Aiden was vibrating with fury. "You didn't say anything. Not even afterward. When he was complimenting your 'remarkable' luck." His voice trembled with rage. "Wild boars are not native to those woods, Elliott—you know that. Everyone knows that. And the animal was clearly agitated beforehand. They could not be any clearer in their motives."

Elliott exhaled. "I know. But we have no proof, and the situation is precarious—"

"I don't need proof." Aiden's voice was low, but the anger behind his words was unshakable. "I know."

Elliott reached up, hand gently cupping Aiden's face. His thumb brushed past a small bandage on his cheek—a cut Aiden had gotten today during the attack. And for a moment, Elliott only felt guilt. His passiveness had gotten Aiden hurt.

But he suppressed the thought.

He answered softly, "I know too. But we play this game my way. Just a little bit longer."

Aiden didn't pull away. He didn't care about his own injury—his mind was far too consumed by the fear of Elliott getting hurt, and him not being able to save him. His eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall.

"And if their way is a knife in your back?"

Elliott smiled with a certainty he wasn't sure he even believed in. "Then I trust you to put a sword through their front."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the palace...

Two figures stood in a dimly lit chamber deep in the envoys' quarters. The attendants had left long ago, dismissed with a flick of Veylar's fingers. The air smelled of candle wax and ambition. The conversation was low and quiet—mere whispers in the dark. Only one figure remained in the room with Veylar, standing in the flickering half-light like a specter.

Kaelis.

His spymaster. His shadow.

The only person he trusted not to stab him in the back.

At least, not without charging more than what Veylar was paying him.

Kaelis spoke first, his voice tinged with disappointment. "The boar was unsuccessful. The prince acted too quickly."

Veylar waved his hand in dismissal. "The boar was never meant to succeed. Even if it had hit the emperor, the most it would've done is leave him lightly injured. It was just... testing the waters. Gauging reactions."

Kaelis nodded. Veylar swirled the remnants of his wine, watching the liquid stain the glass crimson.

"Tell me," he murmured, voice low, "what is the current stance of the court?"

"Divided," Kaelis replied. "Nobles call him Elliott the Gentle—some with admiration, some with scorn. The emperor seemed aware the boar was tampered with, yet he took no action. He's holding back."

"Not a fool, then," Veylar mused. "Still, he is kind of a fool, isn't he? He still believes we come in peace. That there's a possibility for negotiation."

Kaelis didn't reply, simply nodding his head.

"And the prince?" Veylar asked after a pause.

"The prince, they say, is a storm barely concealed. He obeys the emperor—almost to a fault."

Veylar's lips curled. Perfect.

"And about the prince's... attachment?" There was a scornful edge to his voice.

Kaelis exhaled through his nose, not sharing in his master's satisfaction. "They mistake it for dependence."

A low, rich laugh tore through the silence. Veylar smiled.

"Oh, that is fantastic." He set his goblet down with a soft clink. "They still believe the prince clings to the emperor for stability? Guidance?"

"They do."

"Then they are fools."

Kaelis raised an eyebrow. "You see it differently."

Veylar shook his head and sat down, leaning back into the plush armchair. "Prince Aiden does not follow the emperor because he needs direction. Or guidance. Or even because of titles and hierarchy," he said softly.

Kaelis nodded. That matched his own deductions.

"He follows because he chooses to. To him, the emperor's happiness matters more than what he thinks is right."

A beat of silence.

Kaelis frowned. The unease hadn't left him.

He asked, "True as that may be, that changes nothing."

"That is your mistake, my dear Kaelis," Veylar said, fingers drumming against the armrest. "It changes everything.

"A man who obeys out of necessity is predictable. So is one who obeys out of fear or hierarchy. Break their crutch, and they collapse—or rebel." He paused to let the next words sink in.

"But a man who obeys out of devotion?" His smile sharpened. "That man does not break or rebel. He shatters."

Kaelis considered this. "You think removing the emperor will make the prince reckless. Prone to mistakes."

"I think," Veylar corrected, "it will make him unrecognizable. He will be unrestrained. Furious with grief. Feral, if you will. And he will impale himself directly onto the spear we will have already laid out for him—following his dear emperor."

It was nearly midnight when Kaelis and Veylar finalized the plan. Kaelis unrolled a map across the sleek mahogany table, the parchment crackling softly.

"The treaty signing will be tomorrow," he said. "The emperor and the prince will be separated. This empire's protocol and etiquette demands it."

Veylar's long, withered finger traced an inked corridor along the palace. "And the guards?"

"Ceremonial. Easily diverted. Their swords are more for show than combat. A minor disturbance would suffice. Maybe... a small fire?"

Veylar shook his head. "Too obvious."

Kaelis paused, then offered, "A body, perhaps? One of theirs. Left where the prince's knights—the Nightshades—will find it first. They report directly to the crown prince. It will reach him immediately."

Veylar hummed in approval. "Better." His fingers halted over the throne room. "And once the emperor is alone?"

Kaelis met his gaze.

Where Veylar's eyes crinkled with quiet ambition, Kaelis' were flat—clinical. He had no love for any of these people. He simply did the job he was paid for.

"You know the answer, my lord."

Yes. Veylar did.

"The prince will not react as you expect," Kaelis warned again. That unease remained—a persistent whisper in his gut.

Veylar waved a hand. "He will be unbalanced, as I said. Grief is a double-edged sword, Kaelis. It frees a man, but also makes him more vulnerable. Strike a man where his heart is, and he will bleed before he even feels the cut."

Kaelis hesitated. But he was dismissed. He bowed and retreated into the shadows without another word.

What Veylar did not say—what he did not know—was this:

Aiden's love for Elliott was not a leash.

Taking it off would not make him feral.

It was a vow.

And vows, when broken, do not leave a man directionless.

They leave him lawless and vengeful.