The Dirrium Kingdom — Chapter 13: A Bitter Draft of Venom
Desperation is a quiet, insidious poison. It creeps into the veins, clouding judgment and souring morality until even the most unwavering of men finds himself eyeing a tainted goblet with a desperate thirst.
For Prince Lumiya, that bitter draft bore the name of the Coalition of the Five Dukes.
They were the realm's parasites—a network of ambitious nobles quietly hoarding Pollium beneath the Crown's very nose, preparing to carve up the monarchy for themselves. And yet, as the midnight oil burned down to a sputtering embers in his private quarters, Lumiya stared at his trembling hands and made his choice.
*'If I can just secure the chain of supply… if I can prove Leornars is the one feeding them the Pollium,'* Lumiya's internal monologue raced, each thought heavy with the weight of impending ruin. *'I can expose the entire rat's nest in one clean stroke. I have to play the traitor. It's the only way to catch one.'*
He was walking a tightrope over an abyss, fully aware that a single misstep meant execution. But as he wrapped himself in a dark leather cloak and slipped into the city's underground, he swallowed his fear. He had to save his father. He had to save Dirrium.
The meeting place was a subterranean vault known in the underworld as the "Iron Cellar." Buried beneath the floorboards of a unassuming townhouse in the lower district, the room reeked of damp stone, expensive imported tobacco, and thick, unadulterated treason.
"Well, well. Look who comes creeping into the dark," Count Vane drawled. The nobleman leaned back into a velvet armchair that looked entirely out of place amidst the cold masonry. He took a slow drag from a long pipe, his sharp eyes darting nervously toward the heavy oak door before settling on the young prince. "We certainly didn't expect the shining Crown Prince to go hunting for an audience with the 'disloyal' faction."
Lumiya kept his posture rigid, burying his racing pulse beneath a mask of cold arrogance. *'Keep your composure,'* he ordered himself, his heart hammering violently against his ribs like a caged beast. *'Don't let them smell the blood.'*
"The Crown Prince is a pragmatist," Lumiya lied, his voice remarkably steady. "My father is old, blind, and thoroughly enchanted by Leornars' silver tongue. I want the advisor gone. I know your houses want the grain taxes abolished so you can line your coffers. Give me the ledger—the full record of your dealings with Avangard—and I will ensure your titles and territories are protected when I assume the regency."
Vane watched him for a long, agonizing moment before his lips peeled back into a greasy, hollow smile.
"A bold proposal, Your Highness," Vane purred, tapping his fingers together. "A very bold proposal indeed. Let us discuss the finer details of our... mutual cooperation."
Lumiya took a seat across from him, entirely focused on extracting the names and dates from the conspirators.
Because of his razor-sharp focus on the trap he was setting, he failed to notice the small, silver-capped fountain pen resting innocently beside a stack of parchment on the table. He didn't notice the faint, rhythmic ticking beneath its polished casing, nor the tiny mana-crystal embedded in its clip—recording every damning syllable of his fictitious treason.
The following night, the trap sprung. But it was not Lumiya who pulled the lever.
*BANG!*
The iron-reinforced doors of the cellar were kicked inward with a deafening crash, the heavy oak splintering under the force of a military battering ram. Dust and stone chips exploded into the air as heavy steel boots echoed off the masonry.
"Nobody move!"
Lumiya leapt to his feet, his hand dropping to his rapier, but his blood ran cold as the dust cleared. A full vanguard of Royal Paladins flooded the vault, their enchanted blades gleaming in the dim light. And walking through the center of their wall of steel was King Jilim.
The King looked utterly broken. In the span of a single day, his face seemed to have aged a decade, the lines around his eyes deep with an agonizing betrayal.
Beside the monarch stood Leornars.
Dressed in a sharp, tailored black overcoat that absorbed the torchlight, the advisor looked every bit the dark specter haunting the royal court.
"Father!" Lumiya gasped, taking an instinctive step forward, his mind reeling. "Wait! Please, listen to me! This isn't what it looks like—I was infiltrating them! I was securing the evidence—"
"The only evidence present in this room," Leornars interrupted, his quiet, cultured voice slicing through the tense air like a falling guillotine, "is a Prince sitting amidst a den of conspirators, negotiating the subversion of the Crown."
Leornars turned his head slightly, his gaze falling upon Count Vane, who was already down on his knees. Clutched tightly in the noble's trembling hand was a signed royal pardon—a document Leornars had personally delivered to his cell barely an hour prior.
"Count Vane," Leornars said smoothly, "for the record of the court, tell His Majesty: who initiated this midnight gathering?"
Vane didn't hesitate. He raised a shaking, accusatory finger directly at the Prince.
"It was him! The Prince!" Vane cried out, his voice cracking with orchestrated terror. "He promised us total tax immunity if we helped him remove you from the throne, Sire! He... he said you were feeble! A puppet!"
"Liar!" Lumiya screamed, his vision swimming with rage. "You sniveling coward, tell the truth!"
Leornars took a slow, deliberate step forward. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the shadows, radiating a cold, terrifying intellectual triumph. From inside his coat, he produced a heavy leather-bound ledger and held it aloft.
"This is the complete record of the Coalition's treason," Leornars declared, sweeping his gaze across the assembled Paladins before landing on the King. "And here, on the final page... is Prince Lumiya's personal signature, authorizing the use of the Royal Seal to bypass harbor tolls for their shipments."
"I signed that as bait!" Lumiya spun to his father, his voice cracking, desperate tears burning at the edges of his eyes. "Father, please! Look at me! Everything I've done, I did for the kingdom! I was trying to save you from him! He's the monster!"
Leornars tilted his head, a look of mocking curiosity gracing his sharp features.
"Tell me, Your Highness..." Leornars murmured, his tone dripping with quiet condescension. "Since when has high treason been considered a form of 'patriotism'? Does the imperial codex of Dirrium possess a hidden clause for 'righteous rebellion'? Or is this simply the tragic delusion of a boy who believed he was far cleverer than he actually is?"
King Jilim let out a ragged, trembling breath. He looked at his son, then down at the official documents, the recorded mana-crystal pen, and the signed ledger Leornars had so meticulously laid out. The trap was absolute. The logic was ironclad.
"Father, look at him!" Lumiya pleaded, pointing a trembling finger at the dark-robed advisor. "Look at his face! He's smiling! He planned this whole thing from the start!"
Leornars turned back to the King, softening his voice into a warm, deeply persuasive hum that seemed to wrap around the old monarch's heart.
"Your Majesty... by the strict letter of the law, high treason demands immediate execution," Leornars whispered softly, playing the role of the benevolent counselor to perfection. "However... as your loyal advisor, I urge you to follow your heart over the cold steel of the law. Think of your subjects. Would the people truly wish to see a king execute his own flesh and blood? Or would they prefer a sovereign who demonstrates mercy... even when that blood turns a blade against him?"
The King's hands trembled violently.
The insidious brilliance of Leornars' suggestion struck home. It was framed as mercy, but Lumiya saw it for what it truly was: a sentence worse than death. Stripped of his standing, branded a traitor, and spared only by the "pity" of the Crown, Lumiya would be utterly destroyed—his reputation ruined, his supporters silenced, and his presence erased.
"I... I cannot spill my own blood," King Jilim whispered, his broken voice echoing in the damp cellar. He couldn't bring himself to meet his son's eyes. "Lumiya... by royal decree, you are stripped of your title. Your name shall be struck from the lineage of Dirrium. You are hereby exiled to the Barren Wastes. Should your foot ever step across the border of this kingdom again... your execution will be carried out without trial."
"Father, no! Please! *Father!*"
The Royal Paladins stepped forward, their heavy armored gauntlets clamping down on Lumiya's shoulders like iron vices. They hoisted him up and began dragging him backward out of the vault, his boots scraping helplessly against the cold stone floor.
Through the sea of armored bodies, Lumiya locked eyes with Leornars.
The "Shadow King" did not look away.
As the guards hauled the disgraced prince into the dark corridor, Leornars leaned in slightly. A dark, jagged smirk slowly split his face—a look of absolute, terrifying dominance that silently screamed: *I won before you even woke up today.*
"Enjoy the Wastes, Lumiya," Leornars whispered, his voice carrying clearly to the prince's ears amidst the clanking of armor. "The patterns out there are much simpler. Just sand, wind, and the sound of your own pathetic failure. You really should have learned who your opponent was before trying to play the martyr."