The palace of Morgrave was no longer a sanctuary. Kael felt it in every glance, every whispered conversation that stopped when he entered a room. The king's trust was a shield, but it grew thinner with each passing day.
He moved through the marble corridors, his senses sharpened by unease. Servants bowed and scurried away. Soldiers watched him with hands on their hilts. Even the king's councilors—men who had once laughed with him at feasts—now eyed him as if he were a loaded crossbow.
Kael found himself summoned to the council chamber. The air inside was thick with incense and tension. King Edric sat at the head of the table, his face drawn and weary. Beside him stood High Priest Elandor, his expression cold as winter stone.
"Kael," the king said, "there have been... accusations."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Of what nature?"
Elandor's voice was soft, but every word was a blade. "The wards weaken. The demon realm stirs. And yet, it is you—half-demon, raised among us—who walks freely through our most sacred halls. Some say the enemy is already within our walls."
Kael met the priest's gaze, refusing to flinch. "I have done nothing but serve this kingdom."
"Perhaps," Elandor replied. "But blood remembers. And blood betrays."
The king raised a hand, silencing further argument. "Enough. Kael, you are my son. But I cannot ignore the fears of my people. Until this crisis passes, you are to remain within the palace. For your own safety—and theirs."
Kael bowed stiffly, anger and shame warring within him. He left the chamber, the council's whispers following him like ghosts.
Far to the east, in the shadowed halls of Yth'razel, Vaessara moved through a different kind of danger. The rebellion was growing, but so was suspicion. Her father's spies prowled the corridors, and every ally could be a traitor.
She met Lira in a ruined watchtower at the edge of the demon city, their pact still fresh and raw. Kharos, Vaessara's loyal confidant, stood guard outside.
"We have a problem," Vaessara whispered. "My father's warlords grow restless. Some suspect I am plotting against him."
Lira's eyes narrowed. "Can they be bought?"
"Some. Others would see me dead before they accept peace."
Lira considered this. "We need leverage. Proof that Azhakar's war will destroy us all—demon and human alike."
Vaessara nodded. "There is a prophecy, hidden in the catacombs beneath the palace. It speaks of a bloodline that can seal the gate—or open it forever."
Lira's breath caught. "Kael."
Vaessara's eyes widened. "You know him?"
"He is the king's ward. Half-demon, half-human. If the prophecy is true, he is the key."
Vaessara's mind raced. "Then we must reach him before my father does. If Azhakar learns the truth, he will use Kael to break the world."
Lira drew her cloak tighter. "We move at dawn. Trust no one."
As they parted, Vaessara felt the weight of a thousand eyes upon her. In a world of traitors, trust was the rarest magic of all.