The grand dining hall of Silverthrone Castle glittered beneath a canopy of candlelight, each flame flickering like whispers of forgotten stories.
Gilded chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting golden hues upon polished marble and towering columns carved with the emblems of old kings. The scent of roasted duck, spiced pears, and aged wine wafted through the air.
Nobles dressed in velvet and brocade lounged on cushioned seats, their voices low but eager, their jeweled fingers wrapped around goblets of rare vintages.
Even the servants moved differently tonight...stiffer, more alert....as if the walls themselves had begun to listen.
The air buzzed with anticipation. For the first time since the Festival, the King of Silvervale was to make an appearance.
And then, the great doors swung open.
All conversation halted.
King Darius Silverthrone entered, flanked by two guards who quickly melted into the background once their duty was done.
He was dressed in deep obsidian black, a stark contrast to the gold embellishments of the room. A high-collared coat hugged his broad shoulders, and his silver circlet gleamed under the chandeliers. His expression was unreadable, carved from ice and stone.
His eyes, cool and storm-gray, scanned the hall as nobles rose in reverence. Those brave...or foolish...enough dared sneak glances, curiosity etched behind false smiles.
He said nothing.
He walked with the calm surety of a man who feared no one, pausing only to nod at familiar faces before taking his seat at the head of the long, elegant table. He gave a single gesture...small, sharp....and the guests returned to their seats.
The energy in the room shifted instantly, as though everyone had forgotten how to breathe.
It was Lady Seraphina McMillan who first dared pierce the silence.
Seated to the king's left, she leaned forward slightly, her voice smooth and composed.
"My lord, the preparations for your birthday are nearly complete. The eastern courtyard has been lined with moon lilies. The silver musicians from Aethermoor arrived this morning."
She offered a smile that never quite reached her eyes. "We expect emissaries from the Crescent Isles to arrive within days."
Darius didn't turn to her. "Good."
Short. Cold. Dismissive.
Seraphina's smile flickered, faltered. "The tailors await your final decision on your ceremonial attire. I took the liberty of selecting....."
"I said it's good," Darius interrupted, this time with the faintest edge in his tone.
She sat back, lips pressing together in silent frustration.
Her perfectly braided hair shimmered under the light, but no amount of beauty could cover the quiet sting of being dismissed in front of the court.
The hall dipped into tension again.
Until the doors creaked once more.
This time, the mood changed not with reverence...but with a ripple of amused wariness.
The doors creaked open a second time, and a man strode into the hall with the kind of swagger only someone entirely too confident could manage.
Theodore Roosevelt.
"Theodore Roosevelt," someone whispered, not without a trace of dread.
Theodore Roosevelt strolled in as if the hall were his own stage and the nobles mere actors in his personal play.
Lady Helen's son. The king's cousin. The ever-grinning thorn in the royal court's side.
He wore emerald green silk that shimmered like dragonfly wings, a gold chain looped lazily across his shoulder. His grin was all charm and provocation, as he made an exaggerated bow at the foot of the king's table.
"Ah, the party truly begins now," he declared. "My king, what an honor to dine in your glowing presence. You shame the stars."
A few nobles chuckled under their breath, some even raising goblets to hide their grins. Others simply froze.
Darius's expression didn't change....but his jaw did tighten.
"Theodore," he said evenly. "You weren't expected until the celebration. You're early."
"And here I thought punctuality was a virtue, Forgive me," Theodore replied, sliding into the vacant seat at the king's right without invitation. "I was tangled in something... delicate."
He cast a glance at a young baroness seated further down the table. She dropped her gaze, cheeks flushed scarlet.
Seraphina's lips thinned. "You're late, by my measure."
And yet, here I am," Theodore replied, reaching for a goblet. "Better late than dull, wouldn't you agree?"
"And you, my lady, seem quick to measure things that don't concern you," Theodore returned, smiling without warmth.
Darius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Theo."
"Yes, cousin?"
"You're exhausting."
"And yet so very charming."
Darius didn't grace that with a reply. He reached for his goblet instead.
But Theodore leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough that those seated nearby strained to hear.
"You look like a man besieged by ghosts. Should I call a priest? Or perhaps a bard to sing away your sorrows?"
"I need neither," Darius muttered, annoyed by him. "What I need is peace."
"Peace? In Silverthrone? In a hall lined with hungry eyes and sharpened tongues? Come now." Theodore chuckled, swirling his wine. "That ship has long since sunk, hasn't it?"
Darius's gaze flicked toward him....sharp, cold.
"I wonder," Theodore continued, tapping his fork against his plate. "How would you feel if that haunted look of yours started haunting others?"
"I wonder how you will feel when that haunted face starts haunting you instead". The king said with clenched teeth.
"Oh, now that's frightening," Theodore said with mock alarm. "Will you grow fangs next?"
Seraphina sighed audibly. "You speak too freely, my lord."
Theodore turned toward her, brows arched in exaggerated offense. "And you, dear Seraphina, speak too often for someone yet to be crowned."
Darius's eyes snapped to him. "That's enough."
Theodore raised both hands in surrender. "Of course, Your Majesty. Forgive me. My tongue runs faster than my sense. Just idle jesting among family."
The hall had grown quiet again, quieter than before. Nobles leaned slightly forward, pretending to be engaged in their own conversations while their ears clung to every word.
"I only meant to say," Theodore continued, unbothered, "this castle has been... odd lately. The king barely speaks. The servants avoid the west wing as though it's cursed. And rumor has it...." he paused dramatically ".....that shadows follow you even when the torches are lit."
A few nobles shifted in their seats.
Seraphina scoffed. "Ridiculous."
Theodore sipped his wine. "Is it? I hear whispers in every corridor. Some say the king's wolf has been on edge for days. Others say a girl wanders the west wing barefoot, in silk."
Darius didn't speak, but the flicker in his eyes was enough.
"Rumors have no place in my castle," he said, steel lacing every syllable.
"Yet they bloom like weeds," Theodore replied. "Perhaps you should ask yourself why they grow so fast... unless the soil is rich with secrets."
The tension was unbearable now.
No one dared to move.
"You tread dangerous ground," Darius said.
"I only tread where curiosity leads me." Theodore raised his goblet and drank, then added in a lower voice, "But secrets have a habit of surfacing, cousin. Especially in a palace where whispers are louder than prayers."
Seraphina scoffed. "You'd know all about whispers, wouldn't you, Theodore? The entire capital knows about your... curiosity."
Theodore turned to her slowly. "Careful, my lady. I bite."
"So do I."
Then Darius stood.
His chair scraped against the marble like a blade across bone.
"I have no interest in your games tonight, Theo."
"Leaving so soon?" Theodore asked innocently. "We were just warming up."
And without another word, the king turned and walked out of the hall, his footsteps echoing behind him like war drums.
Theodore watched him go, then looked to the nobles. Most had dropped their gazes.
He took another long sip from his goblet, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Well," he said, almost to himself. "That went about as expected."
Across from him, Seraphina shoved her goblet aside and stood sharply. Her face was still, but fury simmered beneath her skin.
She turned and left through the opposite corridor, her heels clicking against the marble, each step a declaration of insult.
As soon as her figure disappeared into the shadows, the court came back to life. Nobles whispered with less caution now. Some chuckled nervously. Others raised brows, already piecing together their versions of the tale to spread across the capital.
And at the head of the table, Theodore Roosevelt remained.
And at the head of the table, Theodore Roosevelt...ever the puppet master...sat alone between the space the king had left and the emptiness that followed.
He raised his goblet lazily and murmured to no one in particular, "To troubled kings and troubled queens."
Then he drank.