The court had grown louder lately.
Not louder in celebration — louder in whispers.
Aerin noticed it the way one notices a storm: not through sound at first, but through pressure. Conversations stopped when he entered. Courtiers smiled a little too quickly. Servants bowed a little too stiffly.
Something was shifting.
And sitting elegantly at the center of it all was Valessara — serene, radiant, smug — sipping tea like a woman who had already won a war no one else realized had begun.
Aerin watched her from across the council hall.
She smiled at him.
It felt less like affection and more like a challenge.
Valessara Makes Her Move
It started with a rumor.
A small one.
Then another.
Then ten.
By midday, half the palace believed:
Aerin was weak
Mira was a distraction
Elira was unstable
And Valessara was the only one fit to stand beside a king
The brilliance of it was how polite it all sounded.
"Oh, of course His Majesty is kind… perhaps too kind."
"We all adore Mira, but queenship is… complicated."
"Elira? Well… she does carry knives into formal events."
(Which, admittedly, was accurate.)
Valessara never said a cruel word directly.
She merely planted seeds — and let other people do the cruelty for her.
By evening, the council chamber buzzed like a disturbed hive.
Aerin walked in to find three nobles arguing loudly.
"He must assert authority!"
"He must choose stability!"
"He must stop being swayed by emotion!"
Aerin raised a hand. "I'm right here."
They froze.
He sighed. "You can criticize me to me, you know. Saves time."
No one laughed.
That worried him.
The Crime — And the Frame
The next morning, disaster struck.
A high-ranking noble collapsed during breakfast.
Not dead — but foaming, wheezing, dramatic in a way only nobles could be.
"Poison!" someone shouted.
The palace erupted.
Doctors rushed in. Guards sealed doors. Nobles panicked. Someone fainted in the background for no reason.
And then the whispers began.
"Who would do this?"
"Who always carries weapons?"
"Who has… violent tendencies?"
All eyes turned slowly toward the doorway.
Where Elira stood.
Holding a dagger.
Cheerfully humming.
"…Why is everyone staring?" she asked.
A guard whispered, "She did once threaten a duke with a butter knife."
"That duke deserved it," Elira snapped.
Someone yelled, "ARREST HER!"
Chaos exploded.
Elira's Reaction: Rage, Hurt, and Threats
Elira stared in disbelief.
"You think I did this?"
A noble pointed. "You're unhinged!"
She pulled out a second knife. "I am passionate."
"CONFESS!"
She gasped, eyes flashing — not just with fury, but hurt.
"…You really think I'd poison someone behind their back?"
Silence.
Her voice cracked just slightly.
"If I wanted someone dead… you'd know."
She spun on Aerin. "You believe them too?"
For a moment, the entire room held its breath.
Aerin Steps Forward — Public Power Play
Aerin walked forward.
Slowly. Deliberately.
He took Elira's hand.
Gasps filled the hall.
"If Elira wanted someone harmed," he said calmly, "the palace would already be on fire."
Several nobles nodded in terrified agreement.
He turned to the council.
"You want a king who bends to fear?"
Silence.
"You want a king who lets rumors rule his court?"
More silence.
His voice hardened.
"Then you do not want me."
He lifted his chin.
"As of this moment, all accusations without proof are treason."
The word hit like thunder.
And for the first time, Aerin didn't look awkward.
He looked like a king.
The Truth — And Valessara's Shadow
The investigation moved quickly.
The poison?
Not Elira's.
It came from imported spices — tampered with before entering the palace.
Foreign influence.
Political pressure.
And quietly, invisibly, the trail led near Valessara's allies.
She never reacted.
She simply smiled.
Later, when Aerin confronted her privately, she tilted her head.
"I would never harm your court," she said sweetly.
"I merely believe a queen should be… feared."
Her eyes gleamed.
"And respected."
Aerin realized something then:
Valessara wasn't competing for love.
She was competing for control.
Cassian Begins to Crack
Meanwhile, Cassian unraveled.
He trained Aerin in the courtyard, striking harder than necessary.
"You're angry," Aerin said, blocking a blow.
Cassian laughed bitterly. "I'm trapped."
"With Valessara?"
"With guilt," he muttered. "With expectations. With mistakes."
He wiped sweat from his brow.
"I hurt Mira. I betrayed trust. And now I'm smiling beside a woman who treats affection like ownership."
Aerin frowned. "Then leave."
Cassian scoffed. "Kings can command. Men like me? We endure."
His voice shook.
The cracks were showing.
Aftermath — Humor in the Ruins
Elira strutted through the palace afterward, furious and triumphant.
"SEE?" she announced. "INNOCENT."
A servant whispered, "You still chased three people with knives."
"They were emotionally rude."
She found Aerin later and hugged him fiercely.
"You believed me," she muttered.
He smiled softly. "Always."
She paused, eyes narrowing.
"…If Valessara did this, I'm allowed one revenge, right?"
"No."
"Two?"
"Elira."
"…Half a revenge?"
Closing — The Game Has Changed
That night, Aerin stood on the balcony.
The kingdom felt heavier.
More dangerous.
But for the first time, he didn't feel like a boy pretending to rule.
He felt like someone being forced to grow.
Behind him:
Valessara plotted
Elira sharpened knives
Mira endured quietly
Cassian cracked under pressure
And ahead of him lay a truth he could no longer ignore:
The war for his heart had become a war for his throne.