Daemon stood calmly in the war chamber, its air thick with tension. The nobles sat around a circular table, stacks of scrolls and ledgers spread out before them maps, troop counts, and hastily scribbled strategies littered the surface. Candles flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the grim faces of men preparing for war.
Daemon's gaze drifted over the table. At least they're trying to act like they know what they're doing, he thought.
He stepped forward and spoke. "My king, I have something to report."
The room went quiet. Robert, the advisor, shot him a sharp look — his expression a mix of suspicion and disdain. A few nobles whispered among themselves, uncertain whether Daemon's presence was a threat or an asset.
The king raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Did something happen?"
Daemon smirked inwardly. So we're still playing innocent, are we?
"I received a letter this morning," he said, lifting the folded parchment from his cloak. "From your uncle."
Gasps rippled through the room.
The king's eyes narrowed slightly, though he tried to mask it. "Did he say anything?"
Daemon let the silence hang for a beat before answering. "Only that he wishes to meet with me. Alone. It's safe to assume he either wants me dead... or wants me to switch sides."
The room fell into uneasy silence.
"I can't believe this," the king muttered, hand tightening around his goblet. "Even now, he dares to act so brazenly..."
He looked back to Daemon, trying to find certainty in his eyes. "You didn't have to tell me this. I trust you won't betray me."
Daemon bowed his head slightly, the picture of loyalty. But inside, he almost laughed. Trust is such a fragile thing. Dangerous when handed to the wrong person.
"I appreciate your faith, Your Majesty," Daemon said smoothly. "But I came with a suggestion."
"What kind of suggestion?"
"If you'll allow it... let me meet with him. I'll go as requested. Pretend to listen. I'll play the part he expects, earn his trust... and in return, I'll bring you everything. His plans, his allies, his weaknesses. I'll be your eyes in the viper's den."
The room broke into murmurs again. Robert slammed his hand on the table.
"That's a dangerous game!" he snapped. "We don't know where his true loyalties lie. Sending him to the enemy could backfire."
Daemon didn't even turn to face him. "I've already been contacted. He sees me as a free piece on the board. Let's use that to our advantage."
The king stared at him in silence for a long moment... then smiled.
"Very well. You'll go as a spy," he said, voice cold and decisive. "But be careful. If he even suspects you're working with me, he'll kill you."
Daemon's smirk returned.
"I'm counting on it."
Daemon was about to step out of the chamber when the king's voice stopped him.
"Wait."
He turned slightly.
"I don't trust the Duke," King Velrick said, standing from his seat. "He may welcome you, yes — but only to strike when your guard is down. I'd rather you not go alone."
His eyes flicked to the side. "Commander Rhodes will accompany you."
Rhodes stepped forward, his black cloak shifting with the motion. He was taller than Daemon by a full head, with neatly trimmed black hair and coal-dark eyes that held no warmth. A jagged scar ran beneath his jaw a mark of war or something worse.
Daemon noticed the faint tightening of the man's fingers on the hilt at his side. A soldier through and through, Daemon thought. And not fond of me.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty," Rhodes said, voice firm but respectful, "I believe he's capable of handling this alone."
Daemon spoke before the king could answer. "I appreciate your concern, but I have my sword. I don't need a babysitter."
King Velrick's tone cooled. "This isn't about need. It's precaution. The Duke may have others hiding in the shadows stronger than what you've seen. If anything goes wrong, I expect Commander Rhodes to bring you back."
Daemon gave a small bow, but his expression was unreadable. So, you don't trust me. That's fine. I wouldn't trust me either.
"I understand, Your Majesty."
As they left the war room, Rhodes' silence was heavier than his footsteps. Nyxtriel stood waiting at the base of the grand staircase, her eyes flicking from Daemon to the commander. Her expression remained neutral, but Daemon knew her well enough by now she was disgusted.
Rhodes broke the silence first, voice curt.
"What's the plan, 'your highness'?" he asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.
Daemon didn't even look at him.
They stepped into the palace courtyard, where rays of sunlight spilled through a high canopy of marble arches and sculpted pillars. A line of decorative fountains flowed beside a path paved in smooth obsidian tile, reflecting the glint of passing armor.
Beyond the gate, the streets of Aurelian pulsed with early movement merchants setting up stalls, guards patrolling on horseback, the distant clang of bells echoing from one of the seven cathedral spires that pierced the skyline like silver needles.
Daemon walked toward the stables without a word.
Stable boys rushed to prepare horses by the stone steps. Daemon approached his stallion, Caldrin, and ran a hand down its obsidian-black neck.
"It's been a while, buddy," he whispered, the horse snorting softly in reply.
Rhodes narrowed his eyes. The brat's calm. Too calm, he thought. Is he hiding something, or just arrogant?
Daemon could feel the thick cloud of killing intent radiating from Rhodes. He didn't need to look.
"Better drop that," he said flatly. "Unless you want to find out what it's like to lose your hands."
Rhodes stiffened.
For a second, the tension crackled between them like lightning caught in a jar. Nyxtriel's fingers twitched by her side, her crimson gaze already narrowing.
Rhodes froze.
His jaw tightened, the words caught in his throat. But then he glanced toward the towering palace behind them and remembered whose favor Daemon currently held.
He lowered his head. "My apologies."
Daemon finally turned, meeting the commander's eyes with a faint smile. "Good boy."
Then he mounted Caldrin with practiced ease.
"Let's go," he said. "The Duke's waiting. And I'm dying to hear what lies he'll spit first."