Rumors did not spread in the Elarion Empire.
They marched.
By midday, servants whispered in hallways. By evening, nobles whispered in salons. By nightfall, the city whispered to itself.
Avelyncè Ryler was a witch.
Avelyncè Ryler had ensorcelled the throne.
Avelyncè Ryler was the reason the empire would fall.
---
She learned this while walking through the east corridor, flanked by guards who suddenly refused to meet her eyes.
"…Did I step on someone's foot again?" she asked quietly.
One guard swallowed. "No, Lady Ryler."
Another muttered, "Not that we know of."
That was not reassuring.
---
In the council chamber, voices rose the moment she entered.
"This is her fault—" "The throne has never behaved this way—" "Coincidence does not exist at this scale—"
Caelan stood at the head of the table, hands braced against polished stone, jaw tight.
"Enough."
The word cracked through the room like a blade.
Silence followed.
---
"The throne's will is not a rumor," Caelan said coldly. "It is law."
Lord Varell leaned back in his chair, smiling thinly.
"Laws can be interpreted, Your Highness."
"Not when the floor breaks if we disagree," Caelan replied.
A few nobles shifted uncomfortably.
---
Avelyncè felt it then.
A subtle wrongness.
Not anger. Not fear.
Manipulation.
She pressed her fingers against the table.
"It's not the throne," she said quietly. "This unrest."
Caelan turned to her. "What do you mean?"
She hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to stay silent.
But the warmth in her chest tightened.
"Someone is guiding this," she said. "Pushing it."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Lord Varell's smile faltered—just for a heartbeat.
Caelan noticed.
---
That night, a proclamation appeared on the palace gates.
Anonymously sealed.
> The throne has been tampered with.
The girl is the key.
Remove her, and balance will return.
The city woke to fear.
---
Avelyncè stared at the parchment in silence.
"…They want me gone," she said finally.
Caelan stepped beside her. "They want control."
She looked at him. "And you?"
"I want the truth," he said. "And for you to stay alive."
The throne pulsed behind them—steady, resolute.
---
Far from the palace, in a chamber carved with forbidden runes, Lord Sevrin Kael watched the city lights flicker.
"They always blame the unknown," he murmured.
The shard of gold in his hand glowed faintly.
"Now," he said softly, "let's see which crown breaks first."