Prince Damien stormed into his mother’s chambers, his fists clenched at his sides. The heavy oak doors closed behind him, sealing the room in quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fireplace.

Queen Priscilla sat at the edge of a long velvet settee, dressed in regal silks of deep crimson. Her face was calm, serene even, the very picture of imperial grace. Yet her sharp eyes glinted with intelligence as she observed her son’s arrival.

"Damien," she said smoothly, her voice lilting, "come sit with me."

Without responding, Prince Damien strode across the chamber, his boots tapping against the polished marble floor. He threw himself into the chair opposite her, the frustration still raw in his expression.

Priscilla poured him a cup of tea from the gilded porcelain set beside her. "You seem unsettled, my son. What happened in court today?"

For a moment, Damien stayed silent, the firelight casting shadows across his tense features. Then, unable to contain himself, he slammed his fist onto the table between them, rattling the teacups. "They’re all fools!" he spat.

"Every single one of them! They bicker over trade routes and noble families while the northern clans are on the brink of rebellion. Father thinks he can negotiate with them, as if they respect words over strength. And Edric—"

He broke off, his lip curling as he spoke his brother’s name. "He stood there, pretending to be the voice of reason. Always the diplomat, always the peacemaker. He doesn’t understand that we can’t negotiate with these barbarians."

Priscilla smiled slightly, a mother’s knowing smile, and took a slow sip of tea. "Calm yourself, Damien. Letting your anger control you will do nothing but cloud your judgement."

Damien exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he struggled to temper his rage.

"They’re all against me. Even Gerrafin has found a way to meddle, speaking about unrest among the aristocracy like he’s some grand savior of the empire. And Nathaniel—he hardly speaks but always manages to position himself as the voice of reason. Father listens to all of them, but not to me. He’s too concerned with pleasing everyone. It’s infuriating."

Queen Priscilla studied her son’s face, her sharp mind already working through the implications of the day’s court proceedings. She knew how the court worked, how each prince jockeyed for favor, but she also knew how to steer events in Damien’s favor.

He was, after all, her golden boy—the one she had groomed for greatness since the day of his birth.

"Patience, my dear," she said, her voice soft yet commanding. "The court is a game, and like any game, it must be played with care. Your brothers are indeed obstacles, but they are not insurmountable."

Damien’s jaw tightened. "What do you want me to do? Stand back while they chip away at my claim to the throne?"

Priscilla’s smile widened, though her eyes remained cold. "Of course not. But brute force is not the answer to every problem. Let them believe they’ve won small victories. It will lull them into complacency.”

The queen paused, “Your father is wise, but he is also aging. Soon, he will look to his sons for guidance. You must be the one he turns to—not through open conflict, but by showing him you are the only one capable of protecting the empire."

Damien frowned. "And how do I do that when they’re all trying to undermine me?"

"By playing the long game," Priscilla answered, her tone now sharp and precise. "You need allies in court—noble houses that will stand with you when the time comes.”

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Her lips formed a cold smile as she continued, “as for the northern clans, let them cause a stir. It will only prove your point that strength is needed. When the negotiations inevitably fail, you will be the one to step in and restore order."

A gleam of understanding crossed Damien’s eyes, though the frustration remained. "And Edric?"

"Edric is clever, but too idealistic," Priscilla said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"He believes in diplomacy, but diplomacy has its limits. Your father sees him as a balance to your ambitions, but once you have proven that strength is the only path, Edric’s influence will wane. Let him speak his words of peace, but you will be the one to act when words fail."

Damien smirked at his mother’s plan, the fire in his eyes rekindling with renewed confidence. "You always know how to handle these things."

Priscilla stood and approached her son, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I have navigated these court intrigues for decades, Damien. I will guide you through them, just as I always have. We are not merely playing for the favor of the court. We are positioning you to rule this empire."

---

Over the next hour, mother and son plotted in earnest. Priscilla advised Damien on which noble families to court for alliances, how to subtly undermine Edric’s influence without drawing attention to himself, and how to manipulate the growing tensions in the north to his advantage.

Every word was calculated, every maneuver designed to place Damien in the perfect position for when the time would come to claim the throne.

Priscilla had already secured a strong faction within the court, her loyalists in key positions. She would quietly spread rumors of Edric’s weakness, of how his reliance on diplomacy was endangering the empire.

It would be subtle, slow, and precise. By the time anyone realized what was happening, Damien’s influence would have spread like roots in the soil.

As they spoke, Damien’s frustration melted away, replaced by the cold, methodical determination that his mother had instilled in him since he was a boy.

---

As the conversation drew to a close, Damien leaned back in his chair, a wicked grin forming on his lips. "And if our plans fail, there are… other methods of removing obstacles."

Priscilla’s eyes narrowed slightly, sensing where her son was going with this.

"We could deal with those foolish brothers of mine the same way you dealt with Olivia."

The mention of the late Queen Olivia, Edric’s mother, caused Priscilla’s expression to harden instantly. She stood very still, her hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"Damien," she hissed, her voice colder than ice, "never mention that again."

Her son looked surprised at the sudden change in her demeanor. "What? It worked with her, didn’t it? The poison, the curse—no one ever suspected a thing. It could work again—"

"Enough!" Priscilla’s voice cracked like a whip through the chamber, her calm and composed mask finally slipping. "Do you think this court is without ears? You would do well to remember that there are consequences to speaking carelessly."

Damien blinked, shocked by his mother’s outburst. He had never seen her lose her composure like this. "I… I didn’t mean—"

Priscilla stepped forward, her eyes blazing. "Olivia’s death was necessary, but it came at great cost.”

She breathed heavily, with clear hatred reflected in her eyes, “I have spent years ensuring that no one ever suspected the truth. If you so much as breathe a word of it again, even in private, you will undo everything we have worked for. Do you understand?"

Her son nodded slowly, the severity of her warning sinking in.

"Good," Priscilla said, regaining her composure. She turned her back to him, her voice softening but still laced with cold steel.

"I am doing all of this for you, Damien. But if you are to rule this empire, you must be wiser than to speak of such things so openly. Power is not merely taken—it must be earned, piece by piece, quietly."

Damien lowered his head in acknowledgment, but the spark of his ambition still burned brightly. "I understand, Mother. It won’t happen again."

Priscilla did not turn back to face him, her hands resting lightly on the table’s edge as she stared into the fire. "Good. Now go, and remember what we’ve discussed today. The path to the throne is within reach, but it is still treacherous."

As Damien left the room, the queen stood in silence, her hands trembling slightly as memories of the past threatened to resurface.

The curse that had claimed Queen Olivia had been a delicate, dangerous affair—one that could never be spoken of again.

For all her calm exterior, even Queen Priscilla knew that the road to power came with a price.