Only three days remained before the coronation. Abiri sat surrounded by stacks of documents, meticulously charting defence formations. Rya entered, clutching a bundle of papers.
"Good news—we've decoded the carvings," she announced, handing them over.
"Well done," Abiri said, scanning the documents.
Rya continued. "The codes assign positions and movement times for the rebel army. Under the guise of inspecting tributes, we copied every symbol and tracked the destinations of the goods. From that, we've learned there are fifty units of thirty-five to forty men each, all assigned to strategic positions. The map shows they're set to surround every palace gate. That's roughly fifteen hundred men. And worse—we still don't know how many of the royal guards are loyal to Sir Whir, or how many traitors are hiding among the palace maids and attendants."
"We don't have time to root out the traitors inside," Abiri said coldly. "First, we deal with the rebels outside. Once the coronation is done, we'll purge the palace. Come—let's report to the emperor."
Egon Cree, Conall Arlo, Abiri Arlo and Rya Sienna stood around a table. A map was spread across the table. The ink markings of rebel positions glinting faintly under the lamplight.
"We must not scatter our strength," Abiri began. "If we attempt to fight them at every gate, our forces will be thinned, and the traitors inside will strike amidst the confusion."
Rya leaned closer, pointing to the eastern side of the palace. "If we allow one company through—Idris' group here—we can trap them within the outer courtyard. Once they step inside, we seal the gates and cut off their retreat. Their capture will not only weaken the rebels but also reveal their plans."
Abiri nodded. "Yes. Let them think their infiltration has succeeded. Meanwhile, our main force will surround the city perimeter and intercept the rest before they reach their stations. The moment the first unit falls into our trap, the signal will be given, and the others will be crushed."
Rya hesitated. "What of the guards who may already be compromised?"
"We will not warn them," Emperor said firmly. "The loyal will hold their posts; the traitors will expose themselves by their actions. Either way, we will know who stands with us after that day."
Abiri added, "Since my appointment as Head of the Royal Guard—and Sir Whir's arrest—has not yet been made public, we can assume the guards are secure, or at least unable to send messages. On the coronation day, I will stay around Adan Osvaldo and other governors and immediately arrest him when he makes his move. Rya will command the arrests beyond the palace walls, leading the Shadow Watchers and City Watch. Baoz Callum is father's trusted general in his troop. He will lead the arrest of rebel company inside the palace, along with the royal and palace guards."
Silence hung between them for a moment, the weight of the coming struggle heavy in the room. Then Conall straightened, his expression resolute. "Send word to the generals. Every formation must be in place before dawn tomorrow. On the day of the coronation, the rebels will be trapped like rats in their own snare."
The coronation day dawned under the bright sky. Bells rang across the capital calling nobles and commoners alike. Inside the gates, the air was tight with nerves. Every hallway seemed to hum with tension, guards standing stiff with hands on spear and sword. No one knew who might still be loyal and who might be waiting for the right moment to betray their oath.
In the courtyard, Abiri cast one last look at her men before entering the great hall. Inside, Conall Arlo, resplendent in a golden robe, stood at the emperor's side. Egon Cree bore himself with calm dignity, while Aziza and Adeer lingered close behind. Abiri approached, her presence drawing Aziza's gaze.
"Where were you? We were looking for you in your courtyard. I though you would miss the coronation," Aziza said slowly.
Abiri smiled, "I would not miss it for the world."
The court priests began to chant the opening rites as all took their appointed places. The four governors—Hernan Dewei of Nokor, Adan Osvaldo of Khaamsa, Amo Odell of Ani, and Mykel Lazlo of Bavel—sat side by side, the weight of their offices pressing heavily upon the chamber. Behind them, their families and allies arranged themselves with strategic care. Abiri stood directly behind Adan, her gaze sharp as steel.
In the outer courtyard, the first wave of rebels arrived. They came dressed as a tribute caravan; carts stacked with barrels and cloth. But beneath the cover—shields, swords, all ready to be drawn. Their captain strutted forward, convinced their disguise had done the trick. The gatekeeper gave a nod and stepped aside. Slowly, the iron gates swung open. The rebels marched in, boots thudding against stone.
And then—Baoz raised his hand. For one heartbeat, everything froze. His fist dropped. The gates slammed shut with a thunderous crash. Chains rattled into place. From above, ropes snapped down and archers appeared, bows drawn, arrows aimed.
Panic broke loose. The rebels scrambled—some drew blades, others threw themselves at the sealed gate. Their shouts turned into chaos as royal soldiers closed in.
"Signal the perimeter!" Baoz shouted. From the balcony, a guard unfurled a crimson banner. Horns answered across the city—deep, rolling blasts like thunder. Outside the palace, rebel companies froze as city guards poured from the alleys and cavalry charged down the main streets. In moments, the hunters realized they were the prey.
The courtyard dissolved into battle. Steel rang against steel; blood spattered stone. Idris roared a command, and half the Royal Guard turned their blades on their own brothers. Yet Conall's veterans, hardened by countless campaigns, cut through them with ruthless precision.
The roar of battle shook the palace walls, in the coronation hall, panic rose.
Rowan Dewei, minister of education, leapt to his feet and called for the emperor's protection. Other ministers clamoured for Sir Whir. But the emperor raised a hand.
"It is alright. Let's wait till the battle is over," the emperor replied calmly.
An eerie silence hung in the hall. Golden banners hung from the rafters, swaying faintly with each tremor from outside. Nobles lined the chamber, dressed in their brightest silks and jewels, though their eyes betrayed the same unease that gripped the city. Murmurs passed down the rows like sparks threatening to catch fire.
Adan Osvaldo's jaw tightened. Sir Whir's absence had already unsettled him. Now, seeing the calm composure of the emperor and crown prince, he knew the truth: the plot had already failed.
Moments later Baoz entered the hall, armour smeared with dust and blood. He bowed low. "Your Majesty, the rebels are subdued. None escaped."
In desperation, Adan seized his dagger and lunged for a hostage—Aziza. But his choice proved fatal. With a crack of her whip, she lashed the blade from his hand. In the same instant Abiri drew her sword, forced him to the ground, and shoved him forward to kneel before the emperor.
Gasps rippled through the hall. Ministers stared in disbelief—not only at Adan's treachery, but at the deadly skill of the Arlo daughters. Whispers coiled around the rafters: what else had the emperor foreseen? How far did his power reach?
The emperor's voice broke the silence. "Tell me, Adan—why did you rebel?"
The question hung heavy in the hall.