The day was unremarkable for the citizens of Diraka. Each went on their way, neither aware of the danger lurking beneath their very feet— or so they hoped. For they lived in a hoax of a city; stability was a pipe dream, an age where food was more expensive than the diamonds the nobility wore.

That was only the tip of the iceberg to them; their king had waged wars on every neighbouring kingdom, each of which failed worse than the last. They could only dream of a state where they would be free. A dream in which they would overthrow the man sitting on the throne, a dream in which their families no longer struggled to buy food, a dream in which they were at peace. A dream was all they had. 

"Let there be peace in these— slash" The blade took its new victim, a sickening thud. George Beckett, a man who did no wrong other than speak up for his people. A man who did no wrong other than die at the hands of the king's men. A man who, even during his death, refused to bow down to the king's tyrannical rule. That was enough to warrant death.

Now, Mr Beckett was made an example for the other people. A man who, before his execution, was a mercenary turned nobleman, had become Marquess Bridham, a kind and gentle soul. All the way till the day of his execution, he spoke out, never to be silenced… until the blade took his final breath. The crowd, who were forced to watch their only hope for peace die, were left silenced, not a breath other than silent tears. Silence so loud that no one could think. 

Word spread like wildfire. Of course, no one believed a nobleman would have been executed; after all, aren't they what kept the kingdom together, the backbone of the king's power? If he executed them, what would it mean for the rest of the nobility? Questions were all anyone would hear in every street, every room, every tavern, and every store. What did this mean for the king? What did this mean for the people of Diraka? What were the nobles doing? Were they in support of the new king's policies? Questions multiplied; answers were unattainable. 

#

On the streets of the Wes District towards the far east of the royal capital, a person would find only thieves, tramps, moneylenders, information guilds, and everything in the middle. Wes District was often the only spot in which each person who entered would be treated as a commoner, regardless of their status. Noblemen often came to indulge in vices, and commoners came to relish the break from the daily chaos that plagued them. 

"Alastair's been on the throne a month, and he's already killed the Marquess— Lord George at that. Who knows who's going to be next??" Duke Charles Evergreen leaned forward, his voice demanding that it be heard.

"You probably, Duke Evergreen." Duke Edwin Blackfort waved a hand in nonchalance. "We have yet to swear allegiance to the crown, and I want to keep my territory." He leaned against the wall; the single candle stood still between the five individuals.

"Come now, Duke Blackfort," Count Theodore Finch smiled awkwardly, "we all wish to keep our lands. But with the Prince already in poor health, no heir of his own, and being close to waging a war on the next neighbouring kingdom. We can't just swear allegiance." 

Count Anthony Kwayland nodded "I agree with the Count and Duke Evergreen. Lord Bridham's death was something none of us saw happening; Thirty years of practising the law only for it to be so blatantly violated," he shook his head in disappointment.

"I say take down the king," Marquess William Draven stated flatly, "it was Lord Bridham's only dream, and his last words." Sighs of displeasure erupted amongst them at his words.

Baroness Erva Velasco remained silent through most of the conversation. "Didn't Lord George want peace instead of a revolution?" She raised an eyebrow. She was the only woman in the room, and she was used to being the only woman. She hated these pointless meetings where all they did was talk and not act, but what she hated more was the current king.

"Between the five of us, acting rashly would only lead to consequences for us all. We still have no idea what the Grand Duke makes of this situation." He stated with an awkward smile, "Who was the last to send him a scroll?" Duke Evergreen was the one who decided to address the elephant in the room. 

The Grand Duke was the only other person who could rival the tyrannical king's power, especially since the royal family and the Grand Duke's had been linked since the kingdom was established. 

"I sent him a scroll not so long ago, but nothing was heard." Lady Velasco spoke; given that she was royal secretary until recently, it was only natural for her to question where a key pillar that held up the kingdom was. 

"How long has it been since the Grand Duke has been gone?" Duke Blackfort questioned; it wasn't a surprise that this pompous man didn't remember. He mostly cared for his land and power. The only person who could have kept him in line wasn't in the room, but rather at home, unwell. 

"It will be four months on the eighteenth." Count Kwayland answered, "If only the duchess came instead." He glanced towards Duke Blackfort, who stared, jaw dropped.

"My wife is rather unwell. You think I want to come to these stupid meetings? I'd give her the dukedom on a silver platter if I could, but unfortunately for me, the sole power lies in my hands—"

"Alright, that's enough." Marquess Draven cut him off.

"Four months, and he didn't even come for the funeral of the king. How long is he going to be gone for? Wasn't his work in the neighbouring lands to be over in three months?" Marquess Draven had pointed out, and was right to do so. None had heard a word from the Grand Duke in a while.

"And his son— Asterion is out to aid an allied kingdom. Neither came. The damn butler came instead! What does that even mean!" He exclaimed while he leaned forward.

BANG! BANG! 

"We should leave before we get found. We'll discuss the rest through the glass calls." Evergreen said as he began wrapping up the discussion, leading everyone else to do the same. The room they were in was underground, and unnatural noises only meant trouble; their inconspicuous disguises would only do so much. No amount of sealing enchantment would have concealed their faces from Alastair's knights. 

The tiny room was empty; only a newly extinguished candle remained in its stead, the only sign that someone was present.