The throne room of Solace hung in the kind of silence that follows a massacre, thick, watchful, waiting for the new King to speak. Kale Voss lounged on the raised obsidian throne that had crushed centuries of Solace kings beneath its weight, one leg slung carelessly over the armrest, fingers drumming a slow, impatient rhythm against the carved surface.
Sunlight speared through tall stained-glass windows, shattering across the marble in fractured reds and golds, yet none of the warmth reached the icy glint in his eyes.
Rhea stood three measured steps below the dais, posture flawless, crimson-and-black armor still pristine in condition. She inclined her head, voice smooth and deliberate, the tone one uses when delivering news that might cost the messenger her tongue.
"My lord," she began, "Prince Aster has vanished. As you know, he was present when the king swore fealty, yet by dawn his chambers were empty. Every guard swears he simply walked alone through the eastern gate."
A muscle twitched in Kale's jaw, sharp enough to cut glass, but he held his silence. Rhea continued without pause.
"And Princess Shia never appeared last night. The girl delivered to your chambers dissolved into frost the instant the doors closed. A clone. The real princess escaped before the palace ever fell."
The crack of Kale's palms slamming against the throne's armrests echoed like twin thunderclaps.
The obsidian groaned beneath the sudden force, spider-web fractures racing outward from his fingers.
Sylvara moved before anyone else could breathe.
Silk whispered over marble as she crossed the distance in three fluid strides and slid onto the wide arm of the throne beside him. One hand cupped his cheek, turning his face to hers; the other settled gently over his white-knuckled fist.
She pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another to the clenched line of his jaw, her touch feather-light yet impossibly grounding. Her thumb traced small, soothing circles against his skin until the violet light dimmed and the tremor in his shoulders eased by slow degrees.
"Breathe, love," she murmured against his ear, voice honey and smoke. "They were never the prize. The kingdom is already yours."
Kale exhaled through his teeth, the sound ragged and furious, but he leaned into her touch all the same. She didn't truly understand what it meant to let them slip away. More puppets meant more existence level, more power, more everything.
Still, her presence dulled the edge just enough.
"You're right," he said at last, voice smoothing back into oiled steel. "We'll find them later."
He straightened, gaze sweeping the hall until it landed on King Caelum and Prince Draven standing at rigid attention below the dais, faint, dazed smiles on their faces, eyes shining with the utter devotion of the perfectly enslaved.
"Caelum," Kale commanded, "continue governing exactly as you have for the last five centuries. Nothing changes for the people. Taxes, laws, festivals, keep them fat and happy.
Draven, keep the armies drilling. I want them sharp when I decide to use them. Understood?"
Both puppets bowed in perfect unison. "As you command, my lord," they answered together, voices overlapping like echoes in an empty tomb.
Kale rose. Sylvara slid gracefully to her feet beside him, her hand still resting lightly on his arm. Rhea fell into step on his other side as they descended the dais and strode toward the towering doors that led out into the palace corridors. The heavy slabs boomed shut behind them, sealing the throne room once more in its watchful silence.
Only then did Sylvara speak again, voice low and satisfied, fingers brushing the inside of his wrist.
"Your mother sent word this morning. The next kingdom is ready. Darklight sits ripe across the Ashen Strait. As usual, Queen Sonna believes it will fall in a single night."
Kale's smile returned, slow and sharp as a drawn blade. "Good. Then we leave at dusk."
----
Several kingdoms away, Queen Sonna sat inside a swaying carriage, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, her sister Yonna lounging opposite her with arms crossed and one brow arched in familiar judgement.
"Sister… seriously, why does it feel like we're always rushing?" Yonna asked, voice laced with the same teasing concern she had worn for decades. She might mock Sonna's methods, but she hated watching her sister sell herself to half of Elaris.... or even more.
Sonna sighed, exhaustion bleeding through the perfect mask she wore for the world.
'Even If I wanted to... Explaining would change nothing; these chains that bind me are already forged.' She thought before speaking aloud.
"Kale has the potential to stand above it all," she said at last, voice calm and hollow. "I'm simply doing my duty as a mother."
Yonna rolled her eyes. "And next stop?"
"The Velora Kingdom," Sonna replied, turning to stare out the small window as rolling hills blurred past. "Ruled by King Alaric and Queen Sara. Apparently that fool has begun turning his fortunes around. A few days ago, they claimed ninety percent of Thalor, land, treasury, everything."
Yonna leaned forward. "Velora? That will be our sixth unranked kingdom, Sonna. If we ever want real progress, we have to aim higher."
Sonna offered no answer. She simply watched the road stretch onward, carrying her toward the next crown she would help her son place on their growing soon to be empire, one sleepless night at a time.