Alaric strode from the Chamber of Council, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow, with Angus and Aramis flanking him at both sides.
The king's scepter had barely touched the floor when the chamber erupted again—arguments surging like wildfire, voices louder, harsher, split down lines that no longer blurred.
King Heimdal let out a weary sigh, his crown heavy with more than gold, and slipped from the hall to relieve himself, leaving his council untended for some time.
It was all the spark Malik needed.
When the king was gone, Lord Malik's voice rose above the din. "Do you not see?" He stepped forward, his words fueled by fervor and fear alike. "Even Prince Alaric binds himself to this foreign heir. What clearer proof do you need? A son of Northem throwing his allegiance behind another throne!"
"Blasphemy!" Duke Kasmeri thundered, his hand flashing to the hilt of his blade. His eyes blazed as he took a step forward. "Speak of Alaric so again, and I'll—"
