Just like the rest of them, Peter thought bitterly. Useless. Silent. Unmovable. Disappointing. They all think they are different, that being nobility makes them smarter. I got lucky with my older brother.

  Peter stood over Wilhelm, whose body had become the grim center of attention. Once a symbol of authority and respect, Wilhelm let out a final, choking gurgle as saliva mixed with blood foamed out.A smile lingering on his lifeless face that looked directly at Peter. Peter stared down at him, a storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. Is this truly how it begins? He wondered. Is this how we step onto a new chessboard, adrift without a king?

  Several noble houses rose finally from their chairs, each reacting in their own way to the grim scene, some backing away, others moving closer.Peter put his fingers against the king’s neck, searching for a pulse that wasn’t there. Peter looked around the room, looking at what the other nobles’ faces said.Matilda sat motionless amidst the turmoil, her expression unreadable. Like so many others. Out of them all, only three looked like they were still thinking.

  From the shadowed corners of the grand hall, a commanding officer emerged. His presence alone cut through the chaos, halting the rising murmurs and movements of the noble houses. Those who tried to leave found guards with halberds blocking their path.

  ′Calm down, everyone,′ the officer commanded, his voice steady but sharp. His gaze lingered on Wilhelm, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. The room was thick with tension, the murmurs of the gathered nobles swelling like the tide.

  A nobleman shot to his feet; his face flushed with anger. ′Calm down? Are you seriously telling us to ‘calm down’ after our lord has been murdered in front of us, and the killer could still be in here?′ He slammed his fist down on the table, the crack echoing through the chamber.

  The officer’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword; his posture unwavering. ′Sir, return to your seat,′ he said, his tone carrying an edge of warning.

  The nobleman’s glare smoldered, his chest heaving with barely contained fury. For a moment, it seemed he might defy the command, his knuckles pressing hard against the table’s polished surface. Then, with a visible struggle, he relented, sinking back into his chair. The weight of his disdain lingered in the air. Is this what happens so far in the North? Is this my protection after the protector dies? What do you say!’ None gave a response.

  Peter’s gaze shifted to the man who had spoken. Cedric Purvioen. Of course. It had to be him, Peter thought bitterly of the times he needed to work with him. Always the one to stir things up just as the chaos began to settle. Cedric’s knack for creating problems, combined with his impulsive nature, had made him notorious in Dukedom. And today, it seemed, he was once again living up to his reputation.

  The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint rustling of uneasy movement among the nobles. The officer’s gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on each face. When he spoke again, his tone was measured, attempting to sound proud and certain. Yet, there was a flicker of instability in his eyes. ′I understand your anger,′ he said, ′but order must be maintained if we are to uncover the truth.′

  The officer advanced toward Peter. ′I am Maurot, the commanding officer of this hall,′ he declared as he walked over, his voice steady but strained. ′Until we determine who is responsible for this heinous act, everyone here is under suspicion. Except you. But you do need to step away from the body.′

  Peter stood over Wilhelm’s lifeless body, his hand resting lightly on the table for balance. He barely glanced at Maurot, his disappointment evident. ′And how do you intend to uncover the truth with barked orders and pointed spears?′

  Maurot’s eyes narrowed, and with a sharp motion of his hand, a guard turned and left the room. ‘A doctor will do.’

  Peter got up from the ground, a calm smile playing on his lips. ′Easy now,′ he said, his voice smooth and assured. ′I’ve seen enough death in my years to recognize when there’s more to a body than meets the eye. Let me examine him in the meantime. Unless, of course, you believe your soldiers are as skilled at solving murders as they are at causing them?′

  Maurot hesitated, eyeing Peter with a mix of suspicion and uncertainty. After a moment, he nodded reluctantly, motioning for the guards to get back in wait. Peter turned back to the body, the eyes of every noble in the room followed him. It was bothersome, how can you think whenyou can hear so many thoughts of confusion only by their fixated looks.

  The guards glanced at Maurot as he stepped forward, their expressions questioning. ′Old lord Peter. Defender of Thuja but we soldiers who were there that day know that it was not the defender of Thuja. It is the defender of Dukedom. Hero of the north, defender of the north. The forgotten protector′ Maurot said with pride. Some nobles didn’t react or sank back in their seats, like Cedric others, like Kevin, rose up from their seats. Seeing the legend in the flesh instead of the stories. The old man lives. Some whispered. Matilda looked annoyed when they whispered it.

  ’The forgotten protector?’ Peter said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, his tone shifted, growing louder, warmer, a faint smile touching his lips. ’It’s been so long since I have heard that.’Maurot gave a bow, ’I have served your command at the Battle for Muntte, the defence of Puradum, the siege of Lidless Castle, which we took back while the other lords were not there to protect Counties, to protect their fiefs. No, when all were gone and you remained, when the beastkin set the trap, you used it to your advantage to take over our lost lands when all the others weren’t even in Dukedom instead, they were fighting in Cintronius.′

  A faint smile tugged at the corners of Peter’s lips, subtle and almost imperceptible to those who didn’t know him well. Maurot, however, noticed it and sighed in relief. ′You remember, sir,′ he murmured.

  Peter’s gaze softened as he looked Maurot up and down, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. ′I remember all my soldiers from then, especially those who earned the honor of serving by the Dukes side. You did well. I’d even have recognized you without words. I gave the recommendation to Wilhelm to let you be turned captain of the guard.′

  Maurot nodded, visibly relieved to have someone he could trust in the room. ′Then let us inspect my lord.′

  The nobles quieted themselves down. The earlier chaos giving way to a heavy, uneasy silence. Nervous glances darted across the room; their whispers barely audible in the charged air. Only Matilda and a select few others remained still, their eyes fixed on the grim scene before them.

  Peter tried again, looking for any evidence. He saw nothing unusual, no wounds, no obvious signs of outside damage. But he couldn’t shake the certainty in his gut. Poison. It had to be. But what kind? How was it administrated?

  The questions churned in his mind as his eyes traced the contours of Wilhelm’s neck and the edge of his chainmail, hunting for the faintest clue. Frustration simmered beneath his calm exterior.

  Just then, a man who had been observing the scene with keen interest stepped forward. ′May I take a look, sirs?′ he asked. Had he waited the entire time for the right moment, or had he only just built up enough courage to speak?

  Peter turned to regard the man, his eyes narrowing slightly in scrutiny. He then glanced at Maurot. ′Should we allow it? You had a guard already sent for a doctor.′

  ′My name is Henry Adam,′ he said, his tone colder than the moment called for. ′If you know my family, you’ll know I’ve studied medicine and the human body extensively.′ He forced a smile.

  Maurot cast a wary glance at Henry, his mistrust clearly evident. ’If you believe you can uncover something we’ve missed, proceed,’ he said, skeptical.

  Peter, aware of Henry’s lineage as one of the four great houses of the Cross, took a deliberate step back, his expression unreadable. Though he harbored some trust in Henry’s skills. One of the few noble houses that isdecent here in Dukedom. His eyes remained fixed on the young man, watching closely for any sign of competence or failure.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Henry leaned over Wilhelm’s lifeless body, moving slowly, as though the man might spring back to life at any moment. After a careful visual inspection, he began parting the hair at Wilhelm’s temple, his focus narrowing, his breath steady. His fingers traced further down the side of the head, each motion deliberate, until he abruptly stopped. Turning, Henry faced Peter and Maurot. His expression was unreadable, but they had no doubt, he had found something.

  'Lucky for you,′ he remarked with a smirk, ′I’m here as my house’s representative and not one of my brothers. Wilhelm always preferred me for some reason.′

  With practiced ease, he retrieved a knife so small it resembled a toothpick. Moving a lock of hair aside, he carefully pressed the blade against the skin. After a moment of delicate work, he put the knife away and began pressing the skin together with his fingers, as if coaxing out a splinter. Slowly but surely, a thin, green shard of metal emerged.

  Holding it up between his thumb and forefinger, he glanced at the gathered nobles. ′If you ask me, this was implanted today. The wound was so small it’s already begun to heal, but there’s still faint damage to the skin, a sign it was done recently.′

  He placed the green fragment on another table with deliberate care before returning to the body, his examination not yet over.

  Maurot stepped forward, his gaze narrowing as he studied the peculiar green piece of metal. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, staring at it as though seeing something from another world. Peter began to move closer, concern etched on his face, but before he could intervene, Maurot blinked, snapping back to reality. Straightening, he raised his voice, the sound cutting sharply through the room.

  ′Does anyone here recognize this? Does anyone know what this piece of metal signifies?′

  A low murmur rippled through the gathered representatives, their unease palpable as eyes flicked between Maurot and the fragment.

  One by one, the nobles were escorted by the guards to examine the strange object. Some approached with eager curiosity, their faces alight with speculation, while others hesitated, their expressions guarded or calculating. As they debated amongst themselves, a few spoke with the confidence of scholars, eager to flaunt their knowledge, while others simply nodded along, hoping to bolster their standing in the tense atmosphere. Yet, for all their posturing, none could say where such a peculiar metal came from, or how they might use it for themselves.

  Amid the clamor, Peter’s gaze fell on a nobleman lingering at the edge of the group, his movements hesitant and uncertain. The man’s eyes darted nervously between the metal fragment and the other lords, as though wrestling with a truth he dared not speak aloud. Recognition flickered across his face, but fear or doubt kept him silent.

  Peter, sensing the man’s reluctance, raised a hand to catch Maurot’s attention, but before the officer could notice, Matilda acted. She glided toward the noble with an almost predatory grace, her voice a low whisper as she leaned in close to his ear. The nobleman’s face drained of color, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of her words had physically burdened him. Whatever secret he knew, it was clear he feared the cost of sharing it, as though speaking the truth would invite his undoing.

  Peter took a step toward them, but his progress was halted by a firm hand on his arm. Kevin, the noble who had seated beside him, stood by his side. He no longer carried the brashness from before, but instead, there was a quiet seriousness about him. ′This time, I help you, old man,′ he whispered, his voice heavy with both respect and resolve. ′You may be wise with age, but even the newer generation sees things the old never needed to.′

  Understanding the unspoken offer of support, Peter allowed himself to be guided back to his seat, though his mind raced with possibilities. As the room hummed with nervous energy, he watched Matilda and the hesitant noble, aware that whatever knowledge she had extracted could either unravel the mystery or pull them all into even deeper peril. The stakes were higher than ever, and Peter understood that each choice made from here on out could change everything.

  After a brief exchange, the noble stumbled forward, looking as though he had seen the grim face of death. ′I know who uses this kind of metal!′ he declared, his voice cutting through the room’s murmurs.

  All eyes turned toward him, and Maurot quickly moved to his side, signaling the guards to take their positions, prepared for any action. ′Who is this person? Where can we find him?′ he asked urgently.

  The noble, trembling with fear, spat out the information in a rush, eager for the moment to end. ′By the lodges. He’s a hunter, Drettius is his name. I’ve seen him fight with two green blades, I’m fairly certain they are made from the same metal.′

  Without hesitation, Maurot took action. ′Send a bird to the lodge headquarters immediately. Tell them we need Drettius on standby when we arrive. Another to Drech, alert them that Duke troops will be moving through their land toward the lodges. You,′ he pointed sharply at a guard, ′prepare the riders. We leave at once.′

  Maurot gaze swept over the room, his voice taking on a harder edge. ′Lords and ladies, return to your homes. Prepare your troops. The north will be under siege without a protector.′

  Peter added quickly so it doesn’t lose context, ′If you have allies or friends outside the north, notify them as well. And don’t forget, Maurot, send a raven to the emperor. He must be informed of what has transpired here.′

  Cedric Purvioen rose, his posture firm, and his voice resolute. ′I will hold the right flank until the end. Anyone wishing to send aid, direct it to Paradum Castle. I must return to my house to prepare. Good luck, lords and ladies.′ He turned and strode toward the door, the sound of guards opening it marking the end of his words.

  As Cedric left, Peter thought, we can finally leave without any trouble. Other ladies and lord departed, seeing a chance to leave. Some left with promises of aid to the frontlines, while others fell into silence. Matilda, too, made no comment as she left.

  Soon, only Peter, Henry, and a few other nobles remained, Maurot was talking to the guards as they left the room. While the other lords talked to each other with Peter and Kevin listening from a distance.

  ′Most have left, scrambling to cover their borders,′ a young lady remarked, her tone sharp despite her youthful appearance. She couldn’t have been older than fourteen, yet her words carried a surprising maturity. ′Those brats don’t realize what can be achieved with a little teamwork.′

  Another lord, the only one still seated, spoke with a voice that rumbled like a distant storm. ′I agree. I can bring my entire county to Dunten, where we can mobilize to any point in the north. From there, we can defend the capital with ease or move anywhere. I will lead the effort personally, while my eldest son remains behind to secure our lands with his private army.′

  Kevin raised a hand, his expression curious yet cautious. ′Pardon me if this sounds rude, but who are you that you can make such a claim?′

  Peter and Henry exchanged puzzled glances, silently questioning how Kevin didn’t recognize the man. The lord rose slowly from his chair, his sheer size drawing the wary attention of the guards. Their hands instinctively gripping their weapons as his imposing figure loomed over the room.

  Though unarmored, he radiated a quiet menace, his presence rivaling even Wilhelm’s. Broad shoulders and towering stature gave him a mythic quality. He seemed less a man and more a force of nature. He was a half-giant, no doubts about that. Only difference was that this one was a noble instead of a commoner.

  ’I am Griff Thornheart,’ he declared, his deep voice resonating with the weight of a man who has faced unseen horrors that steal voices and still could speak after their encounter. ’Ruler of Cortius. We field one of the most elite armies in the north, hardened by constant raids from the Boatsmen, Beastkin, and the Duchess, who has long coveted my lands.′ His brown beard came down in a fork. On a smaller man, it might have looked unusual, but on him. For him it looked intimidating.

  Peter said, ′I think it’s wiser for you to regroup at the Cross and position yourself where you’re needed most, rather than risking everything on the front lines, where they could pin down our armies.′ He paused before continuing, ′I will send my knights back to gather the army and bring them here as reinforcements Better to have my small army pinned than keep your elite forcesunnecessarily still. In the meantime, I’ll teach Wilhelm’s eldest son how to rule. We can’t afford to wait for nominations or cater to what others want we need a ruler now.′

  Maurot nodded in agreement. ′I’ll fetch him right away,′ he said, stepping away from the company of lords.

  Kevin folded his arms thoughtfully. ′This is good to know. I’ll deliver the news to my father and seek out mercenaries to bolster our forces. With their help, we’ll keep our army flexible.′

  With their plans laid, Kevin and Griff exchanged a brief nod before departing the meeting chamber nestled within the peak.

  Henry turned to the remaining young lady, who had remained quiet throughout the tense discussions. ′And you, Lady...?′

  ′Joan,′ she replied hesitantly. ′I am from House Oather. They said attending this meeting would be a good learning opportunity for me, but with everything that’s happened... ′What can I do? We’re just a small house, and our forces are already spread thin.′ Her voice wavered with nervousness, but there was something more the spark of a future leader.

  Henry knelt before her, his voice calm and reassuring. ′Lady Joan, go home and tell only your parents what you’ve heard here. They will know what must be done.′ His smile was warm, and his steady presence helped ease her nerves. ′I’ll walk you to your coach to ensure your safety.′

  Joan nodded, her earlier uncertainty giving way to a quiet trust. ′Okay, then. Let’s go.′

  Together, they left the chamber, leaving Peter alone in the room, deep in thought.

  ′Why must I always take control over the imbeciles?′ Peter thought, frustration rising at how few could see the bigger picture. He turned to two guards. ′Search the area for any clues the assassin might have left behind.′ His gaze darkened as he considered the path ahead. Then, I’ll have time to prepare... for a future buildwith blood, he thought.