The next morning, the sun bathed the territory of the North, but did not bring relief.Along the walls, the murmurs did not cease; doubt and fear spread among the inhabitants.
No one could understand how a temple, built decades ago, could yield and collapse so abruptly.
In the castle, the tension was palpable. The king remained standing before the window of his office, the firm gaze crossing the horizon.
Every muscle of the body exhaled authority, but the tight lips betrayed concern.
Cassian reported, with surgical precision, the events of the previous night — from the confrontation with Éon to his own departure after the confrontation.
The king raised his head, the tone low and sharp, loaded with disdain:
"Not much time has passed, and they already managed to irritate the nobles of the North."
"I warned them," Cassian replied, the voice firm, almost a sharp whisper, "but I fear that the worst is yet to come."
The king remained in silence for a few seconds, eyes narrowed in somber reflection:
"Yes… not only did they destroy the temple, but they also hired mercenaries to steal what was hidden. So, did you manage to find out what it was?"
"No, we are still investigating," Cassian replied, hands clenched. "The marquis blocked all our information sources. Whatever was hidden beneath the temple, it is something important to the queen's faction."
"And the orphans?" the king asked, the voice laden with tension.
Before Cassian could respond, the door opened silently. Ereon and Éon entered, measured steps and cold presence, like a shadow that crosses the room without announcing itself.
Ereon stepped forward, leaving Éon discreetly behind him, the posture elegant and controlled, the purple gaze fixed on the king. The room seemed to shrink before them; the air grew denser.
"They asked to call us, Majesty," said Ereon, the voice short and calculated, loaded with authority. "I am sorry for my lack of courtesy, but I fear that, thanks to someone, my brother cannot wait. The sooner we finish, the better, don't you think?"
Cassian moved smoothly to the side, freeing the center of the room. His gaze met Ereon's for an instant — a silent tension, almost palpable, before he stepped back.
The king faced the princes, the shadow of concern darkening the restrained fury:
"Tell me… how do you intend to appease the nobles' wrath and deal with the queen, who will arrive in two days?"
Ereon smiled, cold and provocative, each word measured:
"I fear I don't know what you are referring to, Majesty."
The king only smiled in a contained way, while Cassian slid his hand to the sword, posture alert.
Ereon stared at him, firm, making him hesitate for a fraction of a second. Then continued, with the calculated calm of one who dominates the space:
"Yesterday, I only walked with my brother through the territory, to catch up on the conversation of the last month."
"So you have no connection with the temple," said the king, doubt mixed with caution.
Ereon smiled, enigmatic and provocative, unshaken.
A guard knocked on the door and announced, the voice tense:
"Sorry for the interruption, Majesty, but the marquis has already arrived in the meeting room."
Ereon hesitated, his gaze sweeping the room as one who assesses every threat. Then he spoke, the tone laden with certainty:
"I fear the guards present will not be enough to deal with the nobles' unrest at this moment."
The king faced the princes once again. Soon he headed to the door, his firm steps echoing through the stone corridor.
Cassian followed in silence. Before leaving, he murmured, grave:
"I hope your recklessness does not lead you to a premature death."
Ereon kept his gaze fixed ahead, the purple eyes shining slightly, almost as if the air around vibrated with his contained power. A short and calculated smile curved his lips:
"Recklessness… perhaps. But remember, Cassian," the voice was low, sharp, loaded with irony, "even pawns can bring down kings. And you know that, sometimes, it is the king who lets the pawn decide the game."
Silence fell over the room, heavy, almost suffocating.
Ereon threw himself into one of the armchairs, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if seeking answers in the shadows that danced through the environment.
Éon sat in front of him, elbow resting on the knee, hand on the chin, studying his brother.
"So… do you think it will work?" he asked, the voice calm, but laden with pondering.
Ereon took a deep breath, eyes still turned upward.
"It will work." The answer came calm, almost uninterested. "The king believes he uses us… but in truth, we are the ones letting him believe that."
"And the queen?" Éon asked. "She doesn't seem so easy to deceive."
A slight smile curved Ereon's lips.
"No one is unreachable, brother. Everyone has something to lose — reputation, power, children." He made a brief pause. "Have you heard of the heirs?"
Éon frowned. "The children of the king and the queen?"
"There are rumors." Ereon adjusted himself in the armchair, gaze now fixed on his brother. "They say they are not only children… but mirrors of a secret the two have hidden. If it's true, the throne is vulnerable. And if it's a lie… it's a lie powerful enough to shake half the council."
"You intend to spread it?" Éon asked, cautious.
"I intend to test the reaction." Ereon leaned forward, the gaze cold. "Every truth is born from a well-told lie. I want to see who tries to hide it first."
Éon observed him in silence. The fire in the fireplace flickered, projecting shadows on his brother's face — and for an instant, he had the impression he no longer spoke with a man… but with someone who had already understood the power to shape the world through words.
On the other side of the castle, in the meeting room, the air was dense and heavy.
The nobles argued amid exalted voices, anger overflowing in every word thrown over the marble table.
However, the king remained still — fingers interlaced, gaze fixed.
Then, with a simple raising and lowering of his index finger, the tumult ceased.
Silence fell like a sentence.
The count, breaking the quiet, raised his cup with false serenity.
"It runs through the corridors that the prince was seen wandering through the high streets at night... and, curiously, the temple came down shortly after. Doesn't it seem an overly convenient coincidence to you, marquis?"
The marquis smiled faintly, resting the goblet before replying, in a studied tone:
"Perhaps, count. But there is still no confirmation about the temple. To grant them the title of princes now would be... premature. Prudence is virtue, especially when it concerns royal blood."
The king, until then silent, allowed himself a brief smile:
"Ah, prudence... beautiful word, marquis. However, I believe I need no confirmation to recognize my own blood."
The words echoed, cold, before he continued:
"Therefore, I see no reason to delay the announcement. And as for the temple... yes, it will take time to be rebuilt." He paused. "I thought of sending some of my men to assist, but, curiously, I was informed that all were barred. None of them could even approach the ruins."
The marquis kept a contained expression, but his voice betrayed the tension:
"If such a measure displeased you, I ask your understanding, Majesty. That region lies under the direct jurisdiction of Her Highness, the queen. As a faithful servant, I only safeguard what belongs to the Crown — and, by extension, to her."
The king observed him for long seconds, the smile returning slowly, now carrying a sharp gleam:
"I understand perfectly, marquis. Loyalty is a rare virtue — although, sometimes, they confuse it with convenience. Tell me, when the weight of the Crown leans more to one side... should the faithful servant follow the gold or the one who bears it?"
The silence that followed was almost palpable.
The nobles avoided exchanging glances, each one pretending to find interest in their own goblets or in the papers on the table.
The distant sound of the torches crackling seemed the only one daring to fill the air.
The count lowered his eyes, the marquis kept an impassive expression — but there was a restrained gleam of defiance in his gaze.
The king then leaned slowly back in the chair, fingers drumming on the wooden top, measuring each word before speaking:
"Since everyone has had the chance to expose their concerns…" he began, in a calm tone, but laden with authority. "I will announce here, before everyone: as soon as Her Highness, the queen, returns to the castle, there will be a three-day banquet to celebrate the appearance of the princes."
He laid his gaze directly upon the marquis, the smile now thin, sharp:
"I hope to count on your presence, marquis. And, naturally, on your support."
The marquis slightly inclined his head, the gesture respectful enough to disguise the sarcasm at the corner of his mouth.
The king stood up, and the sound of his chair being moved broke the silence like a snap. Without looking back, he left the room, followed by two guards.
When the doors closed, a restrained murmur ran through the nobles.
The marquis watched the emptiness left by the king's presence, then smiled, lifting his cup with elegance:
"It seems that the winds of the North will blow strong again," he murmured, in an almost amused tone. "Things will get... agitated throughout the territory."
The count exchanged a glance with him, apprehensive.
Outside, the castle bells echoed long and deep — as if the very kingdom sensed the approaching storm.