My life as a king

Chapter 13: "The Breaking Storm"

The grand chamber where the Prime Minister, Duke Marcius, and Marquess Torran convened was a place of calculated plots and whispered conspiracies. But today, it felt suffocating. As the first rays of dawn spilled into the room, the three men sat in tense silence. They were confident in their plan's success, yet an unspoken unease lingered among them.

The Prime Minister sat at the head of the table, his fingers drumming rhythmically. Duke Marcius paced near the window, his expression one of forced calm. Marquess Torran leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, feigning disinterest but failing to mask his nerves.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and one of their informants rushed in, his face pale and his breath labored. The three conspirators turned to him in unison, their eyes narrowing as they braced for the news.

"It's bad," the informant stammered, struggling to catch his breath. "We… we have failed. The assassination… it was stopped. The King is alive!"

The room fell into stunned silence. The weight of the words seemed to echo, louder and louder, until the tension was unbearable.

"What?" Marquess Torran was the first to speak, his voice rising with disbelief. "What do you mean it failed? How could it fail? We sent a team that couldn't be matched!"

The informant swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he wrung his hat. "The King's guards… they were too many. They were too strong. And Luke… that four-star Aura Swordsman… he alone was enough to hold off our best fighters."

Duke Marcius clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "Impossible! We had the Phantom Blade, three two-star swordsmen, and countless mercenaries. Are you telling me they were all defeated?"

"Yes, my lord," the informant replied, his voice barely a whisper. "All of them… dead."

The Prime Minister rose slowly from his seat, his face pale but composed. "Enough," he said, his tone sharp enough to cut through the rising panic. "We need details. What happened?"

The informant hesitated, his gaze darting between the three men. "It was chaos. The guards were more prepared than we anticipated. The palace defenses… they were overwhelming. And the King's forces… they were far more skilled than we were led to believe."

Marquess Torran slammed his fist on the table, his composure breaking. "This is madness! This entire operation was your idea, Duke!"

"My idea?" Duke Marcius snapped, turning on him with a glare. "You're the one who insisted on striking now! You said the King's forces were weak, that this was our best chance!"

"And you agreed!" Torran shot back, his voice rising with anger. "You were the one who supplied most of the mercenaries! Don't act like you had no part in this!"

The two men began shouting over each other, their words devolving into heated accusations and insults.

"You fool! Your impatience has doomed us all!"

"You're the coward who didn't even send your best men!"

"Enough!" The Prime Minister's voice rang out, silencing them both. He stepped forward, his face stern and commanding. "This is not the time to tear each other apart. Do you understand what's at stake? If the King survived, he knows we were behind this. And if he doesn't know yet, he will soon. We need to act now!"

Duke Marcius took a deep breath, his anger simmering but contained. "Act? What do you propose, Prime Minister? We've already gambled everything on this plan, and now we've lost. Do you want to gamble again?"

The Prime Minister's eyes narrowed. "We don't have a choice. The King will retaliate, and when he does, he'll target us first. We need to secure our positions before he can move against us."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Marquess Torran asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Do you want us to march into the palace and beg for mercy?"

"No," the Prime Minister said, his voice steady but cold. "We solidify our alliances. We rally our supporters. We make it clear to the other nobles that if the King comes for us, he comes for all of them. We turn this into a political battle, not a military one."

Duke Marcius frowned, his gaze hardening. "That's assuming we have the time. The King has already shown that he's not afraid to act decisively. If he moves against us before we're ready…"

"Then we delay him," the Prime Minister interrupted. "Spread rumors. Sow discord among his allies. Make him question who he can trust. The longer we keep him distracted, the more time we have to strengthen our own position."

Marquess Torran leaned back in his chair, his anger giving way to a calculating expression. "It's risky," he admitted. "But it might be our best chance. The King's reputation is already on shaky ground. If we can exploit that…"

The Prime Minister nodded, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Exactly. We've lost the battle, but the war is far from over. We just need to play our cards right."

Duke Marcius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But know this: if this plan fails, we're finished. All of us."

The room fell silent again, the weight of their situation settling over them like a heavy shroud. They had gambled everything on the assassination, and now they were left scrambling to salvage what they could.

As the informant quietly slipped out of the room, the three conspirators exchanged uneasy glances. The bond of trust between them had been shattered, replaced by suspicion and resentment.

But they knew one thing for certain: the King's survival had changed everything. The storm they had tried to unleash was now headed straight for them, and they could only hope to weather it.

The Prime Minister broke the silence, his voice low but firm. "Prepare yourselves. This is only the beginning."

And with that, the meeting ended, leaving the three men to face the consequences of their failed plot—and the wrath of a King who would not be so easily dethroned.