Lord Auren slept uneasily.
In his dream, he saw his son, Valen, standing before a colossal black crow — its wings spread wide enough to blot out the sky. The creature's feathers dripped like tar, and its eyes shimmered like pools of obsidian.
Auren tried to call out to his son, but no return from his son.
He took a step forward, yet his boots sank deep. At first, he thought it was mud — thick and suffocating.
But as he struggled to move, he realized the truth.
It was not mud.
It was blood — dark, cursed blood that had congealed into something between liquid and earth.
Valen stood motionless on the far side, the crow looming above him like a god of death.
When Auren tried to reach out, the bird turned its head slowly toward him and stared.
The air grew heavy, and Auren's breath failed.
He woke in a jolt.
Cold sweat covered his face; his heart pounded like a war drum.
For a moment, he sat there — silent, his mind still trapped between the dream and the waking world.
Then came the knock.
"Lord Auren," a servant's voice echoed through the door. "The King awaits you in his chamber."
Auren dressed swiftly, his hands trembling as he fastened his cloak.
When he arrived before the great gates of the King's Hall, two royal guards saluted.
"You may enter, Lord Auren. His Majesty is expecting you."
He nodded wordlessly and stepped inside.
The heavy doors closed behind him with a deep thud.
Auren knelt.
"I, Auren de Noir, greet His Majesty, Darius Ardenthal."
The King's voice rolled through the chamber — smooth, commanding, unreadable.
"You may rise, Lord Auren."
And as Auren obeyed, the doors sealed shut behind him — the sound echoing like the closing of fate itself.
The King's Chamber — Two Hours Before the Ball
The King's private chamber was cloaked in the soft, amber glow of candlelight. The air smelled faintly of wine and parchment. Behind a long obsidian table sat King Darius Ardenthal, his fingers rhythmically tapping against a goblet.
When Auren entered, the sound of his boots echoed through the marble hall. He knelt with practiced grace.
"I, Auren de Noir, greet His Majesty, Darius Ardenthal."
The King's lips curved slightly.
"Rise, Lord Auren. We have much to discuss before tonight's celebration."
Auren stood, shoulders square, eyes unwavering. Darius gestured for him to approach the map spread across the table — the same one Auren had glimpsed years ago, now marked with fresh crimson ink.
"Tell me, my lord," said Darius softly, "how fares the North? The reports from the Noir Estate speak of unrest."
"The border holds firm," Auren replied. "My men remain vigilant. Any disturbance has been swiftly quelled."
The King hummed, tracing a finger along the black line of Mount Noir.
"You've done well. As expected of the kingdom's shield. Yet… a shield, no matter how strong, eventually cracks when pressed alone."
Auren's jaw tensed.
"If the Crown supports its shield, Majesty, it will not crack."
"Ah, but the realm's coffers are strained," the King countered, his tone still mild. "Even the loyal must learn to share their burdens."
The word share carried the weight of something else — submission.
Darius smiled faintly, his eyes sharp.
"I have been reviewing matters of supply, of manpower, of alliances. It may become necessary for certain houses to contribute more directly to the capital's stability."
"By stripping their own?" Auren asked, voice low but steady.
The King laughed, a hollow sound that never reached his eyes.
"Come now, Auren. You and I are too old for riddles. The Crown requires unity. And unity demands… closeness. Perhaps even bonds — sealed by blood or marriage."
He paused deliberately, letting the word marriage linger.
Then, with the faintest smirk, he added:
"Your late wife, Lady Elyra — a delicate creature, wasn't she? I often wondered how such a frail woman managed to give you three heirs before her health failed. A pity. But you, Lord Auren, are still young enough. It would be wise to find someone... sturdier this time."
The insult was wrapped in civility, but the meaning was cruelly plain.
Auren's hands tightened behind his back. For a moment, the air in the chamber grew heavy — like the calm before a blade was drawn. His heart burned, but his voice remained steady.
"If it serves the realm, Majesty," he said quietly, "I will consider it."
"Excellent," said Darius with a pleased smile. "Tonight's ball will host many esteemed guests. Old blood, new gold — opportunities to forge new trust. I'm certain a man of your wisdom will recognize where true strength lies."
Auren's lips formed something that almost resembled a smile.
"I always have, Majesty."
The King leaned back, satisfied.
"Then let us hope your children inherit your prudence... and your loyalty."
Auren bowed once more and turned to leave.
Behind him, the doors closed with a metallic echo — heavy, deliberate, final.
In that sound, Auren heard the first crack of the shield.
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