Through the thick, iron-banded wooden doors, Duke heard the voice that had orchestrated his near-execution: Duke Marlowe.
"The King suspects nothing," Marlowe's voice was a confident, aristocratic drawl, laced with smug satisfaction. "Verin's arrest was an unfortunate and clumsy spectacle, but it changes little. He was a pawn, and he has been removed from the board."
Duke Theron, Elias, Gareth, and the three Royal Guards were pressed against the cold stone wall outside the fortress's great hall. They had moved like ghosts through the fortress, their infiltration a success. Now, they listened, the fate of the kingdom being decided just a few feet away.
A second voice, one that made Duke's blood run cold, spoke up. It was Count Ashford, Seraphina's father. "What of the Princess? My sources say she has been investigating. She knows more than she should."
"The Princess has been contained," Marlowe replied dismissively. "My men were tasked with ensuring she did not reach her father tonight. A tragic accident, a kidnapping gone wrong… the story will be whatever we need it to be."
Duke and Elias exchanged a dark look. Marlowe believed Elara was already dead or captured. He had no idea she had reached the King.
A third voice, this one female and sharp as glass, belonged to Lady Morvane. "And Duke Theron? He was released. He is a loose end."
"A minor complication," Marlowe scoffed. "A disgraced Duke with no allies. By the time he realizes the true scope of our plans, we will have already moved. He is irrelevant."
"Then when do we strike?" a fourth voice, belonging to Baron Drest, asked impatiently.
"Three days," Marlowe announced. "During the climax of the Festival of Founders. The King will be in the grand plaza for the public ceremony, exposed and surrounded by 'his people'. It is then that we make our move. We will present our demands, backed by the forces we have already moved into the city. He will have no choice."
Elias leaned closer to Duke, his whisper barely audible. "We have what we need. The timeline, the plan. We have to get this information back to the King."
"We need more," Duke whispered back. "Names. Numbers. Their full battle plan."
***
Duke edged closer to the heavy door, finding a small crack in the wood where it met the frame. He peered through. The scene inside was like a painting of treason. Eight figures were seated around a massive oak table. He recognized them all: Duke Marlowe at the head, Count Ashford to his right, Lady Morvane, Baron Drest, and four other powerful nobles whose support could sway the entire kingdom.
A detailed map of the capital city was spread across the table. Marlowe was pointing to a section near the royal palace.
"Our forces, disguised as festival merchants and mercenaries, will already be inside the city," Marlowe explained, his finger tracing a path. "They will seize the eastern gate here, cutting off the main barracks. The loyalist guards will be overwhelmed in minutes."
"What of the Hero?" Lady Morvane asked, a note of concern in her voice. "What of Sir Elias?"
Marlowe chuckled, a low, arrogant sound. "Our dear Hero is currently on a fool's errand, chasing shadows in the north, thanks to the trail I had laid for him. By the time he returns to the capital, it will all be over."
Duke felt a grim satisfaction. Marlowe's arrogance was their greatest asset. He had no idea his "fool's errand" was listening at his door.
"And the Princess?" Count Ashford asked, his voice strained.
"I have already sent word to my agents in the capital," Marlowe said coldly. "If she somehow escaped my men tonight, she is to be silenced. Permanently. She knows too much."
Duke's blood ran cold. The assassins weren't just a contingency; they were an active threat.
"Once the King abdicates and the Regency Council is installed, I will take my place as First Regent," Marlowe continued, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "The kingdom will be stabilized under new, stronger leadership. Our leadership."
"Some will resist," Baron Drest pointed out.
"Then they will be dealt with," Marlowe said simply. "This is for the future of the kingdom. A future we will shape."
Elias tugged on Duke's sleeve. "We've heard enough," he whispered urgently. "We have to—"
At that moment, one of the Royal Guards shifted his weight, his armored boot scraping against a loose stone on the floor. The sound, though quiet, echoed in the silent corridor like a thunderclap.
***
Inside the hall, the voices stopped.
"What was that?" Lady Morvane's sharp voice cut through the silence.
"Probably just a rat," Marlowe said dismissively. But then, after a moment of tense silence, he added, "Check the door."
One of the minor lords stood and strode toward the entrance. Before Duke's group could react, the heavy door swung inward. The conspirator came face to face with six armored men, swords at the ready.
There was a brief, frozen moment of mutual shock.
Duke broke the silence, a cold smile on his lips. "Good evening, gentlemen. And lady. I hope we're not interrupting."
Marlowe shot to his feet, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. "Elias? You're supposed to be in the northern hills! How did you—"
"Duke Marlowe, Count Ashford, and all the rest of you," Elias said, stepping into the room, his voice ringing with authority. "In the name of King Aldric, you are under arrest for high treason."
Marlowe stared at him for a second, then burst into bitter laughter. "Arrest us? With what? Six men? Against the thirty I have in this fortress?" He raised his hand and gave a sharp signal.
The doors at the far end of the hall burst open, and Marlowe's personal soldiers flooded in—twenty men in dark steel, their swords already drawn. In seconds, Duke's small group was surrounded, a tiny island in a sea of hostile steel.
"You've made this far too easy for us," Marlowe said, his confidence restored. "You've delivered yourselves to your own execution."
***
Weapons were drawn on all sides, the air thick with the promise of violence. The six of them stood back-to-back, a tight circle of defiance.
"This fortress is surrounded by the Royal Army," Elias bluffed, his voice unwavering. "Surrender now, and you may be shown mercy."
"You're lying," Marlowe sneered. "If the army were here, I would have heard them from miles away. You came alone, desperate and foolish."
"Your plan is finished, Marlowe," Duke said, his eyes locking with the traitor's. "We know everything. The timeline, the coup, the assassination plots. The King knows."
It was Count Ashford who called his bluff. "If the King truly knew, the entire Royal Army would be at our gates, not a handful of men. You're bluffing."
"Disarm them," Marlowe commanded his soldiers. "Take them to the cells. We will decide their fate after the coup succeeds."
The soldiers began to advance, their circle tightening.
"Now would be a good time for one of your miracles," Duke muttered to Elias.
"Working on it," Elias replied through gritted teeth.
"My lord," Gareth said, his sword held steady, "if we are going to fight—"
He was cut off by a sudden commotion from outside the fortress—distant shouts, the clash of steel, and the unmistakable blast of a royal war horn.
Everyone in the room froze.
"What now?" Marlowe demanded, his face clouded with confusion.
A messenger, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, burst into the hall. "My lord! We're under attack! The Royal Army is at the gates!"
"That's impossible!" Marlowe roared.
***
Chaos erupted. Marlowe's soldiers looked to their Duke, their confidence shattered. The conspirators were on their feet, shouting in panic and disbelief.
Elias turned to Duke, a grim smile on his face. "I sent a rider back from our first night's camp," he explained quickly. "His orders were to ride for the capital and bring reinforcements if we did not send a signal of success by dawn today."
"You had a backup plan," Duke said, a newfound respect for the Hero dawning on him.
"Always," Elias replied.
The sounds of battle outside grew louder, closer. The Royal Army was storming the fortress. Marlowe, realizing his situation was hopeless, made a decision. "Fall back!" he yelled to his men. "To the inner keep! Defend the tower!"
The conspirators and their soldiers began a panicked retreat through a door at the far end of the hall. Duke's group seized the moment of confusion.
"Now!" Elias shouted.
They broke their circle, charging forward. A brief, brutal skirmish erupted as they fought their way through the retreating soldiers. Duke and Gareth moved as one, a whirlwind of parries and thrusts.
Marlowe was already gone, escaping with his core group of conspirators. But Count Ashford hesitated for a split second at the doorway. His eyes met Duke's across the chaotic room, and in them, Duke saw not defiance, but a deep, profound regret.
"Tell Seraphina…" the Count shouted over the din. "Tell her I'm sorry!"
Then he too was gone, fleeing into the fortress corridors.
***
Royal soldiers were now pouring into the great hall, quickly subduing the last of Marlowe's men. A captain of the guard found Elias, saluting sharply.
"Sir! The King sent us with all haste! Princess Elara sent an urgent warning—she escaped an assassination attempt at the palace!"
"The Princess is alive?" Elias asked, relief washing over his face.
"Yes, sir. She is safe in the palace," the captain confirmed.
Duke let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Elara was safe.
"Duke Marlowe and the main conspirators," Elias said, his focus snapping back to the present. "They're fleeing toward the north tower."
"There's a postern gate there," Duke realized, his game knowledge providing the final piece of the puzzle. "A secret exit. They're going to escape."
"Not if we catch them first," Elias declared.
Without another word, Duke, Gareth, and Elias broke into a run, charging through the hall and into the corridors leading toward the north tower. Behind them, the sounds of the fortress being secured echoed through the stone halls.
Duke Marlowe was running out of fortress—and out of options.