Rowan's patience snapped.
He could feel the city slipping.
Every whisper, every shadow, every rumor pointed to one name: Valewood.
He called a secret council.
Advisors, generals, even loyal merchants.
"All loyal," he said, though he could see doubt in their eyes.
"Tonight, we strike," he declared.
Rowan's plan was simple.
Draw Aren into the city.
Trap him.
Crush the Shadow Army before it grew further.
A single messenger was sent to Aren.
A challenge. A test.
A promise of parley at the old cathedral under truce.
Aren read the message in the valley.
His lips curved faintly.
"So he wants a gamble," he said.
Lysa's eyes narrowed.
"He's desperate."
They discussed the trap.
The cathedral was surrounded by narrow streets and loyal guards.
Rowan expected fear to bind Aren.
Instead, Aren smiled.
"Let him think he controls the board," Caelis said.
"Then we checkmate him," Aren replied.
Preparations began.
Men disguised as merchants.
Ropes hidden in shadows.
Every street mapped.
Every alley a potential ambush.
Tom, standing beside Aren, whispered:
"Are we really going to gamble with the prince?"
Aren placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Not gamble. Predict. And we control the outcome."
Night fell.
Greyhaven slept uneasily.
The streets whispered.
And the prince moved, thinking he was about to strike first.