A collective gasp, small but audible, rippled through the royal table. A commoner? Stabbed a prince? Caldan felt a flicker of grim satisfaction. Arin. She never disappointed.
Ysireth's blue-green eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "A commoner? Impossible." Her voice, usually so controlled, held a note of disbelief.
"It is true, Your Majesty," Sirenyth insisted, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "It is why he cannot be here this morning."
Ysireth's gaze hardened. She turned to one of the nearby guards. "Fetch Prince Roen. Immediately."
King Vaelric, ever the silent puppeteer, gave a subtle signal to the maids. They quickly began serving breakfast, a flurry of activity attempting to diffuse the sudden tension. But the air remained thick with anticipation.
Moments later, the heavy doors opened again. Roen entered, leaning heavily on a guard, limping dramatically. His face was a mask of furious resentment, his blue eyes blazing with a mixture of pain and unadulterated rage.
Sirenyth rose, her crimson silks rustling, and rushed to his side, playing the doting mother. "My poor boy! Come, sit." She guided him to his chair, her hand solicitously on his arm.
Ysireth's gaze, cold and unwavering, fixed on Roen. "Prince. Tell me what happened."
Roen, still simmering, straightened as much as his injury allowed. "I was attacked, Grandmother. In Caldan's wing. By a… a commoner. A woman." His eyes flickered to Caldan, a malevolent glint in their depths, clearly blaming him for the presence of the "commoner" in his wing.
Caldan felt a fresh surge of anger. In my wing? Roen, busy abusing a maid in his damn wing, and he hadn't even known about it. He'd deal with Maeve later. Severely.
Ysireth's gaze snapped to Caldan. "In your wing, Caldan? How could a commoner gain access to the royal wing, let alone assault a prince?" Her voice was soft, but the question was a sharpened blade.
Think, damn you. Caldan's mind raced, a thousand scenarios flashing through his head. He couldn't implicate Arin. He couldn't implicate himself by admitting to holding a commoner captive. He needed an answer that was vague, dismissive, yet believable enough to satisfy his grandmother's sharp intellect.
"Prince Caldan, speak," Ysireth urged, her patience wearing thin.
Caldan met her gaze, his own a mask of feigned confusion. "Your Majesty, I confess… I have no idea what Roen is talking about." He let his voice settle into a tone of utter bewilderment. "A commoner? In my wing? I am quite certain no such incident occurred." His words were smooth, a carefully constructed lie that tasted like ash on his tongue
Roen scoffed, a raw, pained sound. "Are you calling me a liar, Caldan? I was stabbed! In the leg! By a commoner you clearly had hiding in your chambers!" His voice rose, verging on a whine, but laced with a desperate fury. "She attacked me, Grandmother! She cut me like an animal!" He gestured wildly at his bandaged thigh, the crimson stain visible even through the silk.
Caldan's eyes narrowed, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Roen, your histrionics are tiresome, even for you. My wing is perhaps the most secure in Caelvoryn. Every guard is vetted, every passage sealed. A commoner, let alone one capable of assaulting a prince, simply does not appear there. Perhaps you merely stumbled, brother, and cut yourself on your own foolishness." He let the last words hang in the air, a thinly veiled insult.
Vaeren, seated beside Tysha, leaned forward, a predatory glint in his golden eyes. He had been quietly observing, a faint, almost amused smile playing on his lips. "A commoner, you say? One with enough courage to wield a blade against a prince? Fascinating." His gaze flickered towards Caldan, a question simmering in their depths, a hunger for disruption. "Who is this mysterious woman, brother? Does she possess a certain… fire?"
Caldan's jaw tightened, his gaze colder than mountain ice as it met Vaeren's. "She is a figment of Roen's overactive imagination, Vaeren. There is no woman, no commoner, and certainly no 'fire' in my wing that isn't already within these walls." He tried to dismiss it, to shut down Vaeren's dangerous curiosity, but the smirk on his half-brother's face told him it was futile. Vaeren thrived on chaos, and Arin, even unseen, was a potent source.
"Do not insult my son, Caldan!" Sirenyth snarled, her voice sharp, a protective mother-wolf. "Roen speaks the truth! You are attempting to cover up your own… indiscretions! Perhaps you invited this 'commoner' in, thinking her a toy, and she proved more than you bargained for!" Her eyes, blazing with accusation, were fixed on him.
Armyra, serene and unreadable, set down her teacup with a delicate clink. Her voice, when it came, was a cool balm, yet it held an undeniable steel. "Sirenyth, do you truly believe Prince Caldan would risk the security of his wing, and by extension, the entire royal family, for a mere 'toy'?" Her gaze swept over Sirenyth, a silent, cutting judgment. "Caldan is meticulous. His wing's security is second only to the King's own chambers. It is highly improbable a commoner could breach it undetected, let alone remain there."
"Improbable, but not impossible!" Sirenyth retorted, her voice rising, losing its regal composure. "Perhaps your son grows careless! Perhaps he seeks to destabilize the court with his… pet projects!"
"My son's 'projects' are for the good of the realm, unlike some who prefer to incite chaos for personal gain!" Armyra's voice remained calm, but her words were daggers, each one precise and aimed at Sirenyth's heart.
The argument ignited, a rapid-fire exchange of accusations and veiled threats. Roen, emboldened by his mother's support, continued to protest his injury, while Caldan, his face a mask of cold denial, refused to budge from his story. The volume in the hall rose, the polite whispers of the maids and the clinking of porcelain drowned out by the escalating fury of the royal family.
King Vaelric, perched at the head of the table, continued to eat, his movements slow and deliberate, as if the entire spectacle was merely background noise to his breakfast. He sliced a piece of roasted fowl, utterly detached, his golden eyes observing everything and nothing, a silent storm brewing behind them.
Viera, silent and still, picked at a piece of fruit, her black eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight, revealing nothing. Tysha, however, was rapt, her red hair catching the light as she leaned forward, her blue-green eyes sparkling with undisguised delight at the unfolding drama. Iryna, usually withdrawn, watched the escalating argument with a quiet intensity, her pale face unreadable, only the slightest shift in her posture betraying her interest. She only truly gave her attention when the stakes sharpened, when the game became truly dangerous.
"This is absurd!" Sirenyth shrieked, slamming her hand on the table, making the silverware jump. "He lies, Your Majesty! He clearly harbors this… this assailant!"
"He does not!" Armyra's voice, though calm, was laced with venom. "Your son, Sirenyth, is a known liar and a known aggressor! Perhaps he attacked himself for attention!"
The air crackled. The maids, usually moving with quiet efficiency, scurried faster, their faces pale, attempting to clear plates, to create an illusion of normalcy amidst the chaos.
Ysireth, who had been watching the exchange with a chilling stillness, suddenly slammed her own hand flat on the table. The sound cracked through the hall like a thunderclap, silencing everyone. The ringing of porcelain, the furious whispers, the frustrated grunts—all ceased. The only sound was the soft scraping of King Vaelric's knife against his plate.
Her blue-green eyes, sharp as a hawk's, fixed on Caldan. "Prince Caldan," she began, her voice low, dangerous, a predator closing in, "are you very sure there was no commoner in your wing?" She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "Prince Roen would not lie about something of this magnitude. Something like this has never happened. And if there was truly a commoner, an unvetted, unknown individual, breaching the royal wing, then it is not merely an incident, but a grave danger. The entire royal family would be at risk. This is not a matter of petty squabbles, but of security. Of our very lives."
Caldan met her gaze, his internal storm raging, yet his external composure remained unbroken. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice firm, unwavering, "I am absolutely certain. My wing is sealed. No commoner. No unauthorized presence. My guards are loyal, my passages secure. I inspect them myself. Nightly." His lies were woven with enough truth to make them almost impenetrable. "It is simply not possible."
Ysireth's eyes, ancient and knowing, remained fixed on him, searching for the slightest tremor, the smallest crack. A slow, chilling smile touched her lips. "If you are so very sure, Prince," she murmured, her voice a silken threat, "then perhaps we should search your wing. Immediately."