"My King, we demand severe punishment for the reckless actions of the Sixth Prince!"
The booming voice of Duke Lionheart echoed through the Royal Court, striking the marble pillars like a war drum. He stepped forward, his lion-crested cloak swaying as he slammed his fist against his chest.
"Because of his arrogance, we have lost over twenty thousand elite Black Lion Legion infantry, one thousand cavalry, and more than seven thousand special warhorses—either slain outright or crippled beyond further service to the Kingdom!"
A wave of voices rose behind him.
"Your Majesty, the losses far outweigh any gain!"
"The Sixth Prince returned with less than sixty percent of the troops he was entrusted with!"
"If this recklessness goes unpunished, troop morale will surely collapse!"
"We cannot allow favoritism, Your Majesty! Too many lives have been sacrificed!"
The court erupted into noise—anger, grief, and barely concealed ambition intertwining beneath the gilded ceiling.
Upon the throne, the King remained silent.
His gaze lowered slowly, settling upon the nobles who served as his ministers and advisors—men who bowed to him in form, yet sharpened their knives with every word they spoke.
Normally, such disorder and open accusations would never be tolerated within the Royal Court. A single glare from the throne would have silenced them.
But today was different.
They were right.
The King's fingers tightened around the armrest.
His Sixth son had crossed a line—one drenched in blood. The losses were undeniable. The dead could not be revived, and the living carried resentment in their hearts. Even if he wished to shield his child, he could not do so openly.
He was not merely a father.
He was the King.
And a king must appease the hearts of the many—even when those hearts belonged to corrupt nobles, wavering soldiers, and men who hid their disloyalty behind righteous words.
Slowly, the King inhaled, sighed inwardly, yet his expression remained unmoved as his gaze settled upon his Sixth Son.
Kael stood below the throne, his posture rigid. To an untrained eye, he appeared calm—perhaps even resigned—but the King could see it. The faint dullness in his eyes, the weariness that had not been there before. Still, the King did not call out to him. Not yet.
First, the crowd had to be satisfied.
His voice rang through the court, steady and absolute.
"Sixth Prince, Kael Embercrown Aqualis."
At the sound of his full name, Kael's heart skipped. He lifted his head sharply, eyes locking onto the man seated upon the throne—his father. Confusion flickered across his face. Only moments ago, he had been lost in thought, and now he stood before the Royal Seat, judgment looming over him like a blade.
How had things come to this so suddenly?
Yet hesitation was not permitted in this place.
The King continued, "Do you object to receiving punishment for your misconduct—misconduct that led to the loss of tens of thousands of our elite troops?"
The court fell silent.
All eyes turned to Kael.
For a brief moment, he felt the weight of every gaze pressing down upon him. Then he straightened his back, forcing himself to stand tall—just as the original Kael would have done.
He was the Sixth Prince.
He could not show weakness.
"No, Your Majesty," Kael said, his voice firm despite the nervousness tightening in his chest. "I do not object."
A murmur rippled through the nobles.
Kael lowered his head slightly, though his thoughts raced. 'At most, it will be exile,' he reasoned.
After all, while more than forty percent of the army had been lost, the Northern Orc Fortress had fallen. The Orc forces had been crushed, territory beyond the fortress captured, and the Kingdom's borders expanded.
Publicly, he was still hailed as a War Hero.
Execution was impossible. Imprisonment would spark unrest.
Just as his thoughts settled, the King spoke again.
"I see."
The King rose slowly from his throne.
"I am glad you acknowledge your mistakes."
His gaze hardened, sweeping across the court before returning to Kael.
"Then hear my judgment."
The air itself seemed to freeze.
"I, King Rowan Embercrown the Fourth, hereby sentence the Sixth Prince, Kael Embercrown Aqualis, to life-long exile."
Gasps erupted across the hall.
Kael's eyes widened slightly.
"You are to be sent to the farthest town of the Westward Province," the King continued, his voice unwavering. "There, you shall reside not as a prince, but as a mayor. You will govern its people, protect its lands, and answer for every life under your rule."
The King paused.
"This shall be both your punishment—and your trial."
The words struck like a hammer.
A ripple of surprise spread through the ranks of the nobles.
Among them, Duke Lionheart stiffened.
'This… goes further than I expected.'
He had known the King would not execute the Sixth Prince. Such a punishment would tear the Kingdom apart. He had also understood the limits of royal discipline—public exile at worst, a symbolic loss of power meant to calm the masses.
But this?
The farthest town of the Westward Province.
Duke Lionheart's brows furrowed.
That town lay directly against the borders of the Nightbloom Great Forest—a land claimed by the shadowy Dark Elves, a race known for ambushes, poison, and silent wars that left no survivors to speak of them.
'Is this truly an exile… or something closer to a death sentence?'
In truth, Duke Lionheart bore no personal enmity toward Kael. His actions had never been driven by hatred.
The Sixth Prince was simply… inconvenient. A prince with growing military achievements was a dangerous existence—especially when the Duke had already pledged his support to the Second Prince.
Kael's war merits strengthened his voice in military politics. Left unchecked, he could one day stand as a rival pillar of power.
That was why Duke Lionheart had seized this opportunity—to sever the Sixth Prince's ties with the army.
And he had succeeded.
Yet even so, he had not anticipated such a cruel exile.
While the nobles drowned in their calculations, Kael himself remained ignorant of what truly awaited him in the Westward Province.
He only knew that the judgment was final.
Placing a hand over his chest, Kael lowered his head in a respectful bow.
"I accept my punishment, Your Majesty."
His voice carried no resentment.
Only resolve.
The King studied him for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod.
"Very well," he said. "You are dismissed."
Kael bowed once more.
Then, without hesitation, he turned and walked toward the exit.
His back was straight. His steps were firm.
He left the Royal Court not like a disgraced prince—
but with the discipline of a soldier marching from the battlefield, even as the heavy doors closed behind him.
Once he was out of sight, Kael finally let out a long breath.
"Fuck… I hate this place," he muttered under his breath. "Let's get out of here quickly."
His steps unconsciously quickened, boots echoing sharply against the palace stone as he left the throne hall behind. The oppressive weight that had pressed against his chest since entering the court began to loosen, little by little, with every step away from it.
The carriage was already waiting outside.
Kael climbed in without ceremony and leaned back against the cushioned seat.
"Take me back," he said flatly.
The driver did not ask questions. With a sharp crack of the reins, the carriage lurched forward, rolling away from the royal palace and toward Kael's estate.
As the city scenery passed by beyond the window, Kael closed his eyes.
He didn't know which town lay at the farthest edge of the Westward Province.
Nor did he care.
Right now, all he wanted was distance—from the throne, from the nobles, from the expectations that clung to the name Prince. His shoulders felt lighter with every turn of the wheels, as if simply leaving the palace allowed him room to breathe.
'I'll think about it later,' he told himself. 'After I calm down.'
For now, escape was enough.
But what Kael did not realize—was that this moment, this brief stretch of quiet retreat, might be the lightest burden he would ever carry.
Later, far later, he would look back on this day and understand.
That exile was not the moment his responsibilities were taken from him—
It was the moment they truly began.
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