The great hall of Harta had never gleamed so brightly.
Every pillar had been polished to a mirror's sheen, every torch fed with fragrant oil that burned without smoke. The banners of Harta and Tirnovia hung side by side above the long council table — gold and crimson entwined in what was meant to be a symbol of friendship. To those who looked closer, however, it was a warning: two crowns, one throne, and not enough room for both.
King Mansis of Harta sat upon his carved throne, his posture rigid, his jaw tight with the strain of forced civility. His black robes glittered faintly with threads of gold; his crown sat low, heavy on his brow. Opposite him, King Halvek of Tirnovia was the image of calm dominance — a man of dark features and colder eyes, his silken atire in a multitude of bright colors, his every movement exuding confidence.
The courtiers held their breath as the two kings regarded one another.
Between them stood Queen Nina, graceful as always, the gentle hostess, whose soft voice kept the air from breaking under the tension. Behind Mansis, the Dowager-Queen Serena watched in silence, veiled and unmoving, her expression unreadable.
And high above them all, unseen behind the carved lattice of the roof's shadows, Darian Duskbane watched and waited.
He had slipped into the palace through the servants' corridors before dawn, silent as smoke. Now, crouched amid the rafters, he watched the game of crowns unfold below, his every sense alive. Beneath the table where the kings spoke, a small brass canister no larger than a candle lay hidden — one of Darian's inventions. It was harmless, at least at first glance: a device that, when ignited, would release a thin haze of smoke carrying the scent of sulfur and oil. Enough to suggest sabotage, to whisper poison without ever using it. Enough to turn confidence into fear.
His aim was not death. It was doubt.
King Halvek leaned forward, voice low but cutting.
"Tirnovia comes not as a beggar, but as a brother. We have long been allies in spirit, King Mansis. Now we must be allies in arms. Zerathane grows rich while our borders strain. Its king, Veynor, hoards the south's wealth, and he raises fleets to challenge even Tirnovia's trade. I offer you glory — and gold. Together, we could crush Zerathane before it grows too powerful."
Mansis smiled thinly. "And after it falls, I suppose Tirnovia will divide its riches?"
Halvek's jaw twitched, the faintest hint of irritation. "Of course. A fair division, as allies do. Your ships, my legions."
Serena's gaze flicked sharply between them. She could see Mansis' pride bristling. He did not like being spoken to as a lesser king — especially not in his own hall.
"Zerathane's fall benefits us all," Halvek said smoothly, trying to calm the edges of his words. "Trade, protection, peace —"
"Peace through conquest," Mansis interrupted coldly. "And who will bleed for this peace, Halvek? My soldiers? My people?"
The Tirnovian king spread his hands. "Every crown carries its price."
The chamber fell silent. The two kings' eyes locked — pride against pride, ambition against ambition.
High above, Darian shifted slightly, watching, waiting.
Then, he saw Nina's signal, she summoned a servant to refill Halvek's chalice. With the faintest flick of his finger, Darian set his plan in motion.
A thread of smoke began to curl from beneath the table. Faint at first, then spreading, thin and grey, scented with the tang of burning oil. It coiled upward, unnoticed until the first Tirnovian noble coughed. Then another.
Halvek frowned. "What is that?"
The guards moved instantly, drawing blades. Mansis stood, furious. "What trick is this?"
Serena rose from her seat, eyes sharp as knives. "There, smoke —!"
Panic rippled through the room. Some shouted of poison, others of treachery. Halvek's men surrounded their king; Mansis' guards clashed with them in confusion, steel ringing against steel. The air filled with shouts and clattering armor.
Darian moved with purpose. While eyes turned to the smoke, he cut the line to the chandelier above the Tirnovians' table. It crashed down with a roar of chain and shattered glass — narrowly missing Halvek's seat. Gasps filled the air.
To all eyes, it was sabotage — and from within the palace itself.
Halvek's expression hardened, his hand on his sword. "So this is your welcome?"
Mansis' voice broke with fury. "You dare accuse me —"
"I see the proof before me!" Halvek snapped, pointing at the fallen chandelier. "Your hall burns, your guards turn on mine. You think me blind to your plots?"
Serena rose, her voice carrying over the chaos. "Enough! Both of you — this serves no one!"
But neither king listened.
Darian's heart pounded. The illusion had worked too well — the chaos blooming faster than he'd planned. He could see Silas now, entering from the far doors, sword drawn, eyes sweeping the rafters.
Darian froze.
Silas' gaze lingered on the rising smoke, then drifted upward — searching, probing the beams. Their eyes met for the briefest instant.
Recognition flared.
Darian withdrew into shadow an instant before Silas barked, "In the rafters!"
Bolts flew. Guards shouted. The roof beams shuddered as arrows thudded into wood. Darian rolled, dropped, and landed hard on a hanging banner, sliding down its length before hitting the floor in a crouch. The smoke cloaked him, the chaos masking his form.
He could have fled then. But through the haze, he saw Serena — cornered between clashing guards — and Queen Nina shielding her from a stray blade.
Without thinking, he moved.
His great sword cleaved through the melee like thunder, driving back both Tirnovian and Hartan soldiers without killing. He caught both Serena and Nina, each by the arm and pulled them behind a toppled table, shielding then from a bolt that shattered against the wood.
Serena's breath caught. "You —? You came?"
"Did you doubt it?" he growled.
She stared at him, shaken. For the first time, she saw not just the outlaw, but the knight he had once been — loyal, immovable, fierce in his protection of her.
Then Silas' voice cut through the chaos.
"DUSKBANE!"
The hall stilled for one heartbeat. Darian turned toward the voice. Silas stood near the throne dais, armor scorched by smoke, eyes burning.
Their gazes locked.
"Enough hiding," Silas snarled. "Face me!"
Darian's reply was a steady growl. "Not today."
He hurled a smoke bomb at the floor; the chamber vanished in a plume of darkness. When it cleared, Darian was gone.
By nightfall, the palace was sealed.
Halvek and his delegation withdrew to their quarters, furious and suspicious. Mansis raved that the sabotage was Tirnovia's doing. Tirnovia swore vengeance for the insult.
The alliance was broken before it could begin.
In the Dowager-Queen's private chambers, Serena sat in silence. Across from her, Queen Nina stood at the window, watching the city lights flicker like distant embers.
"He saved you." Nina said.
Serena's fingers tightened around her cup. "Yes… and yet he disobeyed me, again."
Nina turned, her eyes soft but knowing. "He acts for the same reason you endure Mansis' rule — because he believes the realm must survive, even if the crowns do not."
Serena looked down. "He walks in shadow too easily. I fear one day he will no longer return to the light."
Nina's gaze drifted to the city beyond. "The shadows are not in his soul."
Far below, in the dark catacombs beneath the cathedral, Darian sat alone, cleaning his blade. The noise of the day still echoed faintly above — the shouts, the fury, the broken alliance.
He smiled grimly.
For now, Harta would not march to war.
For now, its people would not bleed for kings.
But he knew the peace would not last. Halvek would not forget the insult. Mansis would not forgive the humiliation. And Silas would not rest until he had his vengeance.
Darian raised his sword, the steel catching the light of a single candle.
"So be it," he murmured. "Let them play their game of crowns. I will play mine."