The palace smelled of smoke and secrets. Kael moved quietly through the grand hallways, boots barely making a sound on the polished stone floors. Candles flickered in wall sconces, casting shadows that seemed alive, twisting and stretching like the plots unfolding inside these walls.
The messenger's warning from yesterday haunted him: "Lords are dying in the night." He had expected some treachery, but not this level of chaos. Already, assassins had struck, noble alliances shifted, and rumors of a coup were spreading faster than wildfire.
Kael paused outside a chamber. Inside, two men whispered, one holding a dagger. Their words cut sharper than steel.
"…if the prince returns, the throne is lost. House Merrowyn must move tonight, or all is for nothing."
Kael's eyes narrowed. He had expected enemies. He hadn't expected enemies plotting in plain sight. One misstep, one careless breath, and the game would end before it began.
He slipped silently along the corridor, noting every shadow, every whispered conversation. And then, a sudden voice echoed behind him:
"Prince Kael."
He spun. A figure emerged from the shadows a young woman in black, hood low, eyes sharp. She was small, but there was an intensity in her gaze that made him take a step back.
"You shouldn't be here," Kael said, hand brushing against the hilt of his blade.
"I could say the same about you," she replied, her tone steady. "And yet, here we are. You're not the only one aware the throne is in danger."
Before he could respond, a scream tore through the palace. Guards ran, chaos erupting in the courtyard below. Kael's pulse quickened. Someone had triggered the first move of the night.
"Stay close," the woman said. "If you value your life."
They moved like shadows together, slipping through secret passages Kael hadn't known existed. In the deepest corner of the palace, they found a council chamber where blood still glistened on the marble floor. A noble, throat slit, eyes wide in terror. A dagger lay beside him.
Kael knelt, inspecting the scene. "This isn't random. Someone is sending a message."
The woman nodded. "And we don't know who's next."
A distant horn blared. Guards shouted orders, chaos spilling into every corridor. Kael realized the palace was no longer a safe place it was a battlefield.
Then he felt it. A presence. Cold, deliberate, watching him. Not human. Something ancient, tied to the throne itself. The blade beneath his cloak vibrated, warm against his fingers. The runes flared, pulsing with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat.
"They're here," the woman whispered. "And they know you've returned."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then we make them regret it."
The palace doors rattled violently as the first wave of attackers struck. Shadows moved in impossible ways, figures vanishing and reappearing, swords cutting through guards before anyone could react. Kael drew his blade, the black runes glowing bright. Each swing sent enemies stumbling back, fear in their eyes, as if the sword recognized the bloodline it had waited for.
But even as he fought, Kael knew this was only the beginning. The throne's echoes were calling, secrets long buried stirring. Allies would betray, enemies would rise, and by sunrise, nothing would be the same.
As dawn crept over the horizon, Kael stood among the fallen, sweat and blood streaking his face. His eyes found the hooded woman.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She smiled faintly, almost sad. "Let's just say… I've been waiting for you to return."
And then, from the highest tower, a horn sounded again a deep, resonant note that shook the walls.
Kael froze. Something ancient and deadly was awakening. The Iron Throne was no longer silent.
And the war for the kingdom had truly begun.