The night had teeth.
Wind hissed between the crooked wooden planks of the cottage, carrying a chill Kaelen hadn't felt in years. The fire cracked low, fading with each dying ember, like the light itself was retreating from something unseen.
Kaelen didn't sleep that night. He hadn't since the letter arrived.
A wax seal with a symbol no one in the village dared to name—burned deep red like blood that refused to dry.
Now, his mother stood by the window, silent. Rigid. Her eyes stared into the dark woods, but Kaelen knew she wasn't seeing trees. She was watching the past return.
"They're coming," he said.
It wasn't a question.
His mother said nothing at first. Only the sound of a knife against wood answered him—slow, rhythmically dull—until she finally stopped.
"They shouldn't know you exist."
"They do."
"They shouldn't."
Kaelen turned away from the hearth. His body ached—not from wounds, but from the weight of knowing something was ending tonight. Maybe childhood. Maybe freedom. Maybe his life.
She opened the old floorboard beneath the table. He had seen her do it once before, when he was a child, after a group of bandits passed too close to the village. But this time, she didn't pull out a knife.
She pulled out a box. Oak, wrapped in worn leather. Locked until now.
Inside lay a pendant. A crest in silver and obsidian.
A lion's skull—pierced by its own crown.
He reached for it, hesitated.
"What is this?"
"Proof." Her voice trembled. "That your blood was never meant to be born."
Kaelen looked into her eyes, and for the first time, realized how much she had hidden. How many lies she had told to keep him alive.
"Why now?"
"Because the king is dead." She gripped the box tightly. "And when kings die, their bastards become problems."
The knock came two hours before dawn.
No warning. No announcement. Just five fists pounding against rotting wood.
His mother stepped back, eyes wide.
He opened the door.
Ten soldiers stood outside, wearing the black-gold uniform of the royal elite—the kind of men who slit throats for lords who never looked down.
Their captain spoke first. He wore a dark red cloak, with a burn scar beneath one eye that hadn't healed properly.
"By decree of the High Regency," he announced, "you are to come with us to the capital."
Kaelen didn't flinch.
"Why?"
"You're wanted."
"I'm not a criminal."
The man smirked. "No. But you exist. And that's more dangerous."
They didn't tie his hands, but they didn't treat him kindly either.
He was forced to ride in silence between two armored men, through frozen forests and roads that only nobles ever traveled. Every town they passed looked at him with suspicion—because they knew.
Word always traveled faster than horses.
When they reached the capital walls by morning's end, the sky was red.
The castle rose behind clouds, carved into the mountain like a sword stabbed into stone. Flags draped down with the symbol of the old king still flying.
But the king was gone.
And the vultures had already gathered.
They took him through hidden corridors. Past kitchens, servant wings, old barracks. Not through the front gates.
Bastards don't enter through doors meant for kings.
He was brought to a marble room lit by braziers, empty but for a long table and a woman in white robes.
Her hair was silver. Her face was still. Her eyes like melted glass.
"The boy," she said.
"He is here," the captain replied. "No resistance."
Kaelen stood straight, refusing to look away.
The woman stepped closer.
"So this is him. The mistake."
Kaelen said nothing.
"Do you know who your father was, boy?"
"I know he's dead."
She smiled. Cold. "He was a fool. But a powerful fool. And his blood still has value, even if it's tainted."
He clenched his fists. "Why bring me here, then? What do you want from me?"
"We want you visible," she whispered. "So the others feel safe… before they try to kill you."
He was taken to a chamber far from the royal suites. No gold. No silks. Just a bed, a stone wall, and a window too small to escape from.
"Rest," the guard muttered. "You'll be introduced tomorrow."
"To whom?"
The guard laughed. "To the ones deciding whether you live long enough to eat breakfast."
The door closed.
Kaelen sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the pendant.
A lion's skull, pierced by its crown.
They shouldn't know you exist.They do.
And now, they had brought him to the throne's doorstep—not as a guest.
As a warning.
He wasn't supposed to wear the crown.
He wasn't even supposed to survive it.
But now that he was here…
He would learn to play their game.
And when the moment came, he would rewrite the rules.