"Grant him permission."
Sir Galen bowed and left, returning shortly with Prime Minister Keslar in tow. The man's face was pale with worry, a sharp contrast to the calm, calculated demeanor he usually carried in court. His hurried steps were accompanied by a frazzled-looking messenger who had clearly just arrived.
"Your Majesty—" Keslar began, breathless.
"There is news. From the western borders," he said, stepping aside for the messenger to speak.
The messenger bowed, quickly unfurling a scroll. "I bring word from the Altherians. They've moved troops to the border, violating the Treaty of Athens, signed in Imperial Year 994. We carry a message from the Altherian Emperor."
He stepped forward, offering Elliott a scroll sealed with the rival empire's insignia. Elliott's expression darkened to match Keslar's. This—this was escalating far too quickly. The treaty had been honored for six decades. Neither side had breached it before, especially not without cause.
His pale hands trembled slightly as he took the scroll. Aiden noticed. Of course he did.
"…They're demanding the Vales Valleys. Again." Elliott said to no one in particular. Everyone already knew it. If the Altherians were stirring trouble, it would inevitably be over the Vales.
The Vales Valleys were a long-disputed region. Before the treaty, a devastating war between the two empires had led to immense losses. In the aftermath, the contested area was divided: Altheria retained 30%—including the surrounding mountain ranges—while the Vellurian Empire held 70%, including the famed Vales Valleys. A picturesque landscape, known to travelers as "Heaven on Earth," it was both a national treasure and a sore point for the Altherians, who believed it had been unjustly taken from them by a stronger empire.
Over the years, they'd caused incidents—minor skirmishes, border tensions—but nothing like this. The Treaty of Athens had clearly stated: large-scale troop movement near the border would be treated as an act of war.
Keslar's voice was grave. "Your Majesty. They haven't merely mobilized forces. Their men stormed a minor border village, looted it, tore down our imperial flags, and raised their own. These are no longer small acts of terrorism or border skirmishes. This is war."
Elliott was furious—but he breathed deeply, choosing calm. "Let's not jump to conclusions, Prime Minister—"
He was cut off. No one dared interrupt the Emperor when he spoke in such a tone—no one, except Aiden.
"Conclusions? They're testing you," Aiden snapped. "They're provoking us deliberately. There are no 'conclusions' to jump to—there's only the truth."
Elliott sighed, rubbing his forehead. The evening had taken a sharp turn. "Aiden. Settle down. Think rationally. We must approach this with peace. You know I'm not in favor of war."
That only enraged Aiden further. He slammed his palm on the delicate glass table, rattling the tea set. "Then what do you suggest?! That we do nothing? That we just hand over the Vales Valleys?"
Elliott looked down, silently righting the overturned cup. His voice was soft. "I never said that."
"But it's what you're thinking, isn't it?" Aiden inhaled sharply, trying to keep himself from yelling. It didn't work. "That's what silence means. Submission."
"Aiden. Silence." There was an edge in Elliott's voice—a rare, sharp firmness.
It didn't deter Aiden.
"Silence?" he scoffed. "I'm speaking the truth! You give them the Vales, they'll demand the Ridge next. And then the marshes. It's a cycle—don't you see that?" His voice rose into a yell.
"Silence." Elliott's tone cut through the garden like a blade. "Enough. You will not raise your voice at me."
Aiden didn't back down. "Or what? You'll lock me in my quarters like some child?"
Elliott's eyes didn't waver. His voice, though grave, held that same cold certainty. "If I must."
Aiden stilled. Fury still lit his eyes, but that reply hit differently. There was a flicker of hurt—quickly masked.
He stood abruptly, knocking back the ornate garden chair. His expression was unreadable, a storm of emotion barely held in check.
"Fine," he said. "But when they come for your throat, I'll say I told you so."
He turned on his heel and stormed off. Elliott didn't watch him go. His gaze remained fixed on the overturned chair Aiden had left behind.
The atmosphere was thick with unease. Silence hung heavily until Lord Keslar finally cleared his throat.
"…Shall I still summon the scribes?"
Elliott's voice was hollow. "Yes."