Aurelian learned three things about the palace of Lythar within his first full day.
First, the walls listened.Second, the servants understood more than the ministers.Third, Prince Elion was far more alone than his position suggested.
Morning arrived quietly, filtered through tall windows and pale curtains. Aurelian woke before the sun out of habit, not necessity, and lay still for several minutes, simply feeling the world. The palace breathed differently at dawn. Mana settled. Footsteps were fewer. Thoughts were clearer.
Good time for honesty, he decided.
By the time Elion arrived, already dressed and visibly tense, Aurelian had finished tea and was standing by the window, watching gardeners argue softly over the angle of a trimmed hedge.
"You're up early," Elion said.
"You're up late," Aurelian replied without turning. "You didn't sleep."
Elion sighed and dropped into a chair. "I tried."
"Why didn't you succeed?"
Elion hesitated. "Because today is council day."
Aurelian nodded once. "Ah."
That explained the tension in the palace, the servants' careful movements, the guards posted half a step closer than usual. Councils were where power pretended to be polite.
Aurelian finally turned. "Before we attend, you'll answer a question."
Elion straightened instinctively. "Alright."
"Who do you think rules Lythar?"
Elion blinked. "The crown."
"That's an emblem," Aurelian said. "Try again."
"The council," Elion said more slowly. "The high nobles."
"Closer," Aurelian allowed. "But still incomplete."
Elion frowned, thinking. "The army?"
"Tools," Aurelian said calmly. "Important ones, but still tools."
Elion opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Aurelian watched him struggle and waited. Silence was a better teacher than interruption.
"…Fear," Elion said finally.
Aurelian smiled faintly. "Better."
Elion looked up, encouraged. "Fear of demons. Fear of instability. Fear of losing trade routes. Fear of appearing weak."
"Yes," Aurelian said. "Fear is the current ruler. Everyone else is negotiating with it."
Elion leaned back, exhaling. "That's not reassuring."
"It shouldn't be," Aurelian replied. "But it is manageable."
They walked toward the council chamber together. Aurelian deliberately lagged half a step behind, letting Elion lead. Appearances mattered, especially to people who thought they understood them.
Inside, the council awaited.
Twelve seats. Twelve carefully cultivated personas.
Aurelian read them in moments. The merchant lord who smiled too often. The general who pretended he didn't want more authority. The cleric who resented the crown for surviving without divine endorsement. The scholar who knew the truth and hid behind neutrality.
And at the far end, one empty seat.
Recently removed advisor, Aurelian noted.
The meeting began with words. It always did.
Reports were exchanged. Borders discussed. Trade numbers argued over with theatrical concern. Aurelian listened, silent, invisible by design.
Then the inevitable happened.
"We cannot ignore the western movements any longer," said Lord Haveron, fingers steepled. "Scouts report increased demon activity."
Elion's shoulders tensed.
"They are not crossing borders," Elion said. "And trade along the southern route has increased."
"A deception," Haveron replied smoothly. "Demons do not trade without intent."
Aurelian tilted his head slightly.
Interesting choice of words.
"The kingdom cannot afford complacency," another noble added. "A show of force would reassure the people."
Reassure or distract?
Elion glanced toward Aurelian—just for a heartbeat.
Aurelian did not nod. Did not shake his head.
He waited.
Elion swallowed, then spoke. "What would a show of force cost?"
The room paused.
"Resources," Haveron said carefully. "But—"
"Lives," Elion cut in, voice steadier than before. "And trust. If we march without cause, we become what we claim to fear."
Murmurs followed. Some approving. Most not.
Haveron smiled thinly. "Idealism is admirable, Your Highness. But you are young."
Aurelian finally spoke.
"Then allow me to translate," he said mildly.
Every head turned.
Elion stiffened. Several nobles bristled.
Aurelian met Haveron's gaze calmly. "What Lord Haveron means is that fear is easier to govern than patience. War simplifies politics. Peace requires competence."
Silence slammed down like a dropped curtain.
Haveron's smile froze. "And you are?"
"A passerby," Aurelian replied. "With experience."
"You overstep," the cleric snapped.
"Perhaps," Aurelian said. "But consider this: if demons intended invasion, trade would already be disrupted. Instead, it's increasing. That suggests internal consolidation, not expansion."
The scholar's eyes sharpened.
"And," Aurelian continued, "a premature military response would validate any extremist faction within the demon realms arguing that coexistence is impossible."
The murmurs changed tone.
Haveron leaned back slowly. "You assume demons think like we do."
Aurelian smiled faintly. "I assume rulers think like rulers."
The meeting ended without resolution—which, in politics, often meant victory.
As they left the chamber, Elion's hands were shaking.
"You shouldn't have said that," he whispered once they were alone.
"Why?" Aurelian asked.
"They'll target you."
Aurelian shrugged. "They already were. Now they'll do it openly."
Elion stared. "That's worse."
"No," Aurelian corrected gently. "That's honest."
They returned to the quieter wing of the palace. Elion collapsed into a chair, running a hand through his hair.
"I felt like I was drowning in there," he admitted. "Every word felt like a trap."
Aurelian poured tea. "That's because it was."
Elion looked up sharply. "Then how do you breathe?"
"I don't rush," Aurelian replied. "And I don't try to win."
Elion frowned. "Then what do you try to do?"
"End the conversation," Aurelian said. "Or redirect it. Councils exist to delay action, not create it."
Elion laughed weakly. "You make it sound simple."
"It's not," Aurelian said. "But it is learnable."
He slid a cup toward Elion.
"Lesson one," Aurelian continued, "never argue from emotion in a room full of people who profit from it."
Elion nodded slowly.
"Lesson two," Aurelian added, "if you must speak, say something that forces everyone else to rethink their position."
Elion took a sip. "And lesson three?"
Aurelian smiled. "Tea first. Advice second."
That evening, as the palace settled, Aurelian stood on a balcony overlooking the city. Lights flickered below. Life continued.
From far beyond the western horizon, a presence brushed against his awareness—curious, restrained, amused.
Not hostile.
Feminine.
Ancient.
Aurelian closed his eyes briefly.
So, he thought, the demon court has noticed.
He felt no urgency.
When the time came, he would speak.
And when he did, it would be with words—not blades.