Next day, War Council chamber.
The council was almost assembled for another war meeting. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, spilling over the vast table where the war map lay stretched open. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the anticipation of what was to come. No one had spoken yet. Elliott was already standing, hands folded behind his back, posture regal, his eyes calm as they roamed across the room. It was obvious the emperor had something to announce.
At his right shoulder stood Aiden— a silent sentinel, his very presence like a blade drawn and ready. His gaze swept the chamber in sharp, deliberate glances, as if daring anyone to even think of interrupting or threatening the emperor. Protective. Watchful. Lethal. Every inch of him radiated quiet readiness, though he never once shifted his stance.
Gabriella sat to Elliott's left, her expression composed, contemplative, her sharp mind working ahead even in silence.
When the last of the ministers entered, Elliott cleared his throat. His voice, calm and clear, filled the chamber with ease.
"Everyone," he began. "The situation has evolved. There are new... revelations."
A low murmur rippled instantly through the assembled councilors. Elliott didn't wait for the noise to die, his voice cutting through the whispers like steel.
"We have reason to believe that James Corvette, last known heir to the Altherian throne, is not only alive, but under our protection."
The silence that followed was thunderous. A stunned, disbelieving quiet, quickly breaking into gasps and sharp intakes of breath. What Elliott had declared was not just bold—it was unthinkable. A ghost of two decades, a child written off by history as dead... now alive, here, in their empire.
The first to recover was a general. He leaned forward, brow furrowed, his voice taut with disbelief. "Your Majesty, with respect— the Corvette line was extinguished. All killed. Little James was slain shortly after his birth. That is what every record states."
"You forget who had those records written," Elliott said softly, his tone carrying across the room. His eyes narrowed slightly, his presence like ice and fire in equal measure. "History is written to the convenience of those who win, General. If you were a tyrant who usurped the throne, and you were uncertain of the last heir's status— what would you do? Tell the world that the heir may yet live, and your claim is false?"
The general faltered, unable to answer.
Another voice broke in. A minister this time, hesitant but persistent. "But, Your Majesty—how can we be certain? You must understand—this claim comes from nowhere. We may take your word for it, but others will not. How will we convince them?"
"We do not speak on rumors alone," Elliott replied smoothly. "We have evidence. Compelling, layered evidence."
He told them of the spies' findings. Of the shadows' attack. Of the disrupted ascension. Of Cyrus's desperation to find James. He told them enough to ground his claim—but not everything. He did not name Carlson. He did not reveal what they could not yet risk.
Because the council was not beyond suspicion. They all knew it—among these loyal faces could easily be traitors. Cyrus already knew they knew, after the shadows' failure. There was no longer the option of secrecy—this was war. But as for James's true identity... that secret had to remain guarded.
Instead, Elliott gave them a version carefully sculpted. How he prince entered Velluria- through the Aurelia river. The pieces of evidence that painted enough of a picture without exposing the boy they needed to protect.
"...As you can see, we do not speak without proof. But we also understand we will need something even more solid to convince the world. Rest assured, we are working toward that."
His gaze swept the room, hard and deliberate. He watched every flicker of expression, every faint shift of posture, searching for who might be loyal... and who might be pretending. Elliott was waiting. For someone to open their mouth and ask the question he anticipated.
And then, the inevitable question came.
"...And who is James, Your Majesty?" Lady Hawthorne's voice carried across the table. Her face was carefully neutral, but her eyes— sharp, probing— betrayed her intent.
Elliott's expression did not flicker. He had been waiting for this.
He glanced at Aiden. A single nod passed between them, silent understanding.
The chamber doors opened.
A young man entered. Twenty-one, maybe. Midnight-blue hair, pale skin, sharp features—he could have stepped straight out of the Corvette lineage.
But he wasn't Carlson.
This was bait.
A stable boy who happened to have pale, fair skin, and sharp Altherian features. his hair- previously brown- had been colored to fit the image. He'd been dressed in princely robes and carefully instructed. He didn't know the full truth, only that he was to play a role, that he would be protected, and that when it was over, he would be given enough wealth to live comfortably for the rest of his life.
It had been Gabriella's idea when Elliott shared his plan to reveal James's existence to the council. She had not objected, but she had reminded him—not everyone in this room is loyal. If Cyrus had ears among them, they could not show all their cards, even if it were an all-out war. This was a trap. A decoy, designed to draw traitors out. If an attempt was made on this boy's life, it would mean they had confirmed spies within their ranks. And already, after this meeting, every single person is to be under constant watch.
"This is James," Elliott announced smoothly, presenting the young man to the room.
Every eye fixed on him. Some looked in awe, some in suspicion, some already calculating the weight of what this meant.
The boy was seated beside Gabriella. He had been told to keep silent, to look serious.
The Grand Admiral was the next to speak. His voice was cautious, level. "What next, Your Majesty? What do you plan to do?"
"The plan?" Elliott's lips curved, sharp as a blade. Even he had no sympathy for a man like Cyrus. "The plan is to recognize who the true enemy is. Altheria is not our enemy. Cyrus is. We will not wage all-out war against the people. I was never in favor of that— but until now, the situation looked bleak with no other path in sight. But now..." his voice hardened. "Now the plan is to ignite civil war from within. We will provide James Corvette with full backing—political, financial, and military. We will reinstate him as the rightful monarch of Altheria."
The words dropped like stones in a pond. Silence followed, heavy and absolute.
The loyal heard it as reassurance. The disloyal heard it as warning.
And for those who would run to Cyrus with whispers—it was a clear message. Elliott was not afraid. Elliott would protect James. Elliott was willing to burn kingdoms to the ground to set things right.
This was no longer about winning a war. It was about justice, for both empires.
--