The chamber was hushed save for the soft crackle of the candlelight. Maps and parchment sprawled across the table, lines inked in haste, markers of troop movements scattered like pieces on a game board. Alaric leaned over them, his eyes sharp, his fingers drumming against the carved wood.
Redon stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for the prince's command.
"You will watch the prime minister," Alaric said at last, his voice low but precise. "His household, his servants, every whisper that leaves his walls. If he plots with Zura—or with any who would fracture Estalis—I want to know immediately."
Redon inclined his head. "Discretion, Your Highness?"
"As shadows upon shadows," Alaric replied. His gaze flicked upward, catching Redon's eyes. "He will show a mask tomorrow in court. I want the face behind it before night falls."
"Yes, my prince." Redon bowed and slipped away, disappearing into the darkness of the night.
