning. "Do you know how many falsehoods have been told in this palace? How many kings and queens have built their rule upon them? The difference between power and disgrace is not the truth. It is controlled."
Delamere's voice was cautious. "And yet, Your Grace, even control can slip."
Alistair turned then, his eyes cold. "Not mine."
The men fell silent. One by one, they lowered their gazes, unwilling to meet the force behind his calm.
"Leave me," Alistair said quietly. "All of you."
They rose at once. Chairs scraped against marble, boots clicked, and in moments the chamber was empty. Only the echo of their retreat remained.
Alistair stayed at the window long after they were gone. The courtyard shimmered with sunlight, too bright for his eyes. Beneath it, the palace moved as it always had, but something in the air had shifted. The world was beginning to tilt.
He turned away from the window and poured himself a glass of wine. The first sip was sharp, sour with age. He set it down untouched.
It had begun, then. The careful empire he had built on charm and precision was faltering, not from a sword's edge but from a whisper. A single rumor, small and soft as breath, had undone what years of planning could not.
He knew where it came from.
Lucian Ravenscroft.
Alistair had underestimated him. That was his first mistake. Ravenscroft was a soldier in mind as well as title, patient and deliberate. And the Crown Prince, quiet, watchful and had always favored him. Together they made a dangerous pair.
Alistair crossed the room, each step measured. On the desk lay a letter sealed with the royal crest. He had not opened it yet. The messenger who brought it had not looked him in the eye. That was warning enough.
He broke the seal.
The letter was short, written in the Crown Prince's unmistakable hand.
Your Grace, the Crown requests your presence at the council tomorrow to address certain irregularities concerning the royal archives and treasury ledgers. You are advised to bring all relevant documents pertaining to your estate.
Alistair read the words twice. They were courteous, almost indifferent, but beneath them lay the clear intent of accusation.
He folded the letter and placed it aside. His reflection in the glass cabinet caught his attention, the straight lines of his shoulders, the smooth composure of his face. To any observer, he looked untouched, the same unshakable man who had long commanded half the kingdom.
But inside, something cracked.
He walked toward the fireplace and let his hand rest on the marble mantle. "So this is how it begins," he murmured.
The rumor had become a strategy. The court, once bound to him by favors and fear, was beginning to drift. Loyalty was a fragile thing; it belonged to whoever appeared strongest. And strength, he knew, was measured not in truth, but in perception.
He needed to act before perception became reality.
The door creaked behind him. His steward, an older man named Barry, entered quietly. "Your Grace, the northern magistrates have requested an audience. They wish to clarify their standing before the next session."
Alistair did not turn. "They wish to distance themselves, you mean."
Barry hesitated. "There is… uncertainty, my lord."
Alistair's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Uncertainty is the currency of cowards. Tell them I am unavailable."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Barry lingered. "Forgive me, but the servants have begun to talk as well. They say—"
"Enough." Alistair's voice was still calm, but it carried the edge of command that silenced the man instantly. "If I hear that word repeated again in this house, there will be consequences."
The steward bowed quickly and withdrew.
Alistair stood alone once more, the silence pressing against him. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, steadying himself. Rage was a luxury he could not afford. Not yet.
He sat at his desk and began to write. The letters were not pleas or apologies. They were instructions. Orders to move funds quietly, to secure records, to remind certain allies of the favors they owed him. If the Crown meant to question his power, he would make sure they found nothing to seize.
Yet even as he wrote, a part of him knew it was not enough. The rumor had taken root too deeply. It was not a question of evidence anymore, but belief.
The boy built with lies.
He could almost hear the phrase whispered behind every door, beneath every bow. It clung to him like smoke, invisible yet choking.
Alistair rose and crossed to the balcony. The city sprawled below, bright and bustling. For years, it had moved according to his will. Now, for the first time, it felt distant, untamed, foreign.
He thought of Evelina.
In the quiet, her name surfaced unbidden, soft as the memory of sunlight through leaves. She had looked at him differently the last time they met, her eyes clear and kind but no longer trusting. She had seen the man he had become and found him wanting.
He closed his hand around the railing. "You chose him," he whispered.
The words burned more than the rumor ever could.
He could not decide which loss cut deeper, the fall of his power or the loss of her regard. Perhaps they were the same. Perhaps all along he had sought her love only to prove to himself that he was still human.
A soft knock broke the silence. A young servant entered, pale and nervous. "Your Grace, a messenger from Lord Ravenscroft. He said it was urgent."
Montclair turned slowly. "Give it to me."
The boy handed him a small folded note and retreated quickly.
Alistair opened it. There were only three words, written in Lucian's steady hand.
Truth always rises.
He stared at the message for a long moment, then crumpled it in his hand. The paper crackled softly before he tossed it into the fire. The flames caught it instantly, curling the edges into black.
For a moment he watched the paper burn, the letters shrinking into ash. Then he spoke quietly, almost to himself.
"Not if I bury it first."
He turned from the fire, his mind already moving ahead. There was still time to turn the tide. He would use the same tools they had used against him, rumor, charm, and deception. If the Crown wished for a war of whispers, then so be it.
Alistair walked back to the window. The light had begun to fade, casting long shadows across the floor. In the reflection of the glass, his face looked calm once more, the mask restored.
But behind the calm, something darker had taken shape.
Not fear. Not defeat.
Resolve.
The kind that comes only when a man has nothing left to lose.
He whispered into the growing dusk, "If they want truth, I will give them lies sharper than any sword."
The fire crackled behind him, bright and hungry, as Alistair turned back toward his desk and began to write again.
The war had truly begun.