Viscount Redmont let his eyes travel slowly across the great chamber. It was a room that was seldom used, the room that held the Assembly of Judgment. The space was wide and tall. The ceiling was high enough that every sound seemed to echo. Rows of stands curved around the hall, stacked like steps, with the lower nobles seated in the lower rows and the greater lords and dukes looking up from above.

At the far edge of the chamber, carved into the stone like it had always meant to be there, stood a single seat apart from the rest. That was the king’s seat, raised just enough that no one could miss the sight of it. But what drew Redmont’s eye more was the lone chair placed in the middle of the floor.

Even the chair seemed isolated, laid bare like the person who would occupy it—the one to be judged.

In less than two hours, Count Arzan Kellius would occupy that chair.

The thought sat heavy in his chest. A man he had already promised to support, a man who had carved a name for himself larger than any noble in living memory, and he had done it in only a year. If Redmont had only heard the stories, he would have doubted them, as many others still did. But he had seen enough with his own eyes to know they were true. He had entered the capital just in time to watch the duel between Arzan and Magus Veridia, and even now, the memory made the hair on his arms stand to end.

The Barons and Viscounts who had arrived early, like himself, still spoke of it in hushed tones. They likely would not stop. Not this month. Not this year. Perhaps not for many years. It had been more than a duel—it had been a battle that changed the air itself, a clash that had been so violent and undeniable that the hierarchy of the kingdom had been torn and reshaped in a single afternoon.

Redmont let out a short exhale of breath and lowered himself into his assigned seat where his name was etched neatly on the small plate before him. He folded his hands and waited.

He looked around and saw how some nobles filed in slowly. Some he rose to greet, offering a nod or a brief word. Men and women whose families had shown his house respect, or at least civility. Others he ignored, letting them pass without so much as a glance. They had treated his line poorly before, and he had no intention of pretending courtesy now.

If not for the gravity of the Assembly, he was certain whispers would already be louder, games already being played in every corner of the chamber. But for now, the air was taut. Heavy. Like a bowstring pulled tight. Everyone knew this day would matter.

As Redmont leaned back in his chair, he suddenly felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned quickly, half-expecting some noble looking for attention, only to meet a familiar face.

Viscount Boling stood there, his heavy moustache twitching as he smiled, the kind of smile that always looked like it was hiding some jest. He pointed toward the plate at Redmont’s side, where his own name was etched, and with a small nod settled himself into the seat.

Their lands were on opposite ends of the kingdom, separated by mountains and rivers, but their families had always managed to keep cordial relations—more cordial than most others, at least. At trade councils they might argue, at court feasts they might avoid one another, but in gatherings like these, there was always a polite word.

Boling lifted the corner of his mouth. “Quite a big event, isn’t it? I only arrived two days back, and still the duel is on everyone’s tongue. Even the noise of the Assembly has gone quiet compared to it.”

Redmont nodded at his words. “It’s been one big event after another. I’m guessing you missed the battle itself? I didn’t see you in the arena.”

“I did, oh yes,” he admitted regretfully. He touched the corner of his moustache and curled it upward in thought. “But… you see, I’ve heard enough stories to fill ten nights. One even claimed that Magus Veridia came out crippled.”

Redmont gave a short laugh, though it lacked humor. “I don’t know about that, to be honest. What I do know is this—if I had stayed seated in that arena any longer, I might have been crippled. Have you seen the state of it now?”

The Viscount nodded. “I did. It’s devastating. Hard to believe it’s the same place. All destroyed.” Boling leaned an elbow on the rest. “Prince Thalric hasn’t slept since, or so I hear. He keeps dwelling on the duel. I couldn’t even get an audience with him, only his attendants.”

Redmont tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You felt insulted?”

Boling hesitated, his eyes narrowing before he gave a slow nod. “A little, yes. But… if what they say truly happened in that arena, if Count Arzan really fought Magus Veridia to such an end, then I can understand it. I would probably be restless too.”

Redmont studied him for a moment, then gave a small grunt of agreement. Around them, more nobles filed in, but for now he was glad to have Boling’s familiar presence beside him.

Redmont leaned a little closer, lowering his voice though the hall was still filling. “It did happen like people are saying.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “Is Prince Thalric upset about not putting a hand out toward Count Arzan?”

“Hmm. Yes. Major cause of him not sleeping. You know how he is—he loves anyone with power. He already tried to pull the Archine Tower Mages into his circle, but got almost nothing for it. In the end, he had to make do with army Mages and those tied to the noble families in his faction. And then…” Boling’s eyes flicked across the chamber, his smile wry, “the man now whispered to be the strongest Mage in the kingdom slipped right through his fingers.”

“That,” Redmont said with a small grunt, “does sound like a good reason to stay awake at night.”

Boling chuckled softly. “It is. Especially with what might happen today. The King may just tell us who is to succeed him.”

Redmont turned his head, his brows rising. “You really believe it?”

“That’s what everyone believes,” Boling replied with a shrug. “But whatever happens, it will be crucial for the kingdom. To be honest, after the duel I doubt Arzan won’t receive some sort of pardon… maybe even rewards. Kin-killing doesn’t matter when you have that much power. Not anymore.”

Redmont’s expression hardened. “Actually, he didn’t do anything of the sort. It’s only a rumor. My talks with him made me realize he wouldn’t have done it, even if Lucian was vehemently against him.”

Boling blinked, then raised a thick brow. “Your talks with him?” He paused, then slapped his forehead lightly. “Ah, yes. The plague. He helped with it, didn’t he? I almost forgot with everything else going on. My subordinates mentioned it at the time, but I never believed it.”

But I never believed it, the words rang in his mind for a couple of seconds. He had only one question: “Why not?”

“Because isn’t it… too much? If I sit and think about it properly, the events are quite a lot to digest. A beast wave—that alone would’ve made a man’s name, especially after he unveiled those mana cannons that every noble now wants their hands on. Then came the fief war… and the Kellius brothers’ rivalry is brutal, if half the rumours are true. And after that, saving the kingdom from a plague that had already crippled most of Vanderfall?” He shook his head. “Even with his bloodline, it feels… too much to be real. I actually wanted to ask you if any of its true.”

Redmont ate the words that came to the tip of his tongue. He let his assumptions hang. It was plain that Boling was misinformed—misled by the usual noble habit of shaping truth into whatever suited their ears. Normally, Redmont wouldn’t even bother to correct them. He would’ve left such nonsense uncorrected. Let the fools drown themselves in such rumors. But Boling’s bloodline had always stood cordial with his. There was no harm in little clarity.

He turned, his voice calm but pointed. “Let me ask you a question first. Are you going to vote in favor of or against Count Arzan?”

Boling paused and asked back. “Is that important to what I asked?”

“Yeah.”

Boiling licked his lips, clearly weighing his words. “I guess it depends on the arguments in the Assembly today.”

Redmont’s brow arched. “I don’t think that’s true. Every faction has already advised their nobles what to do. And you won’t go against the Prince’s order, will you?”

Boling exhaled through his nose, then finally nodded. “Yes. Prince Thalric made it clear—no vote in Count Arzan’s favor. At least not until he pledges allegiance to him.”

Redmont almost laughed aloud at that. He held it back, but a faint smile still tugged at his lips. Leaning a little closer, he said, “Then let me give you a piece of advice. One I believe will be very helpful to you.”

Boling tilted his head, moustache twitching. “And what is that?”

“That everything you’ve heard about him—the beast wave, the fief war, the plague—it’s all true.”

Boling’s mouth opened, but Redmont did not let him interrupt.

“I don’t know which parts of the rumors are exaggerated,” Redmont went on, “but I know they hold truth. I saw it myself. I watched Arzan march into the plague with his Mages and Knights. My own Knight returned with proof of what he did, how he rooted a treant out and saved every person in Sylvan Enclave and the wider kingdom. And you’ve already heard he beat Veridia without tricks or deception. Power like that doesn’t need embellishment.”

Boling frowned. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“So you can make a better decision,” Redmont replied in a sharper tone. “If the successor is actually named today, and you play the wrong hand, House Boling will suffer consequences; it won’t be able to weather for a long while. So as a friend, I’m telling you this—make the decision that will help your house.”

Boling pressed his lips together, clearly unsettled.

But before he could speak further, a sudden commotion rolled through the chamber. The rising murmur of voices, the shifting of seats, nobles leaning forward. Both Redmont and Boling turned their heads.

The man they had just been speaking of had arrived.

Count Arzan Kellius strode into the Assembly hall early, clad in a deep red robe with golden strikes, he walked with his head held high. His dark eyes didn’t waver from his seat ahead. Knight Killian walked at his side like a wall of steel, and behind him followed an older man who looked to be his administrator. The two would leave when the Assembly began, but for now, they flanked him.

His presence was the only thing that took for the air to shift the tide. The nobles who were whispering burst into restless chatter—some even pointing fingers. Men and women moved from their places, eager to be seen near him, to have a word or to offer a bow. Desperate nobles, but it was essential.

Even Redmont rose from his seat.

“What are you doing?”

Redmont looked at Boling’s face that covered a frown. He offered the man a smile. “Making the right decision.”

And without another word, he stepped down to greet Count Arzan.

***

“A true pleasure to meet such an esteemed Mage,” the noblewoman said, her voice lilting like a song. “I do hope we can have dinner together after the Assembly.”

Kai turned his head. The woman was young, not more than a few years older than him, dressed in silks. She looked at him as a newly wed bride, blinking at him with wide, starry eyes. If his memory of faces and names was right, she was Countess Rosabelle.

He gave a small polite note, but promised nothing.

“I will see. I don’t know what the verdict would be yet.”

The woman’s lips curled in a smile, playful, confident. “No one will put you up on the hanger, Count Arzan. At worst, you will lose a sliver of territory. Don’t worry yourself.” Her eyes lingered on him, bold. “Think about my offer. I’ve a cellar with wines worth sharing. And perhaps,” she leaned slightly closer, “we could spend the night together.”

Kai felt his skin tighten as if cold air had brushed him. The bluntness of it made him shrink inward, though outwardly he only inclined his head. He had already grown numb to such approaches. Since stepping into the chamber, he had been bombarded with proposals and greetings, promises, offers of trade and alliance, and not a few whispered invitations far more direct than this one.

It was almost dizzying—how quickly respect had bloomed, how much weight they placed on him now. Too much respect, even from nobles who he knew would cast their votes against him. Their words were warm, their eyes deferent, but the Assembly was politics. Deference today did not mean loyalty tomorrow.

At least when Killian and Francis had been beside him, the flood had felt more bearable. But with each wave of nobles pressing forward, they had eventually stepped away, saying calmly that they already knew the Assembly would be won. That Kai should sit, endure, and let the nobles have their turn at him.

Now, with the hour drawing close, the pressure was heavier than ever.

His eyes flicked toward the stands. Two of the princes were already seated in the high rows, flanked by their dukes and counts, their factions arrayed like soldiers at war. Neither had descended to greet him. They had only given the briefest of nods across the chamber, acknowledgment without warmth.

Prince Thalric, however, glared down with bloodshot eyes, his jaw tight, his expression carved of barely-contained anger. He looked as though the seat beneath him was on fire. Likely because Kai had not even acknowledged his proposal for a private meeting.

And yet, of those whose presence mattered most, none were here yet. Eldric had not come. Regina was absent. And King Sullivan still had not taken the center seat.

But Duke Blackwood was already there, seated firmly with his supporters clustered around him. They had arrived early, staking their claim in the chamber with quiet confidence. Scattered among them were the nobles brought to give testimony, still under his custody, still carrying the weight of their choices.

Two of them, Viscount Vensar and Buck, stubborn to the end, had refused even to enter the chamber. It had taken threats to make them step across the threshold. Now they sat hunched in the lower stands, their faces pale, their eyes fixed anywhere but on him. Other nobles avoided them entirely, shifting in their seats to give them distance, as if fear might be contagious.

Of the four, only Baron Idrin looked composed. His back was straight, his gaze level. The man had already resigned himself to his fate. He had asked only one thing—that nothing be done against his family. A request Kai had already decided to grant. There was no need to punish the innocent.

Kai’s eyes lingered on them for a moment longer, but then the chamber shifted.

The chatter that had filled the air fell away, a hush rippling through the room. Heads turned, nobles rose to their feet, and Kai felt the shift in the air as Eldric walked in.

But Kai’s gaze was not drawn to him.

It was her.

Regina walked beside Eldric with a sway in her hips. For a brief moment, their eyes met. Her look was sharp, but she broke it almost instantly, turning away as if the contact itself stung. Nobles swept toward her like waves to shore, bowing, greeting, offering the expected courtesies as she and Eldric made their way to the highest stand.

Kai forced his eyes away, steadying himself. No need to give them the satisfaction by staring too hard, and he wanted to look for someone else.

Each member of the royal family carried a vote. And when Princess Amara stepped into the chamber, the whispers rose again like a tide.

She looked nothing like the sickly girl so many had expected. Her chin was lifted, her stride was quick and firm. She moved with a pace that carried no weakness or hesitation. She nodded briefly at Kai as she passed, a quiet gesture, but enough to spark more murmurs. The rumors about her would twist again after today—he was sure of it.

But his thoughts were cut short by a voice ringing across the chamber.

“King Sullivan will now enter and address the Assembly.”

Every noble shifted, rising to their feet in unison.

Kai looked toward the far side of the hall and saw him at last. The King stepped forward, his Knight Roderic at his side, his presence as steady and immovable as the crown he bore.

The Assembly was finally about to begin.

***

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