CHAPTER 31: WHAT I WANT

The throne room fell into a suffocating silence. Even the faintest breath felt intrusive, and the drop of a pin would have sounded deafening.

Marble pillars shadows stretched long under the flickering torches, and the entire court seemed to lean in with unspoken dread. Every person present tensed, and the guards stood like coiled vipers, fingers twitching near their blades, ready to strike at a single command.

Aric’s words hung in the air like venom.

They were heavy—dangerously so—but his audacity was even greater. He had walked into the palace alone and accused a king—before his council, before the entire royal court—of treason and rebellion.

The silence cracked.

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[Conquest Notification]

[The Lord of Meisterfort is shocked by your actions.]

[The Countess of Lorin is afraid | Susceptibility increased by 5%.]

[The Third Royal Guard has become wary of you | Danger increased by 5%.]

[The King of Byzeth is intrigued by your actions.]

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A flurry of panels materialized, their blue glow leaving ghostly hues across Aric’s pale face. They swirled around him like mocking spirits.

On the throne, Aszer leaned back, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he rested his head lazily against his left hand.

He regarded the fourth prince with a blank expression, though his eyes gleamed with an interest far more dangerous than anger.

"Hmmm... That’s a bold accusation, Fourth Prince," the king said at last, voice smooth as oiled steel. "Especially one made all alone."

"Accusation?" Aric scoffed, letting the word drip with contempt. "Let’s cut the charades. Was your ambition supposed to be a secret? If so, it was poorly kept. But we both know you’re too clever a man to leave loose ends, aren’t you?"

Aszer’s eyes narrowed, the weight of his gaze pressing harder than the silence itself.

"Where are you heading with this?"

Aric’s lips curved in a smile sharp enough to wound. "Where? I already told you. I want to know what gave you the audacity to contemplate rebellion."

His words were not spoken to the king alone. He turned, sweeping his gaze across the assembled nobles, lords, and courtiers who dared not meet his eyes.

"Let’s not kid ourselves," he said, voice carrying in the high chamber. "A kingdom opposing Valeria is nothing but a dead man’s quest." His gaze snapped back to Aszer, unflinching. "So I kept asking myself—why would you even consider it? Why go so far as to leak your ambitions? As far as I knew, you were neither a fool nor suicidal."

"Watch your next words carefully... prince."

The warning came not just in voice but in presence. The king’s Ki seeped into the air like invisible chains, subtle yet suffocating. Breathing became heavier. Even the guards shifted uneasily, though they tried to mask it.

Aric smirked faintly, almost enjoying the suffocation. "It was a trap, wasn’t it? You made yourself appear weak, an ignorant sheep waiting for slaughter. But in the shadows, behind that façade, a predator lurked—the men of winter, waiting to collect their prize."

A faint tremor passed through the court. Nobles glanced at one another with pale faces, whispers struggling to be contained.

"Fourth prince..." Aszer muttered, his hands tightening around the arms of his throne.

"I must admit," Aric continued, relentless, "I didn’t think you were tied to the Northerners. But to see them so dependent on you already, enough that you’re sure they’d go to war for you... Aszer, you cunning bas—"

He never finished.

No one saw the king move. Not even Aric. One heartbeat he was on the ground, the next he was suspended in the air, Aszer’s iron grip crushing his throat.

The suddenness left the council reeling.

The king’s eyes burned into him, cold and merciless. "Why shouldn’t I snap your neck this instant?"

"Because," Aric forced the words through clenched teeth, each syllable strained, "the moment you do... all your years of planning vanish. You’ll stand no chance. Death will be your only end."

"So what? You’re implying that isn’t already the case?" Aszer asked, easing his grip slightly but not releasing him.

"No," Aric rasped, his voice raw, "not if I intervene."

The claim dropped like a stone into the stillness. No one moved. No one breathed. Even the torches seemed frozen in place.

At length, Aszer threw Aric down and returned to his throne, his composure regained, his expression cold. His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"Everyone but the council... leave."

The command was obeyed instantly. Robes swept and boots clattered as the courtiers fled, some too eager to escape the tension that seemed to crush the very air. When the last echo faded, only the king, his council, a handful of guards, and the prince remained.

"Explain yourself... prince."

Aric straightened, rubbing his bruised throat. His smirk returned, faint but unyielding.

"You have a great plan, I’ll admit. A dangerous one. But the emperor is no fool. Why do you think he hasn’t already marched to crush your kingdom? Others may not see it, but he spotted your trap long ago. As for how it works... well, I’m the only one who’s figured that out."

The king tilted his head, studying him. "And if I kill you now, the knowledge dies with you. Problem solved."

"You need to listen better, Aszer." Aric spoke the name with deliberate disrespect, earning a sharp intake of breath from the councilors. "I alone figured it out—but that doesn’t mean I’m the only one who knows. If I’m not where I should be, when I should be, not only will the emperor learn of your plan, but he’ll also know you carry the blood of an imperial prince on your hands."

A flicker of unease crossed Aszer’s features, quickly smoothed into calm calculation.

He glanced at his council, then back to Aric.

"What will that change? You’ve already figured it out. In the end, a battle with me is a battle with the Northrenders. All I have to do is sit and watch Valeria crumble. We both know the men of winter do not lose."

Aric’s lips curled.

"Perhaps not. But what happens when they face two empires? And what if that second empire controls more divine sacred beasts than you can stomach?"

The words struck. For the first time, Aszer stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

"Come on—you’re clever enough to piece it together. The Drakens don’t know it yet, but you’ve taken their business. Even if they did, they might hesitate to go to war with Valeria over it." Aric raised his hand, casual, dismissive, as if the matter were small. "But what happens when the Valerian emperor serves you to them on a silver platter? Will the Northerners shield you against two empires?"

The question lingered, sharp and merciless, hovering like a blade above the king’s neck.

Aric grinned wider. "We both know the answer."

Aszer’s mask cracked. Fury flickered across his face, swift and unhidden.

His voice thundered: "What do you want, Valerian?"

Aric’s steps echoed, deliberate, measured, as he closed the distance to the throne. His shadow stretched across the polished marble, rising until it touched the king’s own.

"A good question," he murmured. "In the end, it always comes down to that—what I want."

He stopped before the throne, raising his chin, his gaze locked unflinchingly on the king’s.

"What I want, Your Grace," Aric said softly, voice a whisper and a hammer both, "is for your rebellion to succeed."