"Ilvaran has fallen," the King declared, in a heavy voice carrying through the chamber like a tolling bell. The words struck the air like stones cast into still water, sending ripples of dread across every face. "It is confirmed! Their capital has been taken down. Survivors report seeing Drayce Vortalis himself walking through it's ashes."
A stunned silence followed after the King's words. Some among the gathered gasped others muttered curses under their breath while a few turned their eyes aside in the torchlight's wavering glow, calculating distances of their lands from Ilvaran.
"Perhaps," Lord Cannor Duskfall proposed, "we should accept the principles of yielding to Drayce. Submission may yet grant us survival."
Lady Olivia snapped her fan shut with a sharp crack.
"How interesting!" Olivia turned around to exclaim, "Truly, spoken like a man who mistakes cowardice for wisdom," she retorted coolly. "You would trade your crown for a leash and call it survival. Tell me, Lord Duskfall, when you kneel will you beg for your lands, or for your life?"
"You speak boldly for someone hiding behind—"
Cannor almost rebuked loosing his composure, but before he could finish, the young duke with fur adorning his neck rose abruptly striking the table with his both hands which produced a sharp crack that echoed through the chamber commanding attention without a single word.
"We must do more than merely surviving," he declared. "If any among you still cling to comfort then know this, such things will not shield you from the coming storm. We can only be saved by the truth, forged in necessity and bound by our will. We seal this accord, here and now. Let pride and old grievances be buried beneath the weight of what must be done."
"If Drayce Vortalis turns his gaze upon us…" he paused thoughtfully, "then let him see not fractured thrones and faltering hearts, but a realm reborn in unity, steadfast, defiant, and unyielding."
All of the dignitaries, as if gripped by a shared glimpse of an ominous future, couldn't agree more on what the duke said. Pride, old wounds, and border grudges faded beneath the shadow of a name that burned kingdoms to the ground. Heads nodded as agreements were already being drawn in their minds.
But not everyone was at ease.
The minister who had delivered the news still stood near the king with a furrow deepening between his brows. His fingers shifted restlessly at his sides and though he tried to remain composed, his discomfort was plain.
Which was when Callisto noticed him, "Speak plainly," he commanded. "There's more, isn't there?"
The minister hesitated for a while visibly torn between duty and fear. But there was no easy silence now, not when the room was watching him.
"Yes, Your Highness," he said at last, his voice steadying though it trembled at the edges. "A second report has reached us... yet unverified, but most troubling. It is said that Drayce's command tent has been abandoned for days. His officers continue as if all is normal, but....but, no one's seen him. Not since past few days."
The minister's eyes flicked toward the prince. "And… the nearest kingdom to Ilvaran is ours. Our Elarion sits directly in his path. If he isn't at his camp-"
" then he could be already moving," Callisto took the words out of his mouth. "Toward us."
The minister inclined his head gravely. "Indeed, Your Highness. The man is notorious as a phantom in flesh, master of concealment and disguise. And if, by ill fate, he walks among us unseen…" he faltered and added "then peril is far closer than any of our walls."
Some envoys shifted in their seats; Duke of Winterlake, however, remained unmoved.
When he spoke, his voice was harder, "I do not believe he will come here," he said full in resolve. "Not now. And if he should, he will find no sanctuary from what awaits him."
"Not this time," said the duke before he continued to say, "Not against all of us."
"And we have taken one of his principal lieutenants," he heard Callisto's speaking, "The infamous Rhiven has been seized."
A sharp gasp fluttered through the chamber. From the far side came a muttered question, hardly louder than the torchlight's hiss: "The-the Hound of War-Grounds?"
"Indeed," Callisto replied. "He proved no match for the Princess. He will be put to the rope at first light tomorrow."
"If Dracye walks among us now, let him see what happens to those who serve him, his right hand will fall and there will be nothing he can do to save him." he said after a pause.
A few nods followed in agreement and the dignitaries exchanged positive glances. "Of course he wouldn't come here," they assured themselves. Who, in their right mind, would stride into a lion's den wrapped in nothing but pride?
And that comforting thought in its logic, gilded with the illusion of safety was precisely what made them fools. Because unknown to them, he was already there with a step ahead of them all.
Dracye moved through the tunnels beneath the very chamber where the council convened. Blackridge Hold unlike the popular belief of being a prison was far more than that. Its foundations hid a labyrinth of stone corridors and buried halls, interwoven with secret passages and concealed exits known only to a select few.
***
On either side of wall there were lanterns fixed to hold the light in them during the continuous darkness. The flickering torchlight painted shadows across the damp stone walls as a man passed through the corridor. The dungeon reeked of rust and rot and old blood. It was not the worst place he'd been, but far from tolerable. He'd spent the better part of the day threading through this maze listening, watching, slipping between guards and whispers alike all to trace the whereabouts of his right hand man.
And now at last, he stood before it. But he clenched his jaw.
"So close!", he whispered it in the air tightening his fist.
Dracye exhaled slowly but froze as a cold steel kissed the base of his spine. His eyes darkened instantly and murder flashed through them like a reflex. A soft voice spoke from his behind.
"Raise your hands. Slowly."
***
The corridors of Blackridge were quieter now after long hours of talk and tension. It was well past midnight.
The man adorning a white fur moved through the dimly lit passage, his boots echoed faintly across the stone floor. Most of the dignitaries had remained in the upper chambers taking a brief rest before the council resumed after exhaustion from hours of strategy and argument. But the young duke's mind refused the peace of rest. The long discussion had left him thoughtful.
He wandered deeper into the veins of Blackridge, tracing its cold, ancient walls. He remembered Callisto telling him once, "No one truly knows who built this hold. My forefathers believed it was the work of something beyond men, outer beings, perhaps."
He did not believed it at that time, but standing here now and seeing the massive underground structure and the impossible precision of its tunnels, he wasn't so sure.
He ran a gloved hand along the cold wall, inspecting and expecting for some secret to open. He was allowed this freedom to roam beyond council chambers as an unspoken privilege granted to him by friendship rather than title. He and Callisto had once studied together under the same old tactician, where their bond grew.
The hold not only contained web of tunnels, but also chambers and vast openings. Now he came upon one such space, it was a hall that stretched two stories deep into the stone. He stepped closer to the edge of the upper level and looked down.
"Well, well… who do we have here sneaking around?" he tutted in a dull tone while looking at the person he had caught with his eyes.
Below, a lone guard moved strangely across the lower floor. He was short in stature and he wasn't patrolling. He was moving oddly from one side of the room to the other, running his hands along the walls as if searching for something.
The duke descended silently to the lower floor making sure his boots does not make any sound against the stone. Once there, he moved closer, reducing the distance between them until he stood just behind the guard. The guard was still busy searching the walls, unaware that a man now stood behind him. The duke noticed the guard's head barely reached his shoulder.
"What do you think you're doing here?"
But the reply or reaction that came next surprised him, the young duke from the foreign nation.
The guard jumped of fright, squeaking softly. The ill-fitted helmet slipped off and clattered across the stone before she turned around sharply, making the sound echo in the hall.
She looked at the tall man who stood there with a passive expression on his face. She stared at him and he stared right back at her. He caught a lady!