The palace was a place of whispers. Of secrets that curled like smoke through the stone halls. And in the deepest shadows, a game was unfolding—a game of power, betrayal, and carefully laid traps.
Sir Cedric had always known how to play the game.
He had watched, waited, bided his time as others rose and fell. He was a knight, sworn to the crown, but loyalty was a fragile thing. A thing that could shift in the right hands.
And Magnus knew exactly how to mold it.
---
The East Tower was silent, save for the crackling of a single candle. Lord Magnus leaned against his desk, eyes gleaming as he regarded the man standing before him.
Sir Cedric.
A nobleman's son, skilled with a sword, respected by many. And yet, beneath the polish of knighthood, Magnus saw something else.
Ambition.
Jealousy.
A quiet, simmering hatred—for Lucian Valemont.
Magnus smirked. "You hesitated," he said smoothly. "Is it doubt? Or fear?"
Cedric stiffened. "Neither."
Magnus stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Then why haven't you done anything?"
Cedric's jaw clenched. "Because Valemont is not easy to get rid of. He's always one step ahead."
Magnus chuckled. "Then we push him back a step." He turned, pouring a glass of wine with deliberate ease. "You want him gone, don't you?"
Cedric didn't answer immediately.
Of course he wanted Lucian gone.
Lucian, the king's favored knight. Lucian, the so-called hero. The man who stood where Cedric should have stood.
And then there was Eva.
The princess who barely acknowledged Cedric's existence—but when Lucian spoke, she listened.
Cedric hated it.
Magnus studied him, the smirk never leaving his face. "We want the same thing, my friend. Lucian removed. You, in his place." He paused, swirling the wine. "You do want that, don't you?"
Cedric's fingers curled into fists. "What do you need me to do?"
Magnus grinned.
---
Over the next few days, Cedric played his part.
He moved in silence, watching Lucian's every step, listening, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
But Lucian was cautious. Too cautious.
The man had the instincts of a wolf, always sensing danger before it arrived. If Cedric was going to take him down, he needed to be smart.
So, he started planting seeds.
Small whispers among the guards.
Little lies.
Rumors that Lucian was growing too bold. That perhaps he had his own ambitions—ambitions that threatened the king's rule.
It was subtle at first. A comment here. A knowing look there. But in the world of politics, doubt was a poison that spread quickly.
And soon, the whispers turned into questions.
Questions turned into suspicion.
And suspicion?
That was the first step toward removal.
---
One evening, Cedric found himself in the training yard, sharpening his sword when Lucian walked in.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Lucian smirked. "You've been watching me."
Cedric kept his expression neutral. "You're imagining things."
Lucian chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Am I?"
His eyes—sharp, knowing—pinned Cedric in place.
Cedric forced a casual shrug. "Perhaps you're just paranoid."
Lucian's smirk faded. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Or perhaps I should be."
There it was. The unspoken challenge.
Cedric wanted to say something, to break the tension, but before he could, Eva's voice rang through the yard.
"Lucian!"
She appeared at the entrance, hair loose around her shoulders, her presence like a blade cutting through the air between them.
Lucian's attention shifted instantly. His entire posture softened, the hard edge of suspicion melting away.
Cedric saw it.
And hated it.
Eva barely glanced Cedric's way before walking toward Lucian, pulling him into some quiet conversation.
Just like that, he was forgotten.
Cedric turned away, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white.
No.
Lucian would fall.
And this time, Cedric wouldn't fail.