As tension rose in the council chamber, with accusations flung and voices growing sharper, a steady voice rose, calm and deep like a breeze sweeping through a firestorm."
"Your Majesty... and esteemed members of the council."
The man stood up.
"I am Kalan of House Laurentier. If I may, I wish to say a few words."
Kalan's eyes moved from face to face, not with challenge, nor with deference, but with a calm, unwavering presence."
Amara gave a small nod. A simple gesture—but one that carried a hint of relief. If anyone could bring reason back into this room, it was Kalan.
"I share Lord Gareth's view," he began, turning slightly toward the man whose very presence chilled the air around him. "To cast doubt on the loyalty of those seated at this table is, without question, an affront to Astravelle. Trust is the foundation of all we have built."
After pausing for a moment, he gave Gareth a respectful nod—a rare and meaningful sign from a man who had served three generations of rulers.
"However…"
His voice lowered, but each word seemed to ring more clearly in the silence that followed.
"What Lord Theron said isn't without reason. The Redmark tribes, nomads long scattered and broken, would not dare stir unrest in Astravelle again unless aided by unseen hands."
A brief silence followed.
No one disagreed.
"We should not act based on suspicion alone," Kalan continued, "but that doesn't mean we can ignore what's happening. I believe it would be wise to send someone to the North to investigate, alongside Duke Dorian... Such a step would not only aid us in uncovering the truth, but would also reflect Her Majesty's resolve—and honor the dignity of all who sit at this table."
He finished calmly, without pressure or judgment, but the weight of his words settled over the chamber like a stone. The anger in the room began to ease. The heat faded.
A few nobles shifted in their seats, their tempers cooling. Even Gareth, though still silent, seemed a shade less rigid.
For over forty years, Kalan Laurentier had served the royal family. He had never once needed to raise his voice.
He did not speak often. But when he did, it was with the steadiness of one who had walked alongside kings, and never once stepped out of line.
Amara gave a nod, calm and composed.
"Thank you, Lord Kalan. Your counsel is always something I value deeply."
"You've said what I hoped to express. I'm not here to accuse or cast suspicion. What I want is for all of you to stand with me in solving this matter."
Her fingers tightened slightly, still folded together.
"Peace is never eternal. If we grow complacent—resting on the laurels of those who came before us—then war shall return, its embers reigniting before we even see the smoke."
"Her Majesty speaks true!" Julian was the first to respond.
"Your Majesty," Theron said with a courteous nod. "Might I suggest sending an envoy to meet with Duke Dorian in person? It may serve us well. What are your thoughts?"
"Yes, I agree, Your Majesty," Alexsandro added quickly.
"If you command it, I can march my forces north to support the Duke," Julian offered, casting a cool glance at Alexsandro.
He never had much patience for the Marquis's pompous airs.
"Sending troops to Everfrost now would be unwise, Your Majesty."
All heads turned toward Gareth, whose face remained unreadable.
"What do you mean by that?" Julian demanded. "Do you intend to wait until Redmark is at Everfrost's gates again, like thirty years ago, before lifting a finger?"
Gareth didn't respond right away. A faint smile crossed his lips as he turned to Amara.
"Your Majesty, if we truly want to find the traitor in our midst, we cannot wipe out the nomads just yet. And moving our army north at this time isn't a smart move either. If war breaks out again in the north, we'll need a better plan."
He paused, then looked directly at the queen.
"In my view, the most suitable person to go north right now is Lord Theodor. If he agrees."
The room fell silent, caught off guard.
At last, Amara smiled softly.
"Thank you all for your insight. And especially you, Lord Gareth."
She turned to the man beside her.
"Lord Theodor, what do you think of this suggestion? Would you be willing to take on this task?"
Without hesitation, Theodor rose.
"To be entrusted by Your Majesty and the council is an honor. I'll carry out this duty to the best of my ability."
"Thank you, Lord Theodor. We'll continue this discussion once we have clearer information."
"The council is dismissed. Thank you all for attending."
The queen then turned to Julian and Theodor.
"Lord Julian, Lord Theodor—I'd like to speak with you both in my study."
She stood. "May the rest of your day be peaceful."
Gareth left quietly, followed by the slightly bewildered figure of Alexsandro.
"Looks like Lord Gareth's found himself a more reliable partner," Theron muttered as their footsteps faded.
"To be fair, Lord Alexsandro is still new to this. It's understandable," Bastian said, trying to be kind.
But Theron, ever dry, only smirked.
"Still, even we knew our place when we first stepped into this hall—unlike a certain marquis."
At that time, Gareth, still wearing his usual stern expression, strode briskly toward the main hall.
"Lord Gareth..."
He suddenly stopped in his tracks, cutting off Alexsandro's call mid-sentence.
Turning slightly, Gareth fixed the younger man with a cold, steel-gray stare.
"Alexsandro Drazel, allow me to give you a piece of advice—use that head of yours more wisely… before it parts ways with your body."
The young marquis was visibly startled by the duke's blunt words.
But… what had he done wrong?
"I—I don't understand... What did I do?" he asked himself, unsure if Gareth wasn't simply overreacting.
"You think questioning Her Majesty's decision makes you clever?" Gareth stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper by the young man's ear. "Have you already forgotten who was the one that drove Magnus Castillon into hiding?"
Their current queen had ascended the throne under the weight of doubt from nearly every noble—Gareth included. Most had believed that Magnus was far more suited for the crown than the young princess. But when the civil war ended and the so-called rightful king vanished from the stage…
She had proven herself. She wasn't just the daughter of a great king crowned by legacy—she was a ruler in her own right.
So what gave someone like Alexsandro—who had inherited everything from his father—the audacity to challenge that kind of power?
"You intend to challenge her with that tiny scrap of courage you've got?" Gareth gave him a slow, scornful once-over, then chuckled under his breath and walked away, leaving the marquis standing there, dumbfounded.
Inside the carriage, Gareth couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the headache named Alexsandro. Reckless was one thing—but thoughtless was another entirely.
"The young marquis still has a long road ahead. Perhaps he'll learn, in time, my lord."
It was Sylas who spoke—Gareth's long-serving aide.
"How did Lucius ever sire such a pompous brat?"
Gareth sighed, but the sound was brief. His expression soon returned to its usual pensive stillness.
"I'm rather curious about Dorian's letter."
"You suspect something?"
Gareth leaned back, adjusting his posture as though seeking the most comfortable position.
"Have someone slip into the group accompanying Theodor to Everfrost. I doubt that letter was merely about a band of ragged savages."
He closed his eyes, saying nothing more.
There was no doubt in his mind—Her Majesty and Dorian were hiding something.
And he will find out the truth... no matter what.
At the same time, inside the Queen's study.
"Magnus…?"
Julian's voice pierced the quiet of the room like a blade, forcing Amara to sigh softly.
"Ahem… Lord Julian, perhaps you could lower your voice just a little," Theodor coughed gently.
"Oh—my apologies. But did you just say Magnus?" Julian asked as though he couldn't believe his own ears. "How could he have slipped into the North without anyone noticing?"
Amara didn't have an answer for that.
Even she had her doubts when she first received Dorian's letter, claiming to have stumbled upon Magnus Castillon's whereabouts near the frontier outposts in the North.
Ever since his defeat in the civil war, her uncle had supposedly escaped by sea, with later reports claiming he'd crossed the western border. And now the North?
The information reaching her was beginning to spiral into something unnervingly chaotic.
"So the purpose of today's council meeting… was a test?"
Theodor's sharp mind didn't take long to piece it together.
"You doubt our loyalty, Your Majesty?" Julian asked, his tone quieter now.
"No, Julian…"
Her eyes dropped slightly as a faint, bitter smile played on her lips.
"But I also cannot fully trust everyone."
Amara once lived her life trusting too easily—placing her faith in those closest to her.
Until the moment she learned that, the second she turned her back, those same people could turn into blades pressed to her spine.
Just like the uncle she once loved like a father did.
"Theodor," she said, her voice steady once more, "go to Everfrost immediately and meet with Duke Dorian. I want to know exactly what's happening in the North.""Yes, Your Majesty. I'll make the preparations at once."
As Theodor turned to leave, Amara spoke again.
"Give Rosalind my regards… I hope when you return, you'll have more stories to share about her."
Theodor glanced back at the Queen—who had stood so strong and resolute before the council—now just a sister quietly aching for the younger sibling she missed.
"Yes. I will, Your Majesty."
Theodor left, leaving only the aging Commander in the room with Amara.
"…Do you truly mean to kill Magnus?" he asked softly, as if afraid to disturb the stillness in the air.
Amara remained silent, her face unreadable.
Outside, the sun had dipped westward. The wind stirred gently, rustling the garden leaves beyond the window.
That breeze crept into the room, flipping the page of the book lying open on her desk.
"If I truly wanted him dead," she murmured, "then the day I saw Elias's lifeless body… I would've let Magnus join him."
A faint smile touched her lips as her fingers brushed over a wooden paperweight carved into the shape of two swans, their heads turned inward in a quiet embrace.
The very first gift Elias Hawthorne had ever made for Amara Castillon with his own hands.