[The Imperial Court]
"The court deserves transparency. Does it not, Your Highness?" Helbart’s stare pinched, emphasizing every syllable. "Where did you get them?"
The question hung in the air.
Alden met Helbart's gaze. In his peripheral vision, he noted the shared glance between Varik and Ashvale—amused, predatory. 'There will be blood,' their expressions promised. 'But whose?'
Alden let the silence stretch. Helbart's pupils contracted, fixing on his face.
To his left, Duke Viremont's jaw tightened. A muscle in his cheek jumped, his mouth opening to intercede.
Alden raised a hand, stopping him without breaking eye contact with Helbart.
"It seems Duke Helbart does not trust the Crown Prince's words." Slowly, a chilling smile etched itself onto Alden’s face. "Are you questioning the Crown's methods of acquiring evidence? Tell me, Duke—why must I justify my sources to you?"
Gasps swept the hall. Marquis Blackwood straightened, spine rigid against his chair. Ashford gripped his seat, knuckles white.
Anticipation filled the hall.
The Duke's chest rose, color flooding his face. He opened his mouth to retort, but Alden’s smooth voice cut through the air.
"Your resistance is... peculiar. You insist on their innocence despite seeing the documents. It makes me wonder." Alden tilted his head slightly, his gaze drifting upward to the ticking clock.
"Does the Duke share a special connection with the Silver Star? One the court is not privy to?"
Helbart glared.
For a fleeting moment, a smirk touched Duke Varik’s face—an expression that seemed to convey, 'He learns fast.' However, the tightened fist at his side contradicted the amusement.
Duke Ashvale leaned forward. Duke Viremont wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow, staring at the Prince with near-obsessive intensity. He, too, wore a smile, unable to look away.
Emperor Caelus IV finally spoke.
"You have done well, Crown Prince." The Emperor’s voice was low, yet it silenced the whispers instantly. "If you wish to conclude this matter, the court has no standing to object, since the witnesses alone justify your case. However, regarding the treason charge, you must provide more conclusive proof and disclose your sources."
Conner heaved a sigh of relief.
Alden bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
He turned back to the court, a frigid gaze reclaiming his features.
"However, I never intended to hide my sources. Since the court demands transparency..." Alden signaled the guards. "I shall present them."
Helbart's breath hitched. Around him, the other dukes leaned forward. Duke Varik beheld the door with a fixed look, his knuckles whitened on wood. A mad glint shone in the green eyes of Duke Ashvale, his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
The heavy doors swung open. A man in the official robes of a Chief Disciple walked into the center of the room, steps hesitant.
"Your Imperial Majesty," the man said, his voice trembling. "I am Rhodri, Tower Master Geralt's first disciple."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The Silver Star representative lunged forward, face twisted. "You! You traitor! You framed your own master to take his seat!"
Guards slammed the representative back into place. Rhodri did not flinch, though his face contorted with grief.
"Do not accuse me, Conner," Rhodri said, voice cracking. "Had I wanted power, I would have stayed silent and waited for nature to take its course. I was the Tower Master's heir."
Rhodri collapsed to his knees, forehead striking the cold marble with a dull thud.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty! I... I could not bear the weight of the truth. When I first stumbled upon my Master’s treasonous plans, I tried to blind myself to them. I wanted to believe in him. But as I dug deeper..." A choked sob escaped his throat. "I could not ignore the blood on his hands. I surrendered the documents to atone for his sins."
Tears streamed down Rhodri's face, pooling on the stone.
The Emperor shot a sharp glance at Alden before turning his focus to Rhodri. "Are these words the truth? Understand this: if you speak a falsehood here, your life is forfeit."
"I wouldn't dare, Your Majesty. I wouldn't..." Rhodri bowed lower, pressing his face to the floor. "I want nothing... I... I renounce my claim as heir. I only ask... that you cleanse the name of my home." He let out a louder sob. "Please, do not demolish the Tower because of one man's sin..."
His hand trembled as he raised a clutch of vials along with the documents.
"These are the poisons newly developed by the Tower. They are not yet in any Imperial registry. Please, match them with the vial His Highness presented."
Alden's face remained still. A heavy silence descended on the hall, broken only by Rhodri's ragged sobs.
"The fate of the Tower depends on its choices today," the Emperor said, voice carrying to every corner of the room.
Then, his voice boomed, sealing the verdict. "Tower Master Geralt is hereby summoned to answer for High Treason. He shall be arrested and executed. Should he offer even a breath of resistance..." the Emperor thundered, "Burn the Silver Star to the ground."
Rhodri raised his tear-streaked face. "Please... Not the Tower. The disciples are innocent..."
Grand Master Magnus stepped forward, bowing low, hand drifting to his hilt. "I will immediately—"
The Emperor raised a hand, stopping the Grand Master mid-stride. "Alden Alger de Leonhelm."
Alden moved instantly, dropping to one knee before the echoes of his name faded.
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."
"I can give you two options, Crown Prince. First... you can return and rest." The Emperor paused, a golden gleam in his scrutiny. "Second... you can accept your first duty as the Crown Prince."
Alden bowed his head. "Please assign me the duty, Your Majesty."
"Very well." The Emperor's voice pressed down on the hall. "Take command of your birthright. Mobilize your Orders. Bring me the traitor. And once you return..."
The Emperor stood up from his seat. "I will hand you the rewards."
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Silence.
Duke Ashvale paused, goblet halfway to his lips, a wide grin stretching across his face.
Duke Helbart gripped his armrest beside him, his fingers digging into the velvet.
His gaze darted between the Emperor and the Prince, filled with horror. 'The leash is cut.'
And the Prince rose, his fixed look tethered to the Emperor's. "As you command, Your Majesty."
"Dismissed."
Alden turned on his heel, cloak snapping behind him. He exited the hall without a backward glance.
The heavy doors of the throne room sealed shut, cutting off the murmur of the stunned nobility. The silence of the corridor was broken only by the sharp, rhythmic strike of Alden’s boots against the stone.
"The performance is over; the execution begins now," he whispered.
"The first pawn of the board... was down."
What remained was the cleanup.
Alden gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he navigated the labyrinthine halls of the palace.
Under no circumstances could he let anyone know about the true nature of Geralt's experiments.
'Will-Sapper’s complete form, the ultimate poison known as “Rend,” must never be produced in this lifetime.'
Rend, the substance capable of eroding a guardian’s consciousness, was employed to forge the army of living golems.
Before Geralt could reach that stage, Will-Sappers’ formulas must be obliterated, and he would personally ensure that. Alden, looking up, glared at the sky, his hands fisted tightly at his sides. His pace quickened into a stride that bordered on a run. Behind him, the chaotic clatter of hurried footsteps echoed off the walls.
"Please wait... Your Highness!"
Limon groaned as he caught up, running and huffing. Face flushed from the exertion.
Alden halted.
Catching his breath, Limon asked. "I am dying of curiosity. When did Rhodri come to you with these documents? I never saw him meet you. You have been in your bed all this time, barring even my entry."
Alden resumed his stride. He barely glanced over his shoulder.
"Limon, tell the stable boy to prepare my horses. Go first."
Limon sighed and swallowed his exhaustion instantly, sensing the urgency in his master's voice.
"Yes! Tell me everything once we are done with that traitor."
He sprinted past Alden, dashing toward his carriage parked near Alden's to pave the way for the hunt.
After Limon's carriage left, Alden raised his right hand. A single snap of his fingers echoed throughout the coach gate.
Three silhouettes emerged from a pillar’s shadow. Alden noticed their steady heartbeats, indicating they were well-trained. "But not enough," he murmured. He knew these individuals in dull gray robes were his to command—messengers of the Crown Prince. They fell in behind him and bowed.
"The Five Orders," Alden said, never looking back. "Emerald Castle courtyard. Commanders only. Ten minutes."
The figures vanished instantly. One vaulted the low stone railing and sprinted back towards the courtroom, while the others dashed down side passages.
Alden approached his ornate black and gold carriage. But before he could board it, a high-pitched voice rang out from behind. "Your Highness."
Consort Rosa stepped forward, rose-colored hair framing an elegant purple gown. "What a coincidence. Greetings." She gave an elegant bow.
Alden watched her performance with a bored look before returning a nod. "It's a pleasure, Consort Rosa."
"I just heard of your feat in the courtroom. Congratulations." She watched Alden's reaction through her lashes. "Were you heading somewhere, Your Highness?" Rosa asked politely.
"Thank you, Consort. However, as you’ve likely guessed, I’m quite pressed for time," Alden replied, his posture relaxed.
Rosa obscured the lower half of her features behind her fan as she drew near, her gaze lingering upon him. "My, you don't even stutter anymore, Your Highness. I remember how you used to run off every time we met, making up an excuse." Her face was flushed. The sickly-sweet scent of roses filled the air as she spoke, lowering the fan. "It's not like you personally need to go pick up a petty criminal."
Alden met her gaze head-on as she whispered in his ear, leaning close. "Have you finally realized what’s good for you?" Her lips curved upwards, her voice turning husky. "Now that Her Majesty has passed away, don't you crave the touch of a mother figure? After all, it’s almost time for you to gain new experience. Your Highness, why not make it a win-win situation? No one loses."
Her hand rose to Alden's chest, her meticulously manicured fingers sliding down.
Alden caught her wrist.
"Consort." His tone was soft. "As I said, I am in a hurry. So, if you will excuse me..."
Without waiting for her response, Alden boarded the carriage and rode off.
Minutes later, the carriage wheels ground to a halt on the gravel of the Emerald Castle. The footman reached for the handle, but the door flew open before he could touch it.
Alden stepped out wearing new gloves, his upper tunic having been thrown into the corner of the carriage. "Tell Elara to burn it later," Alden ordered the coachman as he stepped forward.
Five figures stood in the center of the wind-swept courtyard. As Alden's boot hit the ground, five armored fists slammed against breastplates in perfect unison, waiting for their liege's first command.
They bowed, eyes fixed on the dirt.
Alden stopped five paces from them. He grabbed the cuff of his left glove, tugging the black leather tight until it creaked over his knuckles. The sound was the only thing heard in the courtyard.
"Commander Devon."
A man with a face weathered by battle stepped forward, a white scar bisecting his eyebrow. He dropped to one knee, heavy greaves crunching into the gravel.
"Your Highness. Shall I take command of the operation?"
"No need. Mobilize the Radiant Sun First Battalion," Alden ordered, fastening the strap of his glove with a sharp snap. "I want them armed and at the East Gate in twenty minutes. Siege breakers. And cavalry."
"At once, sire." Devon rose and pivoted, lungs already expanding to bark orders before he had even cleared the Prince's shadow.
Alden shifted his focus to the left.
"Commander Freya."
The veteran stepped forward. Her silver hair was pulled back into a knot so severe it seemed to strain the skin at her temples.
She bowed low, hand resting on the hilt of a curved saber. "Your Highness."
"Take the Flame Feather Elite Riders. Surround the Silver Star Tower before I arrive." Alden’s expression remained frozen and detached. "Keep them locked in. If Geralt tries to flee, cut him down."
"It will be done." Freya turned, cape flaring as she marched toward the stables.
Alden rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. The cold metal hummed against his palm.
He strode out of the courtyard, gravel crunching rhythmically under his boots. Limon was already waiting for him, holding a fresh tunic and a black armor. "Here you go," he said, offering the garment first. "I rushed to bring this. But why did you discard your tunic, Your Highness?"
Alden dressed swiftly, fastening the clasps with practiced ease. "It got dirty." As he resumed walking, his aide fell in half a step behind, hands clasped tight at the small of his back.
"Your Highness... this is your first time taking the field. Would Commander Devon not be better suited for the vanguard?"
Alden gave no reply. He walked toward the stables.
Snow tossed her head as he neared, nickering softly. Saddles, bridles, reins, and bits were already tacked up. She strained against her lead, ears pricked, waiting for his touch. Alden paused. He stared at her pristine white coat—a creature of peace, untouched by war. He walked past her.
He stopped before a massive, coal-black destrier. The beast snorted, digging a trench in the earth with a massive hoof. Alden seized the pommel and mounted, saddle leather creaking under his weight.
Limon stared, bewildered. He glanced back at the white mare. "You are not taking Snow?"
Alden gathered the reins, black leather cutting into his darker gloves. He cast one final glance at the mare.
"Let her stay." He turned the warhorse toward the gate. "This time... I want her to live."
Limon looked from the confused mare to the retreating back of the Prince, then vaulted onto his own horse and galloped after him.
Ahead, Alden urged the black destrier forward. As they neared the Emerald Castle’s main gate, the beast’s iron hooves struck sparks against the cobblestones.
Suddenly, Alden pulled on the reins. The horse skidded to a halt. Limon pulled up alongside him.
Two guards dragged a man across the cold stone, chains scraping against the ground. It was Kael.
The guards paused to let the Prince pass, jerking the prisoner to the side.
For a heartbeat, Alden looked down from the high saddle. Kael looked up from the dirt.
The servant's face was wet, tears cutting clean tracks through the grime on his cheeks. But under Alden’s steely stare, the trembling in his shoulders stopped.
Kael's lips moved, shaping words without breath.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
Alden did not nod. He simply tightened his grip on the reins and rode on. Limon followed, glancing back once at the condemned man before urging his horse to catch up to the Prince.
The stone floor was cold against his knees, and the irons bit into his wrists, but Kael hardly felt them.
As the heavy hooves of the black destrier shook the ground next to him, he looked up. The Crown Prince towered above him.
'He kept his word.'
The image rose in Kael's mind, sharper than the fear of death. Just hours ago, before the trial, the cell door had opened. He remembered the weight of his son's small body crashing into his, the smell of the boy's hair, the warmth of living skin.
The Silver Star had held his son hostage for so long. "Tell the truth, and the boy dies. Betray us, and he bleeds."
But Alden had severed that leash.
Kael looked up at the Prince's face. It showed nothing. In fact, the Prince's gaze was already moving past him, fixed on the road ahead. This was the man who had just sentenced him to death. The executioner's axe waited at dawn; there was no pardon for attempting to poison the Crown Prince, and Kael had known that the moment he accepted the vial.
Yet, as the Prince looked down at him, Kael felt no resentment.
He let the tears fall freely. He mouthed the words, pouring every ounce of his remaining life into them.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
The Prince turned away and rode on, the black horse disappearing through the gates.
The guards yanked the chain. "Move, traitor."
Kael stumbled to his feet. He walked toward the Emerald Dungeon and the darkness that awaited him. The corridor was damp and smelled of rot. Kael's steps came easier.
'My life is forfeit.'
A faint smile touched his lips as the darkness swallowed him.
'But my son will grow up under the sun.'
