At the very first light of dawn, as the palace slowly stirred awake, Assad discreetly summoned his two oldest companions-in-arms.
Youssef. Tariq.
Loyal men. Discreet. Faithful beyond words—men he knew to be above any attempt at corruption.
In his private chambers, away from prying ears, he spoke to them in a low voice:
— "What I'm about to ask must never leave this room. We have traitors... right here, within these walls."
A dark glance exchanged between the two men. No words, only a nod. The command was understood.
Assad stepped closer to the window, observing the still-silent palace gardens.
— "You will select the most loyal among our men. Not those who obey blindly—but those who would die for the crown. Train them. In secret. Prepare them for unusual orders."
He paused, eyes locked on the horizon, then added in a lower voice:
— "Then... I want Nabil to believe his plan is working."
Tariq frowned, intrigued.
— "How?"
A cold smile crept onto Assad's lips.
— "I will appear indecisive. Overwhelmed. Emotional. I'll make a few 'mistakes,' nothing too serious... but enough for Nabil to believe I am weak. Meanwhile, you will prepare everything to trap him."
And so, the plan began to take shape.
---
1. Feign weakness.
At upcoming council meetings, Assad would appear hesitant. He'd ask for advice on everything. Postpone decisions under the guise of reflection.
The whispers would begin: "The prince isn't ready…"
2. Create a false opportunity.
A fictitious reform about the reorganization of the palace guard. An opening for regional commanders. Exactly what the conspirators hoped to exploit.
3. Spy. Subtly.
Youssef would set up handmade listening devices in select rooms.
Assad wanted proof. Words, letters, voices. Undeniable.
4. Trigger the final mistake.
When the net was fully drawn, Assad would call an emergency meeting. A "crisis."
He would hand them the keys to power… just before slamming the door shut on their betrayal.
Everything had to appear natural. Inevitable.
And Nabil must suspect nothing until the very last second.
---
In the days that followed, Assad played his role to perfection.
He doubted. He wavered. He sought Nabil's counsel, even thanked him in public.
At banquets, he seemed distracted.
In the corridors, rumors swirled:
"The prince is overwhelmed…"
"We may need a regent…"
Exactly what Nabil wanted to hear.
In the shadows, however, Youssef and Tariq pressed on with their mission.
Every word, every gesture, every meeting of the conspirators was recorded. Observed. Catalogued.
The trap was closing. Slowly. Silently.
---
The fateful night arrived.
The Council was summoned to the Grand Hall of the palace.
Torches blazed, chandeliers sparkled.
Nobles, generals, ministers… they were all there.
And of course, Nabil Al-Fayez, with his calm, confident smile.
Assad entered.
He wore a simple yet regal crimson tunic. He appeared neither emotional nor nervous. Only… ready.
He stepped forward.
— "Tonight, I come to seek counsel from those who faithfully served my father's crown..."
A respectful silence fell. Assad swept the room with his gaze.
— "...and also to expose the true faces among us."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Nabil barely furrowed his brow, masking his unease.
— "I was told I'm not ready. But what I wasn't ready to believe... is that betrayal could be so close to the throne."
Tariq stepped forward, holding a carved wooden box.
He opened it slowly, revealing letters, scrolls, and objects.
Evidence.
Youssef activated a small hidden mechanism. A voice echoed through the chamber:
> "...the prince is weak. Push him, and he'll yield. The throne will be ours before year's end."
It was Nabil's voice.
The impact was instant. Faces turned pale. Eyes shifted toward Nabil.
He tried to speak, but no sound escaped his lips.
Assad stepped closer, his footsteps echoing across the grand hall.
— "Nabil Al-Fayez. In the name of the crown you swore to serve, I accuse you of high treason."
Guards emerged—not palace guards. No. Those secretly trained by Youssef.
They surrounded Nabil. Arrested him before he could move.
One by one, the accomplices were pulled from the assembly—stunned. Terrified.
Assad, unshaken, turned to the nobles still standing.
— "Let it be known: the time for naivety is over. Under my reign, loyalty will be the only accepted currency."
Silence exploded into applause.
That night, Assad didn't just become a sovereign.
He became a master.
Through fear. Through intelligence. Through justice.
And his reign… had only just begun.