The room was small but polished—tucked beneath the east wing in one of the old strategy chambers reserved for noble meetings. Thick velvet curtains blocked the windows. A charm sigil carved into the door shimmered faintly, indicating no sound would escape.
Dior sat at the head of the round table, fingers steepled.
Three other nobles sat with him—young, sharp, loyal.
Alric Von Valein.
Cassian Therin.
Liora of Derness.
All from ancient bloodlines. All eager to prove themselves.
The atmosphere was controlled. But tense.
Cassian was the first to speak.
"Her speech hit harder than I thought it would. I mean, even I caught myself wondering what the right move was. Whoops—sorry, Prince Dior. Didn't mean to betray the cause."
Liora nodded, and quickly tried to help Cassian.
"She spoke like she already believed she'd won."
Alric leaned back in his chair. "It's getting worse. Even commoners are quoting her now. In the sparring fields."
