The Throne Hall hadn't opened in years.
Its doors were ten feet tall, carved from the bones of an extinct beast, inlaid with gold patterns shaped like thorns. Above them, the sigil of the royal house—an unbroken crown—had begun to crack from age.
Today, for the first time since King Alraic's death, the doors opened with a groan that echoed through every tower.
It was not a coronation.Not yet.
It was a gathering of power.
And Kaelen had been summoned to stand in the center of it.
The throne sat empty.
Not a single soul dared occupy it. Not the Regency. Not the generals. Not even Lord Rhaen, whose sword had spilled noble blood in front of Kaelen only days ago.
Instead, twelve high-backed chairs were arranged in a crescent around the base of the dais—each for a Regent, each flanked by their banners.
At the center of the circle stood a single stone platform, no larger than a table, illuminated by the stained glass above.
That was where Kaelen would stand.
Not as prince.Not even as bastard.
But as a question that refused to disappear.
As Kaelen stepped into the hall, silence fell like winter.
He walked between nobles who whispered behind fans and folded hands.
"He looks just like—""No, impossible. The king's bloodline was—""They should've drowned him years ago."
He said nothing.
But his steps echoed louder than their words.
From the far end, the Regents watched.
Lord Rhaen. Lady Calra. General Yven. The Vire Matriarch. All present. All masking their hatred with ceremony.
Kaelen climbed the three short steps to the platform.
And stood alone in the circle of power.
Lord Rhaen was first to speak.
"By decree of the High Regency, Kaelen of no house, born of uncertain blood, raised without title, shall be recognized only in name and presence."
He paused.
"Not as heir. Not as noble. But as a guest of the realm."
The word landed like poison on Kaelen's skin.
A guest.
Not even a citizen.
Not even human, to them.
But then—Lady Eirell rose.
Dressed in stark black with her sigil cut from her chest, she said simply:
"I challenge this."
Gasps followed.
Rhaen's brow furrowed. "On what grounds?"
Eirell spoke clearly. "On grounds of legacy. Blood unbroken. And witness testimony."
Rhaen snapped, "There is no proof of blood."
At that, Kaelen stepped forward.
He raised his hand—
—and showed them the black iron ring.
A murmur surged through the hall. Whispers turned to confusion. Rhaen's face drained of color.
Because they all recognized it.
Not as noble.But as the mark of a faction they could not control.
"I was born without a name," Kaelen said calmly, his voice carrying through the great chamber,"but not without memory.Not without blood.And not without choice."
He turned slowly, making eye contact with each Regent.
"You may deny me titles.But you will not erase me again."
The chamber was still.
Then Rhaen smiled.
"So be it," he said. "Let the boy stay. Let him walk these halls. Let him think himself dangerous."
He turned to leave, voice like steel.
"But remember, Kaelen:Even a rat may walk freely among lions—Until the lions grow hungry."
As the hall emptied, Kaelen remained.
Just him.
And the empty throne.
For a moment, he looked up at it. The sun struck the old gold, casting a reflection into his eyes.
He said nothing.
But in his mind, a whisper rose:
Let them crown their kings…I will build my own.