1. The Game Begins at the Banquet
The Grand Banquet of Renewal was less a celebration and more a ceremonial battlefield.
Inside the glittering Hall of Winter's Bloom, the high lords and ladies of Astrenys feasted beneath a ceiling enchanted with falling silver snow. Each flake disappeared before touching the guests—an illusion meant to inspire awe. Kaelen saw it for what it was: distraction. Obscuring the true nature of this night.
A public test. A stage for doubt.
"Why hold a feast now?" Lady Maerlyn had asked two days prior. "It's not the Renewal Festival yet."
"Because Therin wants blood without using a blade," Kaelen had answered. "And this hall is his arena."
Now, he walked into the lion's mouth.
Dozens of nobles turned as he entered, clothed in tailored black, his house sigil—a silver phoenix—emblazoned on one shoulder. A deliberate choice. Not the crown prince's regalia, but not a peasant's garb either. Kaelen claimed legitimacy not through pomp, but through presence.
Every eye followed him.
He passed gilded tables, where nobles whispered behind jeweled goblets. Courtiers stared too long. He ignored them.
At the head table, Lord Therin stood.
Kaelen halted a pace before him and inclined his head just enough to be polite—but not subservient.
"My Lord Uncle," he said smoothly, voice like tempered steel.
Therin's false smile curled like smoke.
"My dearest Kaelen," he purred. "You honor us with your miraculous resurrection. Do take a seat. You must be exhausted."
Every word was bait. Kaelen's mouth curved in a subtle, unreadable smile.
"Death, as it turns out, is quite restorative."
He turned and took the only empty seat left—beside Lord Mavrek Orrel, one of the king's favored generals, and directly across from Lady Aelira Varnes, Therin's niece and his favorite political blade.
Let the wolves encircle him.
He was no longer the sheep they remembered.
2. The Serpent's Daughters
Lady Aelira Varnes smiled at Kaelen with eyes like frozen rubies. Her beauty was infamous—dark curls, honeyed skin, and a voice like silk soaked in venom.
"I must say, cousin," she said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "you wear rebirth well. Tell me—does undeath dull one's palate? Or do you still savor wine?"
Kaelen leaned back, lifting his crystal goblet. "I find wine sweeter after betrayal. But then, perhaps that's just nostalgia."
Mavrek Orrel choked on his meat. Aelira's smile sharpened.
Therin's allies were circling. Testing. Looking for cracks in his armor.
A servant approached with another tray of wine. Kaelen's gaze flicked—barely perceptible—but Lyse was already moving from the shadows, disguised as a royal attendant. She intercepted the cup, made a show of tasting it, and poured it out without a word.
Therin raised his goblet with faux surprise. "Is there a reason your servant drinks first?"
Kaelen met his gaze.
"There are many lessons one learns from execution. One of them is to never drink what a smiling man offers you."
Several nobles laughed nervously. A few paled.
Therin only smiled wider.
3. A Message in the Music
The musicians played a haunting tune—The Passing of Autumn—a song about an heir's slow death and a kingdom's mourning. Subtle. Cruel.
Kaelen closed his eyes briefly and let the music flow through him. He knew this song. It had played at his funeral.
Let them test his composure. Let them watch.
When he opened his eyes again, he met Aelira's gaze. She held a small, gleaming charm in her hand—an heirloom of the Varnes family, shaped like a crescent blade.
She slid it across the table toward him with the elegance of a lover passing a note.
"A token of favor," she whispered. "You'll need allies, Kaelen."
He picked it up. Turned it once. "Is this favor… yours? Or your uncle's?"
Aelira's expression flickered, just for an instant. Then the mask returned.
"I serve my own interests."
"Then you may yet survive this court," he said softly, tucking the charm into his pocket.
She leaned forward. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"I've already died once," Kaelen said. "The danger is behind me. The hunt is ahead."
4. Allies in the Smoke
After the feast, the nobles drifted to the Moon Garden for nightcap wine and quieter conversation.
Kaelen slipped away from the main path and entered the garden's smoke corridor, a narrow path lined with enchanted incense urns that veiled each conversation in mist. Ideal for secrecy.
There, beneath the glow of violet starlight, two figures awaited him.
General Voran, cloaked in military grey.
And Lord Teylan Irross—a minor noble with no real power… yet. In Kaelen's previous life, Teylan had died young in a border skirmish. But Kaelen knew the truth now: Teylan had been assassinated before brokering a treaty with the rebel marsh clans.
"You received my summons," Kaelen said.
Teylan nodded, cautious. "It arrived in code no one but I could read. How did you know the cipher?"
"You told me it," Kaelen said. "In another life."
Teylan blinked. "You're mad."
"Perhaps," Kaelen allowed. "But you came."
Voran stood like a statue beside them, saying nothing. His eyes were on the garden paths—watching for shadows.
"I have proof," Kaelen said, drawing a scroll from his coat. "Of Lord Therin's arrangement to sabotage the southern marshes. Read it. Decide if you still believe I'm mad."
Teylan took it. Unfurled it. His breath caught.
"Impossible," he whispered.
"No," Kaelen said. "Calculated. Cold. Necessary. That's how he plays. But now… I'm playing too."
5. Blood on the Moon Petals
Moments later, Kaelen returned to the garden path—only to hear a scream.
He ran, cape billowing behind him. Several nobles were gathered in horror around a body lying among the glowing moonflowers.
A court bard. Slumped forward. A dagger in his neck.
Aelira stood nearby, face pale. She held a paper in her hand—blood-soaked.
Kaelen approached and took it.
On the paper, a single line:
"The next song will be yours."
Aelira stepped closer, whispering only loud enough for him to hear.
"Do you see, cousin? The music has teeth."
Kaelen folded the note carefully. "Then let's give them something worth singing about."
6. The Smile Beneath the Blade
Later that night, Kaelen stood at the window of his chambers, watching torchlights shift along the palace walls.
Therin was already making moves.
The bard's death was no message—it was bait. Meant to spook him. Shake him. Remind him he wasn't safe.
Kaelen allowed himself one slow breath.
In his past life, he had been slow to act. Hesitant. Hoping justice would prevail on its own.
That was over.
He moved to his desk and opened a hidden compartment.
Inside lay a sealed black envelope, bearing the sigil of the Iron Guild—the assassins of the old world, long thought extinct.
He took out a pen.
"To the Guildmaster of Shadows,
I require a meeting. Not for blood, but for balance.
-K"
He sealed the letter and handed it to Lyse without a word.
"Do you want to kill him now?" she asked.
Kaelen looked out at the stars.
"No," he said. "First, I want him afraid."