The silence in the throne chamber of Aethelgard was not peaceful; it was suffocating. Moonlight cut through the high, arched windows like silver blades, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the cold air. At the center of the vast marble hall, she stood alone.
For months, she had worn the heavy steel of the King's Royal Guard. She had hidden her long hair beneath a helmet and her identity behind a vow of silence. But tonight, the armor lay discarded in her chambers. She stood in a simple tunic, her shoulders trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the truth she carried.
The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall groaned as they swung open. The sound echoed like a death knell. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps approached. King Alaric entered, his crimson cape trailing behind him like a river of blood on the white floor. He didn't look like the "monster" the northern stories described. He looked tired, his sharp jawline set in a grim expression. In his right hand, he clutched a piece of fabric. It was torn and scorched by fire, but the emblem was unmistakable: A black wolf entwined with silver thorns.
The King stopped inches away from her. He held up the banner, his voice low and dangerously controlled. "Tell me this is not yours, Elara."
Elara did not flinch. She looked directly into his piercing eyes, eyes she had once trusted. "It is."
The air in the room turned ice-cold. The guards at the door shifted, the metallic rasp of their swords partially leaving their scabbards filling the silence.
"Your father... Duke Valerius," the King said, his voice barely a whisper yet filled with hidden pain. "He led the rebellion at the Northern Border. Thousands of my men died beneath this very banner."
"And thousands of my people died beneath yours," Elara countered, her voice steadying. "You call it a rebellion. We called it survival. Your crown is polished with the blood of my kin, Alaric."
The King stepped closer, entering her personal space. "You infiltrated my inner circle. You sat at my table. You swore a sacred oath to protect my life."
"I did," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Was it all a lie?" Alaric's voice cracked, revealing a sliver of the man behind the crown. "Every word, every smile... was it just a game to get closer to my throat?"
"My name is not Elara," she said, lifting her chin with pride. "I am Kaia of House Valerius. Daughter of the man you branded a traitor. I came here to kill the monster who destroyed my home, to understand the King who ruined my childhood."
She paused, a single tear glistening in her eye, though it did not fall. "But I discovered something worse, Alaric. I discovered you are not the monster I was taught to hate. And I hate myself for that. I hate that I cannot kill you."
The King's breath caught. For a moment, the crown he wore seemed too heavy for him. He reached out, his hand hovering near her face before he pulled it back.
"If I choose my throne, I must execute you," he muttered. "If I choose you... I lose my kingdom."
From outside, a sudden crack of thunder shook the palace walls. The Council was coming. The truth was out.
"Trust me," he whispered, so low only she could hear, before turning to his guards with a face of stone. "Seize her! Throw the traitor into the deepest dungeon of the Black Towe