Chapter 6. Shackles and Shadows

"You're Foolish to think that Leo isn't a threat Your Grace"

-Lord Varus to Queen Anna

My P.O.V

Midnight hung heavy over Elria when they came for me.

I awoke to the soft creak of my chamber door opening, the flickering candlelight revealing a hooded figure stepping inside. Ser Daudalus.

He moved like a wraith, his presence barely stirring the air. Behind him, several Royal Guards followed, their hands already gripping their weapons. I didn’t resist. The moment I saw Daudalus, I knew Queen Anna had finally made her move.

He did not speak. He never did.

Cold iron shackles snapped around my wrists, the weight familiar but no less infuriating. The guards grabbed my arms and dragged me from my chamber, my boots scraping against the cold stone.

As we passed through the dimly lit corridors, I spotted a lone figure at the far end of the hall. Ser Gildas.

His expression was unreadable, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. He said nothing, but his keen eyes followed every movement. He knew this was a trap. He knew what was coming.

I had no doubt that he would go straight to Aria.

By the time I was thrown before Prince Devran, dawn was still hours away.

The throne room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by flickering torches. Their glow cast jagged shadows against the towering stone pillars, making the room feel even colder.

Devran sat upon the throne, but he did not look victorious. He looked angry.

To his left, Queen Anna, ever the puppet master, observed in silence, her expression sharp as a blade. To his right, Prince Leo leaned lazily against his seat, amusement flickering in his gaze.

Behind them, Royal Guards stood ready, hands gripping their swords. This was no trial. It was a test—one meant to break me.

A guard’s hand pressed down on my shoulder, forcing me to kneel. My shackles clinked against the marble floor.

Devran wasted no time.

"Where is the letter?" His voice was like a hammer striking steel.

I remained silent.

His grip on the throne tightened. "I will not ask again, Alaric."

Still, I said nothing.

The tension in the air thickened. Then, as expected, Ser Midryn stepped forward, ever the ambitious snake.

"It is clear, Your Highness, that Alaric is hiding something." His voice carried the certainty of a man who had already made up his mind. "I saw it myself—he received a letter from Duke Eadric. He did not hesitate to take it, as if they had been in communication all along."

I scoffed, barely containing my disdain.

But Midryn wasn’t finished. He turned toward Devran, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "And let us not forget his reputation. A bastard. An outcast. The only one here with a true connection to Eadric."

He took a slow step toward me, lowering his tone as if whispering a dark truth. "It is clear, my princes, that Alaric plots against the Crown."

I chuckled dryly, shaking my head. "You must be desperate, Midryn, if you think fabricating lies will earn you favor."

His smirk twitched. "We shall see how much of it is a lie when the executioner has his turn."

Then the doors slammed open.

Aria stormed in, her hair loose, her emerald eyes burning with fury.

The tension in the room shifted immediately. Guards hesitated, some even glancing at Devran for orders. No one expected Princess Aria to arrive like this—wearing only her nightgown and a thick cloak hastily thrown over her shoulders.

But she did not care.

She stopped before the throne, her hands clenched into fists. "What is the meaning of this?"

Devran exhaled sharply. "Aria, this does not concern you—"

"Like hell it doesn't!" she snapped, stepping closer. "You had him dragged here in chains like a common criminal! What has he done?"

Queen Anna spoke then, her voice smooth as silk. "Your brother refuses to hand over a letter that was given to him by Duke Eadric. His silence is damning."

Aria’s eyes flickered toward me, searching my face.

I met her gaze but said nothing.

She turned back to Devran, voice sharper now. "So he is guilty because he will not speak? Because Midryn—of all people—accuses him?"

Midryn’s smug grin faltered slightly.

Aria pressed on. "If there is evidence, present it! Or shall we start executing people simply because we suspect them?"

Devran's frustration boiled over. "This is not a game, Aria! This is treason! If Alaric sides with Eadric, he—"

"If," she repeated mockingly, stepping even closer. "If. But he has not. Because he is here. Because I called for him. Not Eadric. Me."

Silence.

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Devran gritted his teeth, glancing toward Queen Anna. He did not know what to say. He had expected me to break under pressure. He had expected me to lash out.

But Aria had forced him into a corner.

She turned to the guards. "Release him."

The guards hesitated, looking toward Devran.

Aria’s voice turned ice-cold. "I said—release him."

Still, they did not move.

I saw it then—Devran’s weakness.

Even as Crown Prince, he could not bring himself to directly oppose Aria when she stood firm. He turned his gaze toward Queen Anna, waiting for her to intervene.

And she did.

"Enough." Anna’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a dagger.

She stood, moving with the grace of a queen who knew she still held the real power in this room. Her sharp eyes locked onto mine. "Keep the chains on him. He will remain in the dungeons until we decide what is to be done with him."

Aria took a step forward. "No. I will not allow it."

Queen Anna smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "You have no authority here, little girl."

"And neither do you," a new voice spoke.

Ser Gildas.

Every head turned.

The Old Knight stood at the entrance, his sword drawn.

The Royal Guards stiffened, gripping their weapons, but they did not dare attack.

And for the first time that night—Queen Anna’s expression faltered.

Ser Gildas stepped forward, his presence like a storm rolling in. "You act as though the King is still alive, my Queen. But he is not."

His gaze swept across the room. "And no matter what schemes you weave, Aria is still a Princess of Gulvia. And I still serve her. So I suggest you let the boy go before I have to remind these guards who I am."

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then—finally—Devran let out a frustrated sigh and waved a hand.

"Release him."

The guards hesitated, but obeyed.

The chains fell from my wrists.

I rose to my feet, my muscles aching, but I did not falter. I looked at Devran, then at Queen Anna, memorizing their faces.

This would not be the end.

This was only the beginning

For the first time since I had returned to Elria, I had stood against Devran and the Queen—and it felt good. Not just because I had defied them, but because, for once, I had refused to play their game. I had always been forced to endure, to swallow my pride, to pretend their insults and schemes did not touch me.

But tonight, I had not bowed.

That small victory lingered as I finally returned to my chambers. The tension in my shoulders had lessened, but I knew better than to feel relief. Queen Anna was not the kind of woman to forget an insult.She would rather die than allow me to win.

I collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion weighing me down like armor. My body ached, not from battle, but from the weight of court politics—the invisible war fought with whispers, chains, and lies.

And yet, as my mind drifted, I was not in the palace anymore.

I was in Alverton.

The dream was always the same.

The burning city. The scent of charred flesh.

The bodies.

The battlefield stretched before me, littered with my fallen comrades—faces I once knew, men who had fought beside me, all reduced to rotting flesh in the mud. The screams of the dying echoed in my ears, a never-ending chorus of suffering.

I saw Garrik, a friend of mine who once laughed with me around the campfire, now missing half his skull. Elyas, a boy no older than sixteen, whose body had been torn apart by northern steel. Captain Reiner, my commander, the man who once told me I had the makings of a great warrior, impaled on a broken spear.

I tried to move, but my legs felt like they were wading through blood. The smoke choked my lungs, and the fire turned the sky into a hellish red.

Then, I heard the voices.

“Bastard…”

“You should have died with them…”

“Traitor…”

The words slithered around me, faceless, cruel, relentless.

I turned and saw Queen Anna’s smile, cold and sharp like a dagger. Devran’s glare, full of barely contained rage. Leo’s smirk, the look of a man waiting for his moment.

And behind them—Aria.

But her face was not angry. It was pained.

“Why didn’t you save them, Alaric?”

I tried to reach for her, but the battlefield swallowed me whole.

I woke with a gasp, my hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, too bright, too harsh. My heartbeat was still racing, my body drenched in sweat. The scent of burning flesh still lingered in my mind, a phantom that refused to leave.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.

It had been years since Alverton.

But the past never truly leaves.

I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples. The time had passed too fast. The nightmares always made it feel that way—one moment I closed my eyes, and the next, the sun was already rising.

But I did not have time to dwell on it.

Today would be critical.

After what had happened last night, I needed to be ready, wary, cautious and prepared. Queen Anna was not the type to back down.

She would strike again.

And this time, she would not fail.

The halls of the castle were unnervingly quiet. The wake had drained the court, leaving only the occasional patrolling guards moving through the corridors like ghosts. I stepped lightly, my boots barely making a sound against the cold stone floor.

Today was the last day of King Valero’s wake. Tomorrow, he would be buried, and the day after that, Devran would be crowned. Time was slipping through my fingers. Once Devran wore the crown, it would be nearly impossible to challenge him—Anna would ensure it.

I needed answers.

I bypassed Aria’s quarters. A faint glow from inside told me she was awake, likely preparing for the morning’s court affairs. She would be with the Queen and my brothers soon, sharing a morning meal she barely tolerated.

The air in the halls felt heavier than usual. The silence was too perfect. My instincts tensed.

A group of soldiers passed me, their faces unreadable. One gave me a slight nod—acknowledgment, perhaps, or just a courtesy. I returned it, keeping my expression neutral. Even among the castle guards, I could no longer be certain of my allies.

I moved swiftly through the corridors, heading toward the Royal Guard quarters. If there was one man who could give me insight into what came next, it was Ser Gildas. Unlike Aria, he was not bound by courtly constraints—he had no need for pleasantries or careful maneuvering. He had lived too long, fought too many wars, to waste words on anything but the truth.

When I reached the quarters, I pushed open the heavy wooden door. The scent of oil, steel, and damp stone filled my nose.

Ser Gildas sat at the wooden table, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate strokes. He didn’t look up as I entered the Royal Guard quarters, but I knew he had been expecting me. He had been there last night—he had seen everything.

“You held yourself well,” he said after a moment, his gravelly voice breaking the silence.

I exhaled sharply, pulling up a chair across from him. “I stood my ground.”

“Aye,” he nodded. “And for the first time since you returned, you finally looked like a man unwilling to be trampled.” He inspected the edge of his sword. “But that won’t stop Anna.”

I scoffed. “It never has.”

Gildas placed the whetstone down and met my gaze. “You saw Devran’s temper last night. That boy is cracking under the weight of his crown before he’s even placed it on his head.”

I leaned forward. “That’s why I need to know what comes next. Anna won’t stop at humiliating me—she’ll push for Devran to remove me before the coronation. If I let them strike first, I might not live long enough to strike back.”

Gildas studied me carefully. “You want information?”

“I need it.”

He nodded slowly. “The Queen has the lords of Elria behind her, but they care more for their own positions than her ambitions. She will move quickly, knowing her grip on power depends on crowning Devran without delay. After the events last night, she’ll do what she must to secure her son’s reign.” He set his sword aside. “And you? You have Aria.”

I sighed. “For how long? She’s fighting for me, but she’s not safe either. If she’s not careful, Anna will find a way to silence her too.”

Gildas rubbed his jaw, deep in thought. “That's impossible, Although the Princess have protecting you ever since, she wouldn't dare to hurt her own daughter. Devran will never allow it.”

Ser Gildas had a worried look on his face, and then speaks once again.

"And Boy, you need to becareful I was in the dungeons this past few days and Overheard something—voices in the dark, speaking in hushed tones. They didn’t recognize me, and I didn’t recognize them, but I heard enough.”

My jaw tightened. “What did they say?”

“They were talking about you.” Gildas leaned forward. “Not just watching you—killing you.”

A cold weight settled in my chest. I had expected Anna to act against me, but this quickly?

“They weren’t guards,” Gildas continued. “Could’ve been assassins, could’ve been mercenaries. But whoever they were, they had orders. Someone wants you dead before Devran wears the crown.”

I exhaled slowly. “Anna.”

“Most likely.” Gildas’s voice was grim. “She won’t stop now. You embarrassed her in court, and that alone is enough to put your head on a pike. But this? This is different. She’s moving fast, and that means you don’t have much time.”

My hands clenched into fists. The trial in the throne room had been a warning, but now the real game had begun. Anna wasn’t going to wait for politics to resolve this—she wanted me gone before Devran was crowned.

I had to move first.

Queen Anna's P.O.V

The candlelight flickered against the cold stone walls, casting restless shadows across my chamber. Lord Varus stood before me, his face grim, his tone measured but edged with unease.

“The arrest of Alaric has caused an uproar among the commoners,” he said. “While some lords support it, others hesitate. There is doubt in the air, Your Grace.”

I clenched my jaw. Of course, there was doubt. There was always doubt when it came to that boy. He should have died years ago, yet here he was—breathing, defying, poisoning everything I had built.

“Alaric is a threat,” Varus continued. “Soldiers and common folk alike are rioting in the streets, cursing the Royal Family. Some are calling him the rightful heir.”

I scoffed. “Rightful heir? He is a stain on my husband’s honor.” I leaned forward, folding my hands on the table. “Then he must die before the coronation.”

Varus hesitated. I hated that hesitation. “That will not be easy, Your Grace. Too many influential people shield him. Princess Aria, Ser Gildas… and others who dare not speak openly but would act if harm comes to him.”

Aria. The girl had always been too sentimental, too foolishly attached to that bastard. And Gildas—old, stubborn, clinging to an oath he swore to a dead king. Obstacles, all of them.

“I cannot abandon what I started,” I said, my voice cold and sharp. “Do you understand, Varus? Alaric must die before Devran takes the crown. Once my son is king, there can be no question of his rule.”

Varus exhaled through his nose. “He may be a bastard, but he is still the king’s eldest son.”

“And that is precisely why he cannot be allowed to live.” I met his gaze, unwavering. “It does not matter that he has no claim. A king’s bastard has no right to linger when his brother takes the throne. So long as Alaric draws breath, he is a symbol for rebels, a rallying cry for those who would challenge Devran.”

Varus bowed his head slightly. He knew I was right.

“If an assassination is too dangerous, we must find another way,” I continued. “We will break him. Strip him of his allies. Make him the traitor in the eyes of the realm. By the time Devran is crowned, Alaric will not just be unwanted—he will be despised.”

Varus nodded. “I will see it done.”

He turned to leave, but I remained seated, my gaze fixed on the flickering candle. Alaric had survived too long, slipping through the cracks like a cockroach. But I had crushed men greater than him.

Before the coronation, I would crush him too.

"They call me tyrant, they call me butcher—yet they kneel all the same."

-King Arthur the Conqueror