Greyhaven's streets were empty, yet every alley hummed with life.
Silent movements. Hidden eyes. Whispered orders.
The city itself had become a weapon.
Aren convened his captains in the cathedral.
Maps sprawled across stone floors.
Pins marked allies, enemies, and potential threats.
"Rowan still breathes," Caelis said. "And he will try to strike back."
"Let him," Aren replied. "He moves like a king. I move like a shadow."
Lysa added, "The minor lords are nervous. They wait to see who truly holds power."
"Let them," Aren said. "They will learn obedience faster than rebellion."
A messenger arrived from the northern border.
Draven forces are regrouping.
They've taken Blackpine Pass.
They plan to march on Greyhaven.
Aren's lips curved faintly.
"Then we set the board."
He called a secret meeting with Edric.
"Bring allies inside the walls. Merchants, spies, soldiers—anyone willing to fight for me, not the crown," Aren ordered.
Edric nodded. "It will be done. Quietly."
Over the next days, Greyhaven became a web.
Every loyalist trapped.
Every Draven agent exposed.
Every whisper a strand of control.
Rowan, confined to the palace, realized too late:
He no longer ruled the city.
He was a piece in Aren's game.
A pawn, watched and maneuvered.
From the cathedral tower, Aren gazed at the city below.
Silent. Fearful. Obedient.
"The crown," he said softly, "is no longer on the head of the prince.
It is in the hands of the shadows."