CHAPTER 86: THE WEIGHT OF THE CROWN

The Weight of the Crown

Then, suddenly—

CRASH!

The King’s voice thundered from beyond the doors, furious and sharp.

"SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!"

The words struck like iron through the court’s heart.

The echo rolled down the golden hall, shattering the murmurs and fear that had been festering there only moments before. Every whisper died. Every tongue froze mid-motion. Even the torches along the walls seemed to shrink, their flames trembling in silence.

One by one, all eyes turned toward the throne.

The crimson carpet that stretched through the court seemed endless now, leading to the elevated dais where Ben Lionheart stood—his figure a dark silhouette framed against the throne’s golden light.

The King’s presence filled the air, heavy and unyielding.

Ben’s fists were still clenched at his sides, veins tightening along his forearms. His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, each one a quiet struggle to contain the fire boiling beneath his calm exterior. His shadow spilled long across the floor, cutting through the nobles like a blade.

No one dared move.

Even the proudest of ministers, men who had ruled their districts for decades, now looked like frightened schoolboys caught in a lie. Heads bowed low. Jewelry clinked faintly. The heavy scent of perfume and sweat mixed uneasily in the air.

Ben’s voice came again—lower, steadier, but still burning.

"You all... please, shut up."

He stepped down from the dais, his boots echoing sharply across the marble floor.

"Before we even begin to act," he said slowly, "you drown this hall in panic. I said we will tackle the problem. Yet the moment fear stirs, you mutter like scared cattle. Do you all truly think this is what leadership looks like?"

No one answered. The silence was absolute—only the faint rustle of silk as nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

Ben’s eyes swept across the court, his expression tightening with quiet disgust.

He could see through them—all of them.

Behind the lowered heads, the trembling hands, the respectful silence... there was rot. Greed. Self-preservation.

He knew these people. He’d built his throne upon their loyalty—or what passed for it. Each one of them served their own ambitions before his crown. The ministers were snakes wrapped in gold chains, smiling only when it suited them.

Yet he tolerated them.

He had to.

Because the truth of ruling was uglier than the throne’s gold.

Power didn’t rest on purity. It rested on necessity.

Without these people—their networks, their influence, their cunning—the kingdom would crumble from within before any enemy could strike.

And Ben knew it. That was the curse of the crown.

He sighed softly through his nose, hiding the bitterness in his chest.

They’ll change sides the moment they sense weakness.

He straightened again, letting the anger fade into grim composure. "Enough games," he said quietly, though the room heard every syllable. "We have a real threat beyond our walls, and I need my council’s minds—not their fear."

His eyes turned toward the messenger who still knelt near the center of the hall. "As you said," Ben continued, "fifty Moon Eagles have been sighted near the border?"

The scout lifted his head slightly, voice tense. "Yes, my King. Fifty confirmed. They’ve camped near the ridge—silent, watching."

Ben’s jaw tightened. "And they’ve made no move yet?"

"None, sire."

"Hmm." Ben folded his hands behind his back, pacing slowly before the throne. His voice turned sharp, thoughtful. "The Moon Eagle does not wait. They strike, vanish, and leave only corpses. For them to gather in the open means one thing..."

He stopped pacing, his blue eyes glinting under the chandelier’s light.

"...Someone paid them."

A wave of shock rippled through the room. Heads lifted slightly, eyes darting.

Ben continued, his tone slicing through the tension like a blade. "The Moon Eagle doesn’t act without coin. They don’t fight wars—they sell death. If they’ve come to our border, it means someone has paid for that death."

The words lingered, heavy and ominous.

For a heartbeat, the court was still. Then the realization spread like cold water over skin. The nobles exchanged glances, whispers rising again—but softer now, more fearful than ever.

"That can’t be..."

"Who would dare hire them?"

"Not even the Blackfang Duchy could afford—"

Ben turned sharply. "Quiet."

The silence returned instantly.

He could see the fear in their faces now—different from before. This wasn’t fear of him; it was fear of what the truth meant.

One of the older ministers—thin, balding, draped in blue silks—rose shakily to his feet, voice trembling. "M-My King, forgive my ignorance, but... if what you say is true, then who—who would fund such a group to move against us?"

Ben’s gaze flicked toward him, sharp as a drawn sword. "If I knew," he said, each word deliberate, "I wouldn’t be asking this court for silence."

The minister swallowed hard and sat down again, his head lowering like a man retreating from the gallows.

Ben’s patience frayed. "I’ve led this kingdom through famine, drought, and rebellion," he said quietly. "And yet, the first sign of danger, my court trembles. Do you know what that tells me?"

He paused. The room waited, breathless.

"That fear has taken root deeper than loyalty."

No one dared speak.

Ben’s eyes swept over them again—slow, judging. He could see their guilt in the way they refused to meet his gaze. Their loyalty was shallow, their courage thinner still.

And yet I need them, he thought bitterly. Every last one of these cowards.

He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm. The weight of his crown seemed heavier than ever.

His voice, when it came again, was steadier, more controlled. "We’ll find who paid the Moon Eagle. I’ll send word to the spymaster and mobilize the royal scouts. No information leaves this hall. No panic reaches the city."

The ministers nodded weakly, though none dared meet his eyes.

But one voice rose—a different tone this time.

"My King," came the voice of the Minister of War, a broad man with a scar down his cheek. He stepped forward, eyes uncertain. "If the Moon Eagle has been paid... what if the one who paid them isn’t beyond our borders?"

The words hit the air like thunder.

Every noble froze.

Even Ben stopped moving, eyes narrowing just slightly. "What do you mean?"

The man hesitated. "I mean... what if the silver they took came from within the kingdom?"