The throne room felt like it couldn't breathe.
Every torch on the walls seemed to flicker slower, every sound dragged heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath. Nobles leaned forward on their golden chairs, some clutching at their pearls, others gripping the hilts of daggers hidden beneath their robes. Knights lined the walls, armor stiff, like statues ready to burst into motion at the king's command. Servants flattened against the pillars, their eyes wide, afraid to even blink.
And in the middle of it all—
A ten-year-old boy had just walked in.
Eustass.
The youngest son of King Alexander.
The alleged victim.
The silence cracked when the king himself shot up from his throne, voice booming like thunder across the marble.
"Kairus! What are you doing here? This is no place for a child!"
The words slammed into the chamber, but they weren't enough to quiet the gasps, the whispers, the shocked cries spilling through the crowd.
"The prince?"
"But he almost died—!"
"Why would he show up now?!"
Edward, loyal and sharp, frowned deeply from the king's side, his hands gripping his ledger until the leather creaked. Even he didn't know what to make of this.
And Eustass—calm, though his fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms—lifted his chin. He swept his gaze across the room: Ser Dwayne standing tall, smugness fading; Emilia trembling, clutching at her skirts; and finally, his father, the king, staring down at him with a storm brewing in his eyes.
Eustass opened his mouth. His voice was soft—too soft for the vast chamber—but in the silence, it crashed like lightning.
"Because this is about me, Father. And my mother. And I know the truth."
The throne room froze.
Ser Dwayne's confident smirk cracked, a hairline fracture spreading across his carefully built mask.
Eustass inhaled slowly. No turning back now, he told himself. If I don't drop it here, if I hesitate, then everything I've done—all the whispers, all the moves—it's wasted.
"I heard it," he began. "The morning before breakfast. Voices in the corridor. A man and a woman. This man—" his small hand shot out, finger locking on Ser Dwayne like an arrow. "—and this maid standing here beside me."
The crowd erupted. Nobles shot to their feet, voices overlapping in chaos. Emilia lowered her head, her shoulders shaking as if the weight of every eye pressed on her.
"I heard them talking," Eustass pressed on, his voice slicing through the noise. "About me. About Mother. About poisoning our drinks. He said it would take a few days to work. He even said…" His jaw locked, teeth grinding before he spat the words like venom. "…that it would be better if it happened at our home."
The king's face went pale, drained of all royal composure. Nobles turned to one another in panic, scandal flashing like wildfire.
Edward's brow furrowed, his voice low but carrying. "So…it's true? Are you saying—you were the one who spread the whispers?"
Every noble craned forward. This was the question.
And Eustass didn't flinch.
"Yes. It was me. Every single whisper came from me."
The court exploded.
"The prince started it?!"
"A child? He uncovered all this?!"
"Is he some kind of prodigy? Or…a devil?"
The king raised a hand and silence slammed back into the room. His eyes burned holes through his son.
"Kairus," his voice dropped low, dangerous, "continue."
Eustass stepped forward, his steps soft but echoing like drumbeats. He felt their stares pierce him—knives, arrows, chains. His heart pounded, but he refused to bow.
"That day at breakfast, I collapsed. Everyone thought it was sudden illness, but it wasn't. I was acting. Because I knew the poison was there—on the rim of the glass."
Gasps rippled. Some nobles muttered prayers.
"Why the rim? Because all the cups had the same juice, even Father's. If the poison was mixed in, everyone would've died. But no—it was brushed only on the rim. Mine. And Mother's. That's why I faked it. To make sure she didn't drink from hers."
King Alexander's fists clenched so tight the wood of his throne creaked. His jaw was stone, eyes locked on Dwayne with deadly heat.
Eustass didn't stop.
"And the whispers about missing gold? True. I saw the ledgers. Soldiers beaten, maids bruised? True—I spoke to them. Treason? Even truer. Because I found this."
From within his cloak, he pulled a folded parchment, edges yellowed. He placed it in Edward's hands.
Edward unfolded it slowly, scanning before reading aloud:
"To our allies across the border—
The defenses on the eastern gate remain weak. The treasury holds less than the crown pretends, making them desperate for alliances. Send word of your price, and I will deliver more maps, more secrets, as promised.
—Signed, Ser Dwayne Cliffmond."
The words landed like thunderbolts.
One noble dropped his goblet—clang!—the sound rattling through the silence. Another clutched his chest as if struck.
King Alexander rose, voice shaking the marble pillars.
"Ser Dwayne. You are accused of treason, betrayal, and attempted murder of my blood. What say you now?!"
Every eye turned.
Ser Dwayne faltered. His armor, once gleaming, suddenly seemed heavy. His hands trembled at his side. But desperation burned in his gaze, and his voice burst out, ragged, almost snarling.
"Lies! All of it! You would believe the words of a child over a knight sworn to you?! Over a man who bled for this kingdom before that boy even knew how to walk?!"
Some nobles wavered. Old alliances tugged at their loyalty. But others shook their heads, murmuring—too much evidence, too much risk.
The guards shifted, stepping closer, but Dwayne barked out again, voice cracking.
"This is madness! This is manipulation! You'll regret this! You'll all regret this!"
But the tide had already turned. The nobles' eyes slid away, none daring to defend him. Emilia was trembling, tears streaking her cheeks. And Eustass—ten years old, yet unflinching—stood with a calm fire burning in his eyes.
This is it. This is checkmate.
The king's fury erupted. His voice cut through everything like steel.
"Enough!"
The word shattered the last fragments of Dwayne's defense.
"For the crime of treason against the crown, for betraying your oath, and for attempting to murder my son and his mother—you are sentenced to death. Execution at dawn."
The throne room exploded into chaos.
Nobles shouting. Servants gasping. Guards surging forward.
Ser Dwayne roared like a beast, thrashing as they seized him. "You fools! You blind fools! You'll regret this day—you'll all regret it!" His voice echoed like a curse as he was dragged away, spitting venom with every step.
The king slammed his scepter against the floor, silencing the hall once more.
"The crown does not forgive betrayal. Let this be known."
The doors slammed as Dwayne was dragged out, leaving silence heavy as stone.
And then… the whispers began.
But they weren't about Dwayne anymore.
They were about him.
The boy.
The prince.
"Did you see him? A child, bringing down a knight."
"Ten years old, and he played us all."
"Is he… dangerous?"
Eustass felt their eyes pinning him, some in awe, some in fear. His chest tightened, but he lifted his chin higher. He would not look small. Not now.
And yet
Inside, his thoughts tangled, sharp and dark. I did it. I actually did it. Every whisper, every seed I planted—it bloomed right here. I won.
But then—Dwayne's last words. That venom. That defiance.
Why does it feel like… this isn't over?
His fists clenched. Did I really win, or did I just light the fuse of something worse?
The king's command ended the session, but the storm had only begun.
Eustass stood, the stares of every noble in the room pressing on him like chains.
And in that moment, everyone knew
This was no ordinary child.
This was a prince who just rewrote the game.
But somewhere, in the echo of Dwayne's roars, a chill whispered through Eustass's mind.
What if the real war starts tomorrow?