The moon hung low over Caelum Castle, casting pale light through the grand windows. The stillness of the night mirrored the tension simmering within the palace walls. Lysander moved silently through the corridors, his footsteps barely a whisper on the cold stone floor. The kingdom was on the verge of a shift, and he could feel it in the air. Power was slipping through his father’s hands like sand, and the royal court was eager to seize it.

His siblings were already making their moves. Sibel had secluded herself in the war council chambers, no doubt formulating strategies for her inevitable rise to power. Valen, ever the socialite, was charming his way through the noble courts, building alliances with sweet words and false promises. Alaric, the most unpredictable of them all, had disappeared into the shadows, likely indulging in his usual vices.

But Lysander’s focus tonight wasn’t on his siblings. It was on the court behind the throne—the servants, the courtiers, the unseen cogs in the royal machine. They were the lifeblood of the kingdom, carrying whispers and secrets from one end of the palace to the other. It was here, in the murmur of servants and the glances exchanged in the dark, that the true power struggles unfolded.

He slipped into the shadows, blending into the background as he approached a secluded part of the castle. A pair of courtiers stood in hushed conversation, their voices barely audible over the soft hum of the night.

“Have you heard?” one of them whispered.

“The king is weakening,” the other replied cautiously. “But there’s more. There are rumors of betrayal—someone close to the throne.”

Lysander’s ears pricked up. Betrayal? That was nothing new in the royal court. But the fact that these whispers had reached the lower ranks intrigued him. He had been careful, orchestrating his moves in silence. But if the rumors were true, and a sibling was plotting openly, the game was accelerating.

He lingered in the shadows a moment longer, ensuring that nothing more of substance was said, then quietly retreated. His mind raced with possibilities. Sibel had always been hungry for power, but she valued honor, even if it was a warped version of it. Valen was ambitious, but more concerned with reputation than actual ruling. Alaric was the least likely, having long disdained the court’s politics. But something was changing, and Lysander needed to act quickly.

Back in his chambers, Lysander sat by the fire, the flickering flames casting long shadows across the room. A letter sat on his desk, unopened. It was from one of his informants in Gildenshire, a bustling village at the kingdom’s heart. The letter was brief but confirmed what Lysander had begun to suspect: one of his siblings had made a dangerous alliance with a rival house. The details were sparse, but it was enough to set his mind spinning.

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Betrayal. It was always a matter of *when*, not *if*.

The following day, the royal court gathered in the grand hall for an audience with the king. Lysander arrived early, his gaze sweeping over the assembled nobles. Tension was thick in the air. The king’s condition had deteriorated, and his weakening grasp on power was palpable. Queen Anara stood beside him, her regal bearing unshaken, though Lysander could see the worry etched in her eyes. She had always been the peacemaker in their family, the one who kept the fragile balance between her children. But even her influence had its limits.

As the court session droned on—discussions of trade, military movements, and foreign treaties—Lysander’s attention wandered. Sibel sat across from him, her posture rigid, eyes focused on the king. She was always so calculating, so controlled. Valen, by contrast, was at ease, exchanging pleasantries with the nobles seated near him, his charming smile never faltering.

Alaric, however, was absent. Lysander frowned. His brother’s absence was unusual, even for someone as indifferent to court politics as Alaric. Something was off.

As the session concluded, Lysander slipped away from the main hall, his mind racing. Alaric’s absence, coupled with the whispers of betrayal, gnawed at him. His brother had always been reckless, but this felt different. He had to find out what was happening before it was too late.

He made his way to the lower levels of the castle, where Alaric often indulged in his vices. The underground tavern was dimly lit, the smell of stale ale and smoke hanging heavy in the air. Alaric sat at a corner table, hunched over a half-empty glass, his face shadowed and drawn.

Lysander approached, his steps quiet. “You weren’t at court today.”

Alaric looked up, his eyes bloodshot, his expression dark. “What do you want, Lysander?”

Lysander slid into the seat opposite him, his gaze steady. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Alaric laughed bitterly. “What’s going on? The kingdom’s falling apart, and everyone’s scrambling to pick up the pieces.”

“And you’re not interested?” Lysander pressed. “You, of all people, disappearing now?”

Alaric’s expression shifted, the bitterness in his eyes replaced with something darker. “Maybe I’ve found something more interesting than playing our father’s little game.”

Lysander narrowed his eyes. “There are whispers of betrayal. Is that what this is?”

Alaric’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Betrayal? In this family? That’s not news, brother. It’s tradition.”

Lysander leaned back in his chair, watching Alaric carefully. His brother was hiding something, but what? He needed more information, but pushing too hard might send Alaric over the edge. For now, he would let it go.

“We all have our roles to play,” Lysander said quietly. “Just make sure you know which side you’re on when the time comes.”

Alaric’s smile faded, and for a brief moment, Lysander saw a flicker of fear in his brother’s eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the mask of indifference that Alaric always wore.

Lysander stood, his mind already turning over the possibilities. Alaric wasn’t the key player in this game, but he was a piece on the board. And if Lysander was to survive the coming storm, he would need to make sure every piece was exactly where he wanted it.

As he left the tavern, Lysander couldn’t shake the feeling that something much larger was at play. The kingdom was on the brink of change, and betrayal was lurking in every shadow. But he was ready. He had been preparing for this his entire life.