(Lucien's POV)
Malrec was good at his job.
No, he was the best. The way he maneuvered through the shadows of the palace, whispering doubt into ears that hungered for suspicion, was almost an art.
And now, as I leaned against the cold stone of my usual chamber window, I could already feel it, the seeds I had planted were taking root.
Whispers. Faint at first, carried from one servant to another, muttered behind the heavy curtains of council rooms, sliding through the corridors like smoke. They questioned King Adrian's loyalty. He had become the subject of speculation without even knowing it. Malrec had played his part perfectly, and his men even more so.
By now, even some of the elders had begun to doubt Adrian's dedication. Some talking about his hesitation where he was asked to attack the wolves.
I should stop calling him King, I thought, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. Adrian was no king of mine. Not anymore.
I walked through the palace halls, hearing the rumors swell. They were clever ones, threaded with enough truth to be believable, yet dark enough to make the naive falter.
People whispered about Adrian sneaking out of the palace at night, carrying things, disappearing into the woods under the cover of darkness. Whispers of forbidden meetings, of secret loves, impossible things for someone so cold, so proud. But now, even the pride couldn't save him.
The murmurs grew louder as I entered the council chamber. Elders were already gathered, their impatience writ large across their faces. Elder Volrian, tall, gaunt, with eyes that had watched over generations, tapped his cane in irritation. Elder Caelius, shorter, stockier, with a face lined from decades of worry, muttered to himself about the inefficiency of the younger guards.
Even the younger advisors, eager to prove their loyalty, fidgeted, casting anxious glances around the room.
Duchess Isolde sat behind it all, her legs crossed, the perfect picture of poised calculation. Her dark green robes clung to her like liquid shadows, her hair cascading over her shoulders, a dark frame for a face that could charm or terrify at a glance.
One corner of her lips curved into that subtle, wicked smile I knew meant she was already two steps ahead of anyone else. She was quiet, observing, calculating. Perfect.
I did not acknowledge her presence. She could watch. Let her. My attention was on the chaos blossoming in front of me. I moved to my usual spot beside Adrian's throne, my hands folded casually, a mask of calm over the storm I felt inside. Chaos murmured all around me, each whisper like a note in a symphony of ruin I was composing.
A young servant appeared, bowing deeply. She was fresh-faced, timid, with her brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes darted nervously between the elders and me, but her voice was steady.
"Your highness," she said, "King Adrian is not in his chambers."
A collective gasp echoed around the room.
Elder Volrian's hand tightened around his cane. "What do you mean he is not in his chambers?" he demanded. "Surely he has not left the palace?"
Malrec and I exchanged a glance, almost imperceptible, a silent agreement.
"He was seen," Malrec said smoothly, pulling a scroll from the folds of his sleeve, "leaving the palace yesterday around midnight."
Another elder, a man named Elder Tiberius, leaned forward. "Midnight?" he said, voice sharp. "What would his highness be going out for at midnight?"
"Yes," another elder, Elder Veyron, added quickly. "It seemed he was taking something, as though he had a purpose… an errand. But where could he be going at such an hour?"
A murmur of fear and suspicion swept through the chamber. People had been watching, whispering, connecting dots that had not existed before. Malrec's voice cut through the growing tension. "There have been multiple sightings of him leaving the palace at night. Consistently. Many of the servants and guards have reported it."
Elder Volrian slammed his hand against the table. "I have known Adrian since birth! He would never commit treason. He is loyal to the kingdom and to his father's legacy!"
I smiled inwardly. Of course, Volrian would support him. He and Caelius were loyal to Adrian's father, and by extension, Adrian himself. That would make the impact of Malrec's next move all the sweeter.
Malrec stepped forward, producing a folded piece of parchment. "Then perhaps you will not be able to deny this," he said, handing the letter to Volrian.
I felt a thrill run through me. Thank the gods for finding this letter. I had snooped through Adrian's chamber after taking him, and luck, or perhaps fate, had favored me. There it was, a letter written with the raw emotion of a man who thought he could hide his heart.
Adrian had poured himself into the words, and though he had not named Damien, the intent was clear. Proof enough to ignite chaos.
Volrian's hands trembled as he took the letter, his knuckles white. He looked as if all the blood had drained from his face. His eyes widened, his lips parted, a stuttered gasp escaping him.
"This… this is treason," Elder Tiberius shouted as the letter was passed around. Each elder read in turn, and the room erupted into murmurs of shock and disbelief.
"Royal blood involved!" one elder cried.
"Could it be… the Princess of the Blackthorn Kingdom?"
"Yes, yes, it must be her!" another exclaimed, while a few dissented, insisting it was impossible. But the "yes" were louder, more convincing, and the chaos spiraled, unstoppable.
Elders argued fiercely. "He cannot be King if he is in love with the enemy! Treason has been committed, and no one, not even a king, is above the punishment!"
"The kingdom's stability is at risk! He must be found, detained, and judged according to the law!"
"Do not let personal affections cloud judgment! This is serious! He is a danger to the throne!"
I watched them all, each word and accusation feeding my satisfaction. My plan was working. Adrian's kingdom, his authority, his image, all crumbling.
Duchess Isolde remained quiet through it all, her gaze piercing, watching with a predator's patience. She allowed the elders to voice their fury, to act like fools, and all the while, her smile was a slow, deliberate curve of satisfaction. Finally, she shifted, uncrossed her legs, and leaned forward slightly, her sharp nails drumming lightly on the arm of her chair.
By the time the chamber calmed enough to consider the next steps, I was already walking toward the exit. My mind buzzed with possibilities. But then...
"Lucien."
I froze. Her voice was silk and steel combined. Duchess Isolde had risen from her chair, stepping lightly to intercept me.
She tilted my face with her hand, forcing me to meet her gaze. Her dark eyes were sharp, brilliant with approval and a hint of danger. "Is this your doing?"
I said nothing.
"Answer me when I ask a question," she commanded, squeezing my jaw lightly.
"Yes," I admitted, my voice steady despite the heat of rage in my chest. "It is my doing. I started all of this."
She let go, stepping back just slightly. Then, like a shadow passing over a landscape, she smiled. Not a smile of warmth, but of cunning, satisfaction, the smile of a mother watching her child finally think strategically.
Her hand traced lazily from my hair to my cheek. "Finally… finally, my son, you are thinking like I taught you. You are beginning to understand that power is not taken with strength alone, but with intellect, patience… and ruthlessness."
Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer. "Remember, Lucien, this is just the beginning. Keep your eyes open, your enemies closer, and never… never let them see the strings you pull."
She gave me a final, almost imperceptible nod and turned, her robes flowing like liquid night, leaving me in the hallway. I clenched my fists, rage and exhilaration colliding inside me. Mother had always been ruthless, and now she had passed a fragment of that poison to me.
The elders had dispersed, still murmuring among themselves, some convinced of Adrian's betrayal, others uncertain but shaken. Chaos, doubt, fear, it was all weaving into the perfect storm. And at the heart of it all, Adrian remained imprisoned, powerless, unaware of just how far the web had spread.
As I stepped out into the shadowed corridors of the palace, a thrill coursed through me. Soon, everything would fall into place. Adrian would be finished. Damien would be left vulnerable. And I… I would ascend, unchallenged, inevitable.
But even as I allowed myself a small, private smile, a shadow of unease tickled at the edges of my mind. The game was only beginning, and while I had planned well… there was always the risk of the unexpected.
I clenched my jaw, my hands curling into fists. Let the night come. Let the whispers spread. Let the world crumble around them. Because soon, I would be the one standing above it all.
And no one, no king, no ally, no shadowed protector would be able to stop me.