A cold dread snaked through Caldan's gut. He'd walked into a viper's nest, his own lies threatening to choke him. Every eye at the table, a heavy shroud of suspicion, searched for a tremor. His heart pounded. Fool. He'd shown a crack in his armor.
"Search my wing, Your Majesty?" Caldan's voice remained steady, a low, even current, though a vein throbs. He allowed a hint of confused surprise. "For a commoner? When I have just stated there is none within my chambers?"
Sirenyth's red hair burned. She leaned forward, eyes glittering with malicious glee. "Perhaps, Prince, your memory isn't quite what it used to be," she purred, "Or perhaps, your definition of 'none' is… unique."
Roen, still leaning on his guard, a furious mask on his face, snarled. "He's lying, Grandmother! He's got her in there! The commoner stabbed me right in his wing!" His voice was raw, laced with venom.
Vaeren, composed, chimed in, golden eyes predatory. "Indeed, Your Majesty. If there's nothing to hide, why the fuss over a simple search?" He paused, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Unless… the royal wing's security isn't quite as impenetrable as we've been led to believe, and the Prince would prefer to keep that under wraps?"
Tysha, blue-green eyes sparkling with delight, nodded. "Yes, Grandmother! It would be for everyone's safety! Just to make sure no danger is lurking anywhere in the palace walls."
Caldan felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. He saw the gleam in their eyes, the eagerness for his downfall. He could not allow them into his wing. Arin was there. And worse, the books. He had to stall.
"Your Majesty," Caldan said, his voice dropping, taking on a tone of grave concern, "the honor of the Crown Prince is at stake here. To allow a search, especially one based on such flimsy accusations, wouldn't just set a dangerous precedent for future false claims. It would also cast an undeniable shadow of doubt upon my loyalty, making me appear complicit in some unknown wrongdoing, and thereby weakening the public's faith in the succession itself."
Ysireth's sharp eyes bore into Caldan, narrowing. "Prince Caldan," she murmured, a silken threat, "Why this sudden reluctance? If your wing is as impenetrable as you claim, then a search should simply prove your words, should it not?"
King Vaelric, carving his roasted fowl, finally lifted his golden eyes. He observed the scene with detached amusement, a silent storm brewing.
Iryna, usually withdrawn, now met Caldan's desperate gaze. Her pale face was unreadable. "Your Majesty," her voice soft, yet it cut through the rising clamor. "A search, if conducted without true cause, could indeed be seen as an act of… mistrust. It could destabilize the very trust between the royal family and its guards, not to mention the perception of our strength amongst the other houses." Her intelligent eyes flickered to Sirenyth and Roen. "And for what? A petty squabble."
Sirenyth gasped, eyes blazing. "Iryna! Are you actually defending him? Your own brother was attacked!" she shrieked, slamming her hand on the table. "You dare speak of petty squabbles when our blood has been spilled?"
Queen Armyra, watching with the stillness of a frozen lake, finally spoke. Her voice, not loud, possessed a chilling authority that sliced through Sirenyth's tirade. "The Princess speaks sense," she stated, black eyes pinning Sirenyth. "A kingdom that mistrusts its own princes is already crumbling from within. This… this feels less like a search for truth and more like an attempt to undermine the Crown Prince."
Sirenyth's head snapped toward Armyra, face contorting with years of festering resentment. "She speaks sense? Your kind always finds ways to muddy the waters! And you—" her voice dripped with scorn, "—a mother of failures, dare speak to me of crumbling kingdoms when your own children are naught but ruins? A fallen rider whose dragon sleeps in chains, a madman locked in a tower, and a mute girl who speaks only to shadows! And yet you sit there, the great Queen, while I am treated like a common broodmare!"
A guttural snarl tore from Caldan's throat. His chair screeched back as he lunged, a coiled spring of fury, his hand reaching for the dagger he wasn't wearing. "You bitch—"
Roen's face contorted, a primal roar tearing from his own throat as he shoved his chair back. His hand shot to the ornate dagger at his hip, eyes wide and wild with protective rage. He lunged, a blur of red and gold, ready to intercept.
Vaeren didn't move. His golden eyes, usually amused, went flat, hard, terrifying. A cold, quiet stillness descended. His right hand slowly tightened around the hilt of his jeweled dagger, knuckles turning stark white. He watched Caldan's lunge with a chilling, clinical assessment. No anger, only lethal certainty. If you touch her, his gaze promised, you will cease to exist.
Before Caldan could clear the table, a small, cool hand shot out, clamping around his wrist with surprising strength. Viera. Her black eyes, wide and urgent, met his. She gave a sharp, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Her gaze was a torrent of silent words: Don't. Not here. You will lose everything. Not just for yourself, but for us all.
Caldan froze, muscles screaming. Fury warred with the desperate plea in his sister's eyes. Roen, brought up short by Viera's unexpected intervention, hovered, dagger half-drawn, panting with rage and confusion.
"See?" Roen sneered, voice lacking conviction, eyes wide with adrenaline. "The beast shows his teeth when his mother is threatened. He proves himself a savage."
Vaeren merely watched, hand still tight on his dagger, his smile now a slow, almost imperceptible curving of his lips. Predatory calm had returned, but beneath it, a chilling satisfaction settled. Caldan's fury, raw and untamed, was a weakness Vaeren had now confirmed. His fascination deepened.
"Sirenyth." The voice of Queen Dowager Ysireth was as cold as a crypt. "Silence. You forget to whom you speak. You forget your station, and the King's grace."
But Sirenyth was too far gone, drunk on rage, face blotchy with tears and fury. "Forget? I have forgotten nothing!" she spat, gaze sweeping over Armyra's children with fresh scorn. "While my sons are strong, their dragons obedient, yours are… broken! And yet you sit there, the great Queen, while I am treated like a common broodmare, dismissed and ignored!"
"Enough!" King Vaelric's voice, raspy, cracked like a whip, silencing the hall. He shoved his chair back, golden eyes blazing with fury. He rose to his full height, a towering figure of royal wrath. "You dare," he hissed, pointing a trembling finger at his second wife, "disrespect my Queen in my own hall? In front of my court? In front of me?"
Sirenyth paled, venom draining, replaced by shock. She stumbled back.
"The matter is settled," Vaelric growled, gaze sweeping the table like a storm cloud. "My son's wing will not be searched. Armyra is right. It shows weakness. And," he fixed his glare back on Sirenyth, voice dangerously quiet, "you have forgotten your place, Sirenyth. You have forgotten your vows, and the decorum expected of a King's wife."
A strangled sob escaped Sirenyth's lips. Humiliated, she shoved her chair back so violently it toppled over with a crash that echoed through the stunned silence. She turned and stormed from the hall, her red gown a furious streak against the pale stone.
"Come back here, woman!" Vaelric roared, voice shaking with cold fury.
She did not.
Tysha, face flushed with anger at her mother's disgrace, made to stand, eyes blazing. "I will—"
"Sit. Down." The King's command was a lethal whisper, cutting through the air like a razor. Tysha froze, eyes wide, and slowly sank back into her seat, trembling. Vaelric stared at the empty doorway through which Sirenyth had fled, chest heaving. "From this day forward," he declared to the silent room, voice grim and final, "Sirenyth will no longer attend the royal breakfast. Perhaps her absence will remind her of the courtesies she owes her King, and her Queen."
Relief, sickeningly profound, washed over Caldan. He sank back into his chair, Viera's hand finally releasing his wrist, her touch lingering in a silent plea for calm. He met Iryna's gaze—a silent acknowledgment passed between them. An ally. For now. A precarious alliance, but one forged in shared exasperation and the King's unexpected intervention.
The tension slowly diffused, replaced by a lingering, toxic unease. Caldan's appetite was gone, his mind racing. He had won, but the cost felt impossibly high. His secret was no longer just a suspicion; it was a wound his family now knew existed, and they would not stop picking at it.
His gaze drifted across the table, landing on Vaeren. His half-brother wasn't gloating, nor was he angry. His golden eyes were alight with a terrifying, predatory curiosity. Leaning forward, Vaeren lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, just loud enough for Caldan to hear, a velvet-wrapped barb.
"All of that… for a common girl?" He lifted his goblet in a silent, mocking toast. His smile was all teeth, a flash of something utterly cold and dangerous. "I'd really love to meet her, brother."