CHAPTER 11: The Court of Lions
Imperial Capital – Highcourt, Seat of the Flame Crown
The banners of the Empire hung high in the Hall of Suns—red, gold, and silver, untouched by the wind of war. The floor was obsidian and polished to reflect the vaulted ceiling above, where scenes of conquest and divine ordination had been painted five hundred years ago.
And yet, the name on every tongue was Kael Sovereign—a man not born to banners, but now standing in defiance of all of them.
The Flame Crown Speaks
High Crown Orsain Vellgaard, wrapped in flame-red robes and a lion-engraved diadem, rose from the throne with slow, deliberate weight.
"This… heretic," he said, voice like iron dragged over stone. "Now wears a banner. Holds a fortress. Commands a people. And is courted by one of our noble houses."
He looked to the dais where the High Ministers stood, expression unreadable.
"Who let the flame burn this far?"
The Chancellor of Coin bowed low. "Your Grace, we believed it a mere revolt of peasants—until Duskwatch fell."
The High Cardinal muttered prayers.
The Minister of War stood grim. "Kael has become more than a rebel. He is becoming a symbol. Symbols don't die easily."
Enter House Velmire's Envoy
A slim, cold-eyed noble entered the court: Sir Vehlan of Velmire, cousin to Lady Virelle. He bowed only shallowly.
"Your Grace," he said, "Lady Virelle sends word that the Sovereign has not yet accepted her hand—but that diplomacy remains open. We believe Kael can be used. He commands chaos, yes, but his victories are clean. He has no taste for senseless slaughter."
The High Crown stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"No taste for slaughter?" he whispered.
Then he raised his voice.
"Duskwatch BURNS."
Behind Closed Doors – The War Table
Later, in the war chamber of the imperial palace, only three remained: the High Crown, the Minister of War, and Archlector Malgrad of the Flame Church.
Malgrad's voice was low and venomous. "Kael denies the divine order. He defies the Flame. And now, heretics gather under his banner. The Red Veil spreads like rot."
Orsain nodded slowly.
"He must fall. But not as a martyr. As an example."
The Minister of War unfurled a fresh campaign scroll.
"Then we gather the Imperial Legions," she said. "A hundred banners. Five legions. We make it clear—this isn't war."
"It's judgment."
Elsewhere – Letters in Shadow
In the imperial archives, a cloaked figure inked a message in cipher.
"Sovereign grows too quickly. Velmire seeks to bind him. Others may follow. He must be broken—or crowned. The Empire's spine will not bend without fire."
The letter was sealed with wax bearing no sigil.
And sent north.
A Storm on the Horizon
As the court settled back into ceremony, the High Crown stared out over the city from his gilded terrace. Snow fell faintly over rooftops. Bells rang in the distance.
He whispered, more to himself than his court:
"You may be Sovereign now, Kael. But we are Empire."