Chapter 46: The Kings Are Dying
At the center of the chamber sat the council table, a massive slab of dark oak that had been grown in the Forbidden Forest over three hundred years. It was said the wood itself held memory, that the decisions made at this table had literally shaped the course of history.
And now, as the sun began its descent toward the western mountains, the table was being prepared for an emergency session.
Lord Cedric arrived first.
He was a tall man in his early sixties, with silver hair pulled back in a severe braid and the bearing of someone who had spent a lifetime carrying the weight of the realm. His face was lined...not from age, but from worry. The kind of worry that didn’t fade, only deepened.
He stood at the head of the table, his hands clasped behind his back, and stared at the empty throne seats visible through the doorway at the far end of the chamber.
The three thrones.
Empty.
As they had been for two centuries, except during important meetings.
A knock at the door broke his reverie.
"Enter," Cedric said.
The council members began to arrive.
Lord Varrick came first, a broad-shouldered man in his seventies with iron-gray hair and a face weathered by decades of leading armies. He moved with the confident stride of someone who had commanded thousands and expected to be obeyed. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, and deeply skeptical.
"Cedric," Varrick said, crossing the chamber. "This better be important. I was about to sit down to dinner with my grandson."
"It is," Cedric said simply.
Varrick’s expression tightened. He took a seat at the table, his massive frame making the carved wooden chair look suddenly small.
Lord Matthias followed close behind...a thinner man, perhaps fifty, with the careful demeanor of someone who had spent his life in logistics and strategy. His mind was sharp in a different way than Varrick’s; where Varrick led by force of will, Matthias led by seeing three steps ahead. He carried a leather satchel, already anticipating he might need to take notes.
"Cedric," Matthias said, nodding as he took a seat. "I assume this is serious?"
"Yes."
Lord Brennan entered next. the youngest of the council at barely forty, the son of a minor lord who had risen through the ranks due to sheer competence. He had the nervous energy of someone still trying to prove himself, always alert, always watching. He chose a seat near the middle of the table, positioning himself carefully between the older, more established council members.
Then came the others, one by one.
Lord Aldrich....ancient beyond measure, so old that few could remember when he wasn’t on the council. He moved slowly, leaning on a carved wooden cane, but his eyes were sharp as a hawk’s. He’d advised three previous kings before the Dragon Kings took power, and he carried that history like a mantle.
Lord Garrison....a heavy-set man who managed the kingdom’s finances with an iron grip and a suspicious mind. He rarely spoke, but when he did, everyone listened.
Lord Kastor....a younger nobleman, ambitious and quick-witted, always calculating how every decision affected his house’s status.
Lord Venn...a scholar who served as advisor on matters of history and prophecy.
Lord Hendrick....military commander, appointed to represent the crown’s armed forces.
And three others...lesser lords, but no less powerful in their own right, each representing different factions within the council.
Twelve men in total.
Twelve men who held the fate of the kingdom in their collective hands.
When the last council member had taken his seat, Cedric moved to the great doors and closed them with a heavy thud.
The sound echoed through the chamber.
Varrick straightened. "What’s this about?"
Cedric walked back to the head of the table. He did not sit. He remained standing, his posture commanding, his expression grave.
"Lock the doors," he said quietly.
Brennan’s eyes widened. "My lord?"
"Lock them. No one enters. No one leaves until we have reached a decision."
A servant moved quickly to comply, inserting an iron bolt through the heavy wooden doors.
The sound of it sliding into place was final.
Absolute.
Varrick leaned back in his chair. "You’re frightening me, Cedric. What has happened?"
"Nothing has happened," Cedric said. "Yet. But I fear something is about to."
He looked at each council member in turn, letting the weight of the moment settle over them.
Then he spoke.
"The kings are dying."
Silence stretched across the room.
Not the comfortable silence of agreement, but the sharp silence of shock.
Matthias was the first to recover. "Explain."
Cedric moved to stand before the great fireplace, his silhouette framed against the flames. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but carried to every corner of the chamber.
"Over the past month, I have observed the Three Kings closely. As your lead advisor, it is my responsibility to note any changes in their behavior or their capabilities that might affect the stability of the realm."
"And?" Garrison prompted.
"And I have noted changes. Significant ones."
Cedric turned to face them.
"King Draeven’s temper has become increasingly volatile. His fire, which he has controlled with precision for over two centuries, has begun to... burn differently. Hotter. More unpredictable. Three days ago, during a training session in the courtyard, he lost control. His flames engulfed a portion of the eastern wall. It took six soldiers to extinguish it. And Draeven himself seemed... shocked. As if he did not understand what had happened."
Brennan’s face paled. "The eastern wall? I thought that damage was from...."
"From a training accident," Cedric finished. "That is what we told the household staff. But it was not. It was a loss of control. A crack in the armor of one of the three most powerful men in the realm."
Varrick was frowning, his jaw tight. "That could be nothing. The kings have always trained hard. An accident is not..."
"It is not an accident," Cedric interrupted. "And there is more."