CHAPTER 473: PRINCE WITHOUT A CROWN

Two towering men strode through the monumental doors of the Chamber of the Council, their shadows spilling across the polished marble floor as the heavy bronze hinges groaned. Inside, the chamber was alive with the murmur of generals, nobles, and courtiers gathered for deliberations before the banquet.

The newcomers walked with unyielding poise, their backs straight, their bearing regal. All eyes turned as they advanced, step by deliberate step, until they halted before Alaric.

Alaric’s voice rang out, commanding attention. "Everyone, I present to you Prince Aragon and Prince Vaskar, the last surviving heirs of the fallen Delmar dynasty."

Gasps rippled through the chamber like a storm on the high seas.

Espiyor, standing rigid among the knights, nearly stumbled in shock. His mind reeled—these were not strangers. These were Angus and Aramis, Alaric’s sworn guards. He remembered the days of his youth, when he mocked and bullied them, until the years forged them into warriors stronger than himself and he could no longer bully them.

"Your Highness... this must be some joke," Lord Malik stammered, his voice quivering with disbelief.

But before Alaric could reply, another voice rose with solemn authority. "Prince Alaric speaks the truth," said General Odin. "This is Prince Aragon, firstborn of Estalis, and beside him stands his younger brother, Prince Vaskar. On the night Estalis fell, they alone escaped the slaughter of their royal kin. Now Prince Aragon seeks to reclaim his throne."

The declaration stirred unease. Grio Defensor, stripped of his former power as Prime Minister yet clinging to remnants of authority, stepped forward. "So he would reclaim Estalis by wielding Northem as his blade?" he challenged, his words sharp as steel.

Alaric’s gaze hardened like drawn steel, and Grio’s voice faltered, but the doubt he planted spread like fire through dry grass.

"Deputy Defense Minister, Grio speaks truth," Lord Malik muttered. "Once Estalis is restored, what assurance do we have that they won’t turn upon Northem?"

Grio gritted his teeth. Why did Malik have to emphasize his title? Was he rubbing salt into the wound and reminding everyone that he had received a demotion?

Alaric’s eyes flashed. His tone cut through the rising murmurs. "Aragon—Angus, as you knew him—has bled for me time and again. He has stood between me and death more times than I can count. His loyalty is proven."

"But that was as your guard," Malik countered, his voice firm. "Now it is different. His crown binds him to Estalis, not to us."

The chamber roared with whispers, doubt swelling into argument.

Then Prince Aragon’s voice thundered, his deep timbre resonating against the vaulted ceiling. "I, Aragon of Estalis, swear an oath before all gathered. I pledge my loyalty to Prince Alaric. I submit myself as his vassal, and I will rule Estalis beneath his banner."

The chamber fell into such silence that the faint crackle of torches could be heard. Even King Heimdal, seated upon his throne, paused in measured contemplation of the words.

Then Grio erupted, his face flushed crimson. "Absurd! How can you swear allegiance to Alaric while King Heimdal himself still reigns?"

Aragon opened his mouth to answer, but Alaric silenced him with a raised hand. "Because it is my Phoenix Legion who will march beside them. Unless the armies of Northem volunteer, my legion alone will be enough."

A storm of voices broke loose—whispers swelling into shouts as nobles clashed in opinion.

"Silence!" King Heimdal’s command boomed, echoing through the chamber like thunder. The arguments died instantly, crushed under the weight of royal authority.

"General Odin and his sons, with ten thousand soldiers, shall accompany Prince Alaric. Estalis is our ally’s cause, and their struggle is our duty. Without them, Northem would have been condemned to suffer under Turik’s tyranny."

Even Grio bowed his head, silenced at last.

The chamber did not remain silent for long. Once King Heimdal’s words settled, the murmurs resumed—lower at first, but swelling once again into sharp arguments. The council had not been pacified; it had merely been stunned.

"Your Majesty, pledges are but words," Lord Malik dipped his head to the dais’s direction as he stood, his robes flaring around him. "A man may swear allegiance today and betray tomorrow. Would you have us gamble Northem’s future on the word of a displaced prince?"

"That ’displaced prince’ saved Prince Alaric’s life more times than you’ve lifted a sword for the royalty, Malik," Kasmeri snapped, his voice breaking the usual restraint of a noble. His fists were clenched white at his sides.

"Enough!" cried General Odin. He stood tall, his armor gleaming in the torchlight. "This is not about loyalty to Alaric. This is about the throne of Estalis. If Aragon reclaims it, he becomes king in his own right.."

A hum of agreement rippled through the nobles.

Aragon, standing with the stillness of stone, finally stepped forward. His deep voice carried authority that silenced even the whispers.

"I have already spoken my oath. I do not seek a crown unbound. I seek to restore Estalis so it may no longer be a bleeding wound that weakens this land. And I will do it beneath the banner of Northem, beneath Prince Alaric."

But Grio Defensor’s laughter broke the solemn air. "Fine words. Oaths and banners! Yet men who wear crowns seldom keep to their promises. I’ve seen too many rulers swear fealty in desperation, only to bare their fangs once their thrones are secure."

The words struck a nerve. A dozen voices erupted at once—some in defense of Aragon, others echoing Grio’s suspicion. The Chamber of the Council, meant for order and strategy, became a den of accusation and doubt.

King Heimdal slammed the butt of his scepter against the floor.

"Enough!" His voice cut through the cacophony, though not all fell silent. "This is not the time for squabbling like market fools. Northem shall march, that decision is mine. But if mistrust festers, it will rot this alliance before it even begins."

Alaric stepped forward then, his cloak flaring, his gaze sharp as tempered steel.

"If you doubt Aragon’s loyalty, then doubt mine as well—for it was I who raised him from the ashes, I who trusted him with my life, and I who stand beside him now."

That statement set the chamber aflame once more. Some lords recoiled, unwilling to confront Alaric directly, but others muttered darkly of his arrogance, of a prince once neglected but drawing too much power to himself.

Beyond the heavy doors of the council chamber, Lara leaned against the stone wall, listening. Her lips curved into a knowing smile."So," she whispered, her eyes gleaming, "this is the dawn of Alaric’s empire."