The eldest prince did not slow as he entered the inner corridor.
He noticed the blood before he saw his father.
Dark prints across pale marble. Still wet. Not dragged — deliberate. A straight path.
His jaw tightened.
The doors to the King's private chamber stood open.
Two guards outside. Pale. Avoiding his eyes.
Inside, servants scrubbed in silence. Buckets stained red. Cloths already ruined. The scent of iron hung thick in the air, sharp enough to sit in the back of the throat.
His father stood near the far window.
Clean now.
Almost.
Only a thin line of red remained beneath one fingernail.
The eldest stopped three paces away.
He did not bow.
"Is Kaelen okay?"
The King did not turn immediately. He watched the courtyard below — where nothing seemed disturbed. Birds still moved in the hedges. A fountain ran.
"Yes," the King said. Calm. Flat. "I took care of the ones after him."
After him.
The words lodged.
"He doesn't know a thing about the assassins," the King continued. Now he turned. His eyes were steady — too steady. "And we should keep it that way."
The eldest studied him.
There was no visible strain. No tremor. No injury.
Only something coiled behind the stillness. Not anger. Not fear.
Assessment.
"How many?" the eldest asked.
"Enough."
A servant dropped a basin.
Water splashed across stone.
Everyone flinched.
The eldest didn't.
He didn't say Kaelen's name again.
The King's gaze sharpened just slightly. Not accusation — correction.
That was not an answer.
The eldest felt it — that small shift in air when truth is stepped around, not denied.
He walked further into the room.
The letter on the desk had been removed. But ink stains remained on the wood. Blurred. Smeared by blood.
He looked at his father again.
"Do you believe this is external?" he asked. Neutral tone. Almost bored.
A test.
The King did not blink.
"No."
The word landed heavy.
Silence stretched between them. Not comfortable. Not hostile. Measured.
Aurelion felt something ugly stir in his chest — not fear. Not quite. A recognition of shape.
Internal.
"You think it's court," he said.
"I think," the King replied slowly, "that there ambition has grown impatient."
A servant paused too long listening.
The King glanced at him once.
The servant lowered his eyes and scrubbed harder.
Aurelion folded his hands behind his back. It was an old habit — one his tutors had praised as disciplined. In truth, it was to hide the tension in his fingers.
"I was attacked during my "expedition"," he said.
Now the King's stillness cracked.
Not visibly. But the air shifted.
"And?"
"You survived."
Aurelion studied him again.
"You expected it."
A small pause.
"I expect many things."
Aurelion almost smiled.
Almost.
"Did your men intercept his attackers," he asked, "or did he handle it himself?"
"I handled it."
Aurelion looked toward the open doorway, where the corridor still bore faint traces of red.
Six assassins here.
At least one for me.
Too coordinated to be coincidence.
Unless it wasn't coordination.
Unless it was escalation.
"Whose impatience?" the eldest asked quietly.
The King did not answer immediately.
Instead, he walked to the table and rested his hand where the ruined letter had been.
"You've been attending council," he said instead. "What do you hear?"
Deflection.
The eldest exhaled through his nose.
"Factions are restless," he said. "They question why the throne remains… unbalanced."
A careful word.
Unbalanced.
Not vacant.
Not contested.
The King's expression did not change.
"They question why she is not restored," the eldest continued. "They question whether exile was… necessary."
There it was.
The Queen.
Even unspoken, she was present.
The King's jaw tightened just slightly.
"And what do you think?" he asked.
The eldest hesitated.
For once.
He thought of Kaelen.
Of the illegitimate girl.
Of the true name spoken in a courtyard like a child offering a flower.
Of rage.
Of hands around a throat.
Of his own voice shouting sacred syllables across stone.
He had not missed the way some courtiers looked at the girl now.
With calculation.
A symbol is more dangerous than a blade.
"I think," Aurelion said carefully, "that restoring her would not calm them."
"Why."
"Because they do not want her restored."
The King's eyes narrowed slightly.
"They want leverage," Aurelion continued. "If she sits the throne again, they lose it."
The King watched him closely now.
"You believe this was to destabilize," he said.
"Yes."
"And you believe her faction capable?"
The question lingered in the air.
Not simple.
The eldest thought of the Queen.
"They are capable," he said finally.
"That is not what I asked."
The eldest held his father's gaze.
"They are loyal to her," he corrected. "Not necessarily to you."
There.
It hung between them.
The King did not move.
Outside, footsteps passed in the corridor.
Normal palace noise. Returned. As if nothing had happened.
"Do you believe," the King asked quietly, "that she would sanction this?"
The eldest didn't answer immediately.
Because he didn't know.
Because he didn't want to know.
Because part of him feared the answer.
"She loves her children," he said finally.
Not confirmation.
Not denial.
The King's gaze sharpened.
"And if she believes one threatens another?"
The eldest's pulse ticked once in his throat.
Younger sons. Illegitimate daughters. Succession whispers.
Names spoken aloud.
"I don't think she would do this," he said. "But factions act without permission when they think they are protecting something."
Or someone.
The King turned back toward the window.
For a moment, he looked older.
Only a moment.
"If this was her faction," the eldest said quietly, "they miscalculated."
"How."
"They underestimated you."
A faint sound escaped the King. Not quite laughter.
"They always do."
Silence again.
The eldest stepped closer.
"What is your command?" he asked.
The King did not answer immediately.
Instead, he looked out at the courtyard.
At the place where his children sometimes stood too far apart.
Where glances lingered too long.
Where resentment had begun to calcify.
"If this came from within," the King said slowly, "we do not strike first."
The eldest frowned.
"That will be seen as weakness."
"It will be seen as patience."
A thin distinction.
The eldest didn't agree.
But he understood.
"And Kaelen?" he asked again.
"He remains unaware."
"And if he learns?"
"He won't."
That certainty unsettled him.
Because secrets in this palace did not stay buried.
They fermented.
They surfaced.
And when they did — they did not come gently.
The eldest inclined his head slightly.
"As you command."
He turned to leave.
"Auriq."
He stopped.
"Yes."
"If it was her faction," the King said quietly, "they will try again,"
Aurelion did not turn back.
A slow breath.
"Let them."
He stepped into the corridor.
The scent of blood still lingered.
Guards stood straighter as he passed.
But behind their discipline was something else now.
Whispers would begin by nightfall.
Not about the assassins.
About the Queen.
About factions.
About sons.
And the eldest felt it clearly now — like pressure behind the eyes.
This was not an attempt to kill.
This was a measurement.
And someone was counting.
He did not know yet whether his mother had ordered it.
But for the first time—
He was not sure he would defend her if she had.