Chapter 20 – The Gilded Cage
The opulent guest quarters assigned to House Adraels felt more like a beautifully decorated prison than a place of honor. The air was heavy with the scent of exotic flowers and the unspoken threat of constant observation. As soon as the doors were sealed by the Royal Guard outside, the formal postures of Don's companions dissolved into grim reality.
"Vipers," Dvrik stated flatly, checking the room for listening spells. "Every last one of them. The King's words were a threat, the Queen's a dissection, and the Prince's a promise of a knife in the dark."
Leinara moved to the window, peering down at the perfectly manicured gardens below. "The guards haven't moved. We are being watched. This entire wing of the palace is isolated."
Caria, however, was already analyzing the confrontation. "It was a test," she said, her sharp gaze meeting Don's. "They expected you to be intimidated. When you weren't, they moved to the next stage of their gambit: to challenge your legitimacy publicly. The King's final words were not for you, Don. They were for every lord and lady in that hall. He is painting you as a potential usurper."
Don stood calmly by the hearth, the firelight dancing in his eyes. The Flamebound Medallion was a steady, reassuring weight against his chest. "Good," he said, and the simple word made them all turn to him. "Let him. The King challenged me to show the realm I am a shield. He expects me to do it with oaths and promises. But a shield is proven by the blows it turns, not by the words of the man holding it."
His eyes took on a familiar, focused intensity. "We are not prisoners here. We are guests. And as guests, we will explore the hospitality of the court." He looked to Caria. "Arrange a meeting with Princess Athina. Her last visit was in secret; this one will be more open, a discussion between allies. We need to know who in this court fears the Crown more than they fear Tidor."
To Leinara and Dvrik, he said, "The King and Prince see only the palace. But the city of Erydon is vast. Mingle with the off-duty guards, visit the merchant squares. A city this large has a dark underbelly. The Wraith's agents are not just in the wildlands. I would wager they have a foothold here. Find it."
---
The royal banquet two nights later was a masterclass in veiled hostility. The great hall glittered under the light of a thousand enchanted candles. Nobles from across the kingdom, summoned to witness Don's fealty, watched with keen interest. Prince Strelm, moving through the crowd with predatory grace, chose his moment perfectly.
"Lord Don," he said, his voice carrying just enough for the nearby lords of Houses Aetheria and other neutral parties to hear. "We hear you have formed a band of 'Shadow Hunters.' A noble cause, to be sure. But some might wonder why a loyal vassal needs a private army, when the King's own forces protect the realm."
The question was a dart, dipped in poison. The surrounding nobles fell silent, their eyes fixed on Don.
Don took a sip of wine before answering, his calm a stark contrast to the Prince's pointed aggression. "Your Highness, when a plague spreads in the dark, one does not wait for the city guard to notice the dead in the streets. One sends for the healers and hunters who know how to root out the disease at its source." He met Strelm's cold gaze. "My men hunt a specific sickness that conventional armies cannot fight—a sickness that, I fear, has spread farther than even the Crown realizes. They are not a private army; they are the realm's first line of defense against a supernatural threat."
The answer was brilliant. It was respectful, yet it subtly criticized the Crown's inaction while reinforcing his own loyalty to the *realm*, if not its current politics. Whispers of approval rippled through the assembled lords, and Strelm's smile tightened by a fraction.
Later, in a secluded library, Princess Athina confirmed Don's fears. "Strelm is consolidating power," she whispered, her eyes darting towards the door. "He uses the threat of Tidor to justify his own authoritarian measures. Many houses are afraid. They see your defiance as a spark of hope, but they are too entangled in the Crown's web to offer open support." She pressed a small, sealed scroll into his hand. "This contains the names of those who might listen. Be careful, Don. My brother does not forgive."
---
The breakthrough came from the city's depths. Leinara and Dvrik, dressed in the simple leathers of travelers, had been asking questions in the smokey taverns of the lower districts. They heard whispers of disappearances, of a new, shadowy cult promising power to the desperate. Following a lead, they discovered a derelict sewer entrance beneath an old temple, marked with a faint, almost invisible sigil: the eye inside a fang.
They found the chamber just as a dark ritual was concluding. It was a small cell of the Wraith's agents, but they were not assassins. They were spies, sending reports of royal troop movements and courtly gossip back to Emberstone Fortress via magically preserved carrier bats. Before they could be stopped, the agents consumed poison, their bodies dissolving into the same foul smoke as the assassins at the watchtower. But they left behind their prize: a half-burnt map of the palace's lower levels, with a single, chilling mark over the royal crypts.
Dvrik and Leinara returned to the palace with haste, the gravity of their discovery a cold weight in their stomachs.
---
That evening, Don requested another audience with the King. He was granted it not in the great hall, but in a small, private solar where Medveick sat alone, the weight of his crown seemingly heavier than usual.
"You have something more to say, Lord Adraels?" the King asked, his voice weary.
"I have something to show you, Your Majesty," Don replied. He laid the scorched map on the table between them. "My 'private army' has been busy. While your Royal Guard protects the palace walls, the enemy has been tunneling beneath your very feet. This was taken from a cell of the Pale Wraith's spies operating within your city. They are targeting the tombs of your ancestors."
The King stared at the map, his face draining of color. The implications were horrifying. The Wraith didn't just want living bloodlines; it wanted the power resting in the bones of long-dead kings.
"You challenged me to prove I am a shield for the realm," Don said, his voice low but powerful. "The threat is not in the south, waiting at the border. It is here, now, in your own home. Let my hunters work. Give me leave to root out this poison from your city, and I will show you, and every house in this kingdom, what true loyalty looks like."
King Medveick looked from the map to the young man before him, whose calm defiance was more unsettling than any open rebellion. He was trapped. To refuse was to admit his own impotence. To accept was to legitimize the very power he feared. The gilded cage had sprung a leak, and the storm was no longer on the horizon. It was inside the palace walls.