The crown of blood

The moon hung low over the Iridath Palace, casting its pale light on the gilded towers and sprawling courtyards. Yet, within the halls, the air was heavy with unease. To the untrained eye, the court appeared calm, but Lucien Iridath knew better. The palace was a cauldron of hidden schemes, and tonight, it simmered just below the surface.

Lucien sat in his study, his sharp eyes scanning the scattered parchments before him. Reports of unrest in the southern provinces, merchant guild disputes, and veiled threats from minor noble houses all painted a picture of growing instability. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the oak desk, the only sound breaking the silence.

Marcus, his ever-watchful attendant, entered silently, carrying a silver tray with a sealed letter. "From House Arlind, Your Highness," he said, bowing slightly as he placed the missive before him.

Lucien broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment. House Arlind, one of the older noble families, had written a carefully worded response. Their message was clear: they acknowledged his growing influence but would not commit their support openly—not yet.

"They hesitate," Lucien murmured, placing the letter down. "Like vultures, they circle but dare not act until they smell blood."

"They're cautious, my prince," Marcus said. "But in their caution lies an opportunity. If we can show them that the Crown Prince's hold is weaker than it appears, they might abandon him."

Lucien's lips curved into a cold smile. "Spread a rumor among the merchant guilds—a whisper that Alaric is draining the treasury to fund a private campaign. Let the scent of uncertainty spread through the court."

"As you command, Your Highness." Marcus bowed again and left without another word, his footsteps fading into the shadows.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, his mind already turning to the next move. He knew Alaric's strength lay in his brute force and military reputation, but even the strongest foundation could crack under the weight of doubt.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Before he could respond, Lady Seraphina entered, her emerald gown flowing like liquid silk. Her dark eyes glittered with intelligence, and her smile was equal parts charm and challenge.

"Scheming again, dear cousin?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

"Preparing," Lucien replied evenly, gesturing for her to sit. "In this court, foresight is survival."

Seraphina took a seat across from him, her gaze sweeping over the parchments on his desk. "You're bold, Lucien, but boldness without caution is a fool's game. Alaric won't take kindly to whispers of rebellion."

"Let him strike first," Lucien said, his voice calm but firm. "A predator reveals its weaknesses in the heat of the hunt."

"And if you're wrong?" Seraphina leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "If Alaric catches wind of your schemes, he won't hesitate to crush you."

Lucien met her gaze, his expression unyielding. "Then I will ensure he underestimates me until it's too late. Tell me, Seraphina—where do your loyalties truly lie?"

"With House Iridath," she replied, her smile enigmatic. "But remember, Lucien, in this court, loyalty is as fleeting as a shadow. Trust only yourself."

With that, she rose and swept out of the room, leaving Lucien alone with his thoughts. Her words were a reminder of the delicate balance he walked, where even family could become an enemy.

---

The Banquet

Later that evening, the grand banquet hall of the Iridath Palace was alive with activity. Nobles adorned in jewels and fine silks mingled, their laughter and conversation a thin veil over the ever-present tension. The hall itself, with its towering columns and golden chandeliers, was a testament to the empire's wealth and power.

Lucien took his seat at the banquet table, positioned strategically in the middle. His placement was no accident—a deliberate slight meant to remind him of his lower standing among the royal siblings. But Lucien welcomed the anonymity. From here, he could observe the court without drawing attention.

King Aldric Iridath sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding even in silence. To his right was Crown Prince Alaric, clad in ceremonial armor that gleamed under the light. His broad shoulders and sharp features made him an imposing figure, a stark contrast to Lucien's leaner, more calculating frame.

Lucien sipped his wine, his sharp eyes noting every subtle exchange in the room. A whispered conversation between two merchants, a fleeting glance between minor lords—every interaction was a piece of the puzzle he sought to solve.

The evening's calm was shattered when the grand doors burst open. A royal messenger stumbled in, his face pale and drenched in sweat. He dropped to one knee before the king, his voice trembling as he spoke.

"Your Majesty, I bring grave news. One of our border outposts has fallen. The scouts report… signs of demonic activity."

The hall fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Even among the nobles, who were adept at masking their emotions, fear was evident. Demonic incursions were rare, but their devastation was unparalleled.

King Aldric's expression darkened. His voice was a blade, cutting through the silence. "Alaric, you will lead a battalion to the border. The demons must be eradicated before they can gain a foothold."

Alaric rose instantly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "It will be done, Father. I will leave at dawn."

The king's gaze shifted to a figure seated near the end of the table—an elderly man in a deep crimson robe adorned with arcane symbols. His presence had gone unnoticed by most, but now all eyes turned to him.

"Archmage Darius," the king said, his tone commanding. "You will accompany Alaric. Ensure that whatever force lies beyond our borders is destroyed."

Darius inclined his head, his aged face unreadable. "As you command, Your Majesty. The demons will not breach our lands."

Lucien watched the exchange with interest. Darius, the court's chief sorcerer, was a formidable ally. But his presence on the battlefield hinted at something more than a mere border skirmish.

As the nobles murmured among themselves, Lucien remained silent, his mind racing. The timing of this attack was suspicious. Was it a coincidence, or was someone manipulating events from the shadows?

"Let Alaric charge into the fray," Lucien thought, his expression calm. "If he succeeds, he strengthens his position. But if he fails… the court will need someone who can see beyond brute force."

The banquet continued, but the mood had shifted. Nobles who had once laughed freely now spoke in hushed tones, their fear evident. For Lucien, however, this was not just a crisis—it was an opportunity.

As the king and his advisors discussed strategies, Lucien's gaze lingered on Darius. The archmage's presence was a reminder of the power that lay within the court—power that could tip the balance of any conflict.

In the flickering light of the banquet hall, Lucien allowed himself a small, calculated smile. The game was changing, and he intended to stay several moves ahead.