CHAPTER 378: CHAOS IN THE COURT

In a brightly lit throne room, Reuben’s inner circle along with the different ministers were having an urgent meeting. Though the throne room blazed with golden light, the atmosphere was gloomy. Its high-vaulted ceilings echoing the footsteps of hurried attendants and murmurs of anxious ministers. Tension thickened the air as news of disaster hung like a storm cloud over the royal court.

Prince Reuben stood before the assembly, his hands clenched at his sides, eyes smoldering with disbelief. At the center of the chamber, surrounded by a semi-circle of ministers, generals, and lords, General Marlon Norse stood exposed like a criminal in judgment.

"Carles—lost in a single day?" Reuben’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. "General Marlon Norse, explain this! Carles was entrusted to you. How can it fall this fast?" Reuben’s voice thundered inside the high ceiling chamber. "It wasn’t even two months since General Odin was banished. Are you saying that you are incompetent and unworthy?"

The crown prince’s anger was so palpable in the air. The echo of his voice soared to the heights of the domed ceiling before falling upon the crowd like thunder. Even those seated at the outer edge flinched.

Marlon’s face flushed a deep crimson, shame and fury warring in his expression. His voice trembled as he struggled to speak.

"Your Highness," he stuttered. "It was Bener’s girl friend. She was a spy of Estalis. She let the elite soldiers of the enemy inside the new town hall and everyone was caught in surprise." How can he admit that his son was so stupid he allowed a woman to manipulate him and she made him dance to her tune.

Reuben’s hand struck the armrest of his throne. The sharp crack of wood echoed louder than his words.

"You dare pin this catastrophe on Bener’s former girl friend who is your son’s whore? You think I am a fool, Marlon?" He leaned forward, voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "For two years Carles held strong. And now—because of one woman? No. This is your failure."

Before Marlon could speak again, a slow, deliberate tapping broke the rising storm.

Tap... tap... tap.

All heads turned as an old man entered the throne room—stooped, but unbowed by age. His silver hair hung loose beneath a weatherworn hood, and his cane struck the stone floor with solemn rhythm.

"Perhaps," came the gravelly voice, "the fall of Carles was written the moment your court cast General Odin aside. You should have expected this outcome."

The chamber fell silent.

Prince Dakota, the old lion of the court, stopped in the center of the room. His sharp, weathered gaze swept across the ministers like a scalpel, laying bare their unease.

"And I warn you—Estalis is not our only enemy. That woman, that whisper blade is not from Estalis. She bore the shadow of Zura."

Murmurs broke through the council.

Reuben’s eyes narrowed.

"You bring accusation without proof, Grandpa," he said coldly.

"I bring wisdom earned through war and betrayal," Dakota replied, his voice like worn stone. "While you squabble over honors and titles, your enemies draw maps in blood."

The old prince unhurriedly eased into an empty seat near the center, his silence louder than before.

Lord Malik, tall and brimming with youthful bravado, rose to his feet. While he was in his late thirties, he relished the fact that was still a lot younger compared to Dakota.

"Are you suggesting that the generals of Northem are too weak to defend our borders? Insult them again, and you will answer to me."

"I said nothing of the sort," Dakota said mildly. "It was you who interpreted my words as such. Do your own insecurities speak louder than reason?"

Malik’s fists clenched. His pride stung more than he would admit. Why was the old man twisting his words?

"We have so many battle-hardened soldiers in Northem, Prince Dakota. They bled for the kingdom. Do not insult them with your words." Malik replied.

"And yet Carles fell without a single cry of resistance," Dakota said with quiet finality. "No walls breached. No blades drawn. Only silence and surrender, so perhaps it was the commanders who have the problems."

General Marlon Norse gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He wanted to refute but what can he do? Dakota spoke of the truth. He could only look away, jaw tight, fury and shame boiling inside him.

"You should be thankful, no blood was spilled in Carles." The old prince added sarcastically."

"Besides, which of my words insulted the Northem soldiers?"

"You said that when we banished General Odin and his commanders, we should have expected this outcome." Malik protested.

Dakota chucked.

"I did say that. I meant that Estalis and Zura would make a move on Northem. But if you understood it from a different light, then it is not my problem anymore. It is you saying that your generals are useless because Carles fell in such a short time."

Dakota paused deliberately as if enjoying the looks of the people in the court —constipated!

"And perhaps you should be grateful," Dakota added with a bitter smirk. "Not a single drop of blood was spilled—though perhaps that’s the only mercy we’ll see in this war."

"Enough!" Reuben’s voice thundered again, silencing the brewing arguments. He rose from his throne, the gilded fabric of his cloak cascading behind him.

"This is not a court for squabbling old men and wounded pride. Carles has fallen. The enemy advances. What I demand now—are answers. And a plan."

A heavy silence gripped the chamber like iron shackles. Ministers exchanged uneasy glances, their voices stifled by fear, pride, and the sudden clarity that they stood at the edge of something far darker than they had imagined.

Reuben exhaled slowly, his anger no less fierce, but now buried beneath a forced calm. His fingers gripped the edge of the throne’s armrest, knuckles pale.

"Captain Leon," Reuben said, turning to a lean, hawk-eyed man seated near the front. "How far do you estimate Estalis can push before they breaches the Alta-Sierra range?"

Leon stood, one hand resting on the pommel of his ceremonial blade. His voice was smooth and calculated, the voice of a man used to weighing death and victory by numbers.

"If Carles is in their hands, they’ll reach Meander Pass within a fortnight—less if they control the town’s stockpiles and draft the locals into labor." He paused.

"If they cross Hainai and take the town of Fereya, Northem’s northern spine will snap. Zura won’t need to lift a blade."

"But if they instead opt to take the other towns at the eastern slopes of Alta-Sierra, we will have more time to prepare."

Whispers stirred. Fereya was no mere town—it was a key defense of the capital.

Reuben’s jaw tightened. "Then we cannot let them reach it."

A low voice echoed from the back.

"You cannot stop them with bluster, my dear grandchild. Nor with generals who lose towns to bed-warmers."

It was Dakota again, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His words struck like frostbite.

General Marlon surged to his feet, fire back in his blood. "Say what you mean, old man!"

"I already have." Dakota met his glare without flinching. "And I’ll say more. This court is blind if it does not understand the war is already here. Not one front—but two. Zura watches while Estalis distracts you. You are being pulled apart."

Lord Malik slammed his fist on the armrest. "Then speak, Prince Dakota! What would you have us do? Kneel to Zura? Sue for peace with Estalis while they intend to sit in our cities?"

Dakota tilted his head, as if disappointed rather than angered.

"I would have you think, boy."

The insult hung heavy in the air.

Reuben stood slowly, and for a moment he seemed far older than his years.

"This room has no space left for pride or blame. Only for action. We cannot retake Carles—not yet—but we can cut off their march."

He turned to his defense minister. "Mobilize the Eagle Team, the 1st and 5th Divisions. I want a blockade at the southern hills of Carles by nightfall. Dig in. Bleed them if they move south.

Prime Minister Defensor bowed. "As you command."

Reuben looked to Malik. "You will ride to Fereya with reinforcements. Fortify it. If the river is crossed, burn the bridge. Nothing passes from the east."

"And me?" Marlon asked, his voice low.

Reuben fixed him with a long, unreadable stare. "You go to Fereya and work with Lord Malik. You are relieved of direct command—until I decide what to do with you."

Marlon’s lips parted as if to protest, but he thought better of it. He saluted stiffly, turned, and walked out of the room like a man being led to exile.

As he left, Dakota murmured, almost to himself, "His son is not the first man to fall to a woman. But he might be the first to lose a kingdom for it."

Reuben ignored him. He walked down from the dais, his steps purposeful, his voice low but forceful.

"This council is not adjourned. We will reconvene at dusk. Bring maps. Bring messengers. And bring your loyalty."

He paused, glancing around the room.

"Because I swear by the crown and my blood—if anyone here is found to have conspired with Estalis or Zura... I will not wait for a trial."

And with that, he swept from the throne room, his cloak snapping behind him like a banner in the wind.