After the initial meeting with the full council and with 'James', Elliott had dismissed the assembly. Instead, he and Aiden made their way to a more private chamber. Gabriella had slipped out midway through the proceedings— citing an urgent task she needed to see to— and had told them to continue to their next appointment without her.
They entered the chamber. Two guards stood at the doors, under strict orders not to admit anyone once the emperor and the prince were inside. Within, an older woman waited for them. Lady Sophia— a baroness by rank, and one of Elliott's most trusted aides. She wore the deep black of mourning. Her eldest son had been lost in the border skirmishes with Altheria. He had been the commander of a regiment, captured, mutilated, and killed by the enemy to make a cruel statement.
She had been chosen for this very reason. Elliott trusted her grief. It made her incorruptible. It made her hatred of Cyrus a certainty. She would sooner slit her own throat than work with the usurper. And that kind of loyalty, Elliott knew, was rare.
This, here, was where the real planning would take place. The council meeting had been nothing but bait.
"Lady Sophia," Elliott greeted.
The woman bowed her head silently, acknowledging.
"Have you compiled the information we asked for?"
She nodded, stepping forward with a stack of neatly bound documents—impressively compiled in the short time she had been given. Hatred, after all, could be a powerful motivator.
"I have," she said. "Through discreet channels and informers, I have assembled a list of key Altherian nobles, generals, and other influential figures. Many are known to have once been loyal to the Corvette line. Others hold grudges against Cyrus—yet they remain silent, tolerating him only because they believe there is no other alternative."
She placed the documents on the table. The list was long—longer than Elliott expected. Alongside the names, Sophia had prepared strategies.
First, identify who among them were true allies. Then, through covert messengers, word would spread: the lost heir lived, and Velluria would support him. A coup would be staged—designed to catch Cyrus by surprise.
The Moon Heir would be smuggled into Altheria, a rallying figure to ignite resistance.
Days before the coup, Vellurian armies would march toward the border in overwhelming numbers. Cyrus would be forced to deploy his legions—or risk direct invasion. With his forces stretched thin and his generals already wavering in loyalty, Cyrus would be cornered in his palace.
And once James was unveiled— alive, rightful, undeniable— the common people would riot too.
Cyrus's carefully constructed reign would collapse swiftly, violently, like a house of cards in a storm.
The meeting stretched on for hours. Outside, the sun sank, spilling golden light through the windows, bathing the chamber in the fading warmth of evening. Lady Sophia briefed them on each potential ally—names, ranks, motivations. Elliott asked questions. Objections were raised, debated, and resolved. The plan tightened, refined, until it was concrete.
The timeline was set. They would waste no time. After the ritual, in fifteen days, once James was confirmed as legitimate—they would move.
Time was critical. They had to strike before Cyrus could rally foreign allies to his cause.
Aiden and Elliott sat side by side through the entire session. And all through the hours of plotting, beneath the heavy oak table, Aiden's hand covered Elliott's.
It wasn't a grip—not quite. More a steady, unyielding pressure, his warm palm shielding the back of Elliott's scarred hand. His thumb stroked absently over the pale silver scars, a rhythm that was unconscious but constant.
It was an anchor. A confession made in silence.
Between orchestrating the downfall of an empire and caressing Elliott's hand, Aiden made it clear which mattered more.
He wasn't inattentive— far from it. His sharp mind followed every detail, every line of strategy, every name Sophia spoke. But through it all, his hand never stopped. The touch persisted.
It changed the atmosphere of the entire meeting, at least for Elliott. It was still talk of coups and armies and betrayal, but beneath all that— beneath the sharp words and grim truths— was Aiden's quiet, relentless reassurance.
As if to remind Elliott, with every soft stroke of his thumb: I am here. Whatever comes, I am here. For you.
---
Lady Sophia was just summarizing the final points of the agreement when a commotion erupted outside the chamber doors.
Aiden reacted instantly. He shot up from his chair, hand already resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowing. No one was supposed to interrupt them. They had given strict orders.
The heavy door opened anyway. A guard peeked in, looking uneasy. "Your Highness. It's Commander Lira. She asks to see the emperor immediately. She says it's important. Shall I let her in?"
Lady Sophia quietly shuffled the documents on the table, sliding the key ones out of view, her movements calm but deliberate. Aiden gave a short nod. He trusted Lira. She wasn't someone who barged in without reason. If she was here, it was necessary.
"Let her in," Elliott said.
Commander Lira stepped inside. Her face was tight, carefully schooled into neutrality, but the paleness in her skin betrayed her. Everyone in the room could see it—something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Your Majesty," she bowed sharply to Elliott, her voice low and grave. "It's... it's the Empress Dowager. She's been poisoned."
The chamber froze.
Elliott's eyes widened. Sydney? Poisoned?
The Dowager Empress had long since withdrawn from court life. A quiet, reclusive figure who kept to her quarters, tending her gardens and her fading memories. She posed no threat. She wasn't part of politics anymore, wasn't involved in power struggles. To most, she was little more than a portrait on the wall, a relic of another era. Who would poison her? What was the purpose?
The shock of it still hung heavy when a second, sharper thought struck both Aiden and Elliott almost at the same time. Their gazes snapped to each other, the same unspoken name flashing in both their minds.
Gabriella.
Gabriella, who had once been Sydney's greatest rival. A legendary rivalry—first as concubine against empress. Not for the emperor's love, not really, but for status, for power. Later, when both had children— the conflict whose child would take the throne. That war had been brutal, but Gabriella had won and her son the emperor. Sydney had conceded, retreating into the shadows, a defeated figure content to fade.
Neither Aiden nor Elliott said her name aloud. But the moment the news became public, Gabriella would be the prime suspect. Everyone would leap to that conclusion, even though it made no sense. Gabriella had nothing to gain. That war had ended years ago. Sydney no longer posed a threat to her or Elliott. They weren't friends, far from it— but they weren't locked in blood feud anymore either.
Yet it didn't matter. Once suspicion was cast, Gabriella would be buried beneath it. The nobles would demand an investigation, demand justice for the Dowager. Not out of love for Sydney, but because it would be convenient. Sydney would become the perfect cover for their grievances, their envy, their hatred.
And with her dragged into scandal, eyes would turn on Elliott too. They would question him. Dig into his past decisions. His protection of Gabriella's previous deeds would resurface. They would see him as tainted by association. His authority would be undermined. His throne, his control— fragile in this war climate— would be chipped at when he could least afford it.
Even if Gabriella had an alibi, even if she could prove her innocence, it wouldn't matter. The scandal would cling. The vultures would circle.
"It's not her," Aiden said firmly, breaking the silence. His voice cut like steel, low and absolute.
"Of course I know that," Elliott replied, though his face had gone pale. His voice was tight, almost brittle. Every fiber of him knew his mother would never do this. She wasn't petty, not cruel without purpose. She didn't cling to grudges for the sake of grudges. Sydney had struck at her in the past, yes, but Gabriella had retaliated appropriately- Most importantly, it had been a war Gabriella won. Sydney was no longer her enemy— just a shadow of one. This kind of crime, this kind of vindictive cruelty after years— it wasn't her.
"But I can't say that when they question me," Elliott said quietly.
Aiden's jaw tightened. "If you defend her, it'll only look like blind filial loyalty. They'll say you're protecting her. And then they'll start doubting you."
Elliott's chest rose and fell sharply. He nodded, voice tight. "We know she didn't do it. Which means someone else did. And they knew exactly who would be blamed."
The pieces locked together.
This wasn't random. Not a private grudge. Not a desperate act of violence from some minor court rival.
It was calculated. Cold. A move on the board.
Cyrus had made his next move.
Elliott let out a slow, steadying breath before straightening, forcing imperial calm over his expression. His eyes hardened with the weight of what this truly meant. He rose to his feet, and Aiden rose immediately behind him. Aiden didn't release Elliott's hand, even as they moved into clear view of everyone else. His grip stayed firm, protective.
"We will go there," Elliott said.
He glanced at Sophia, dismissing her with a look. She inclined her head in silent understanding. They both knew the truth. This was no longer about a forgotten dowager being poisoned. This was bigger—much bigger.
"Lead the way," Elliott ordered.