The poison had failed. Kaelian still breathed.
Whispers surged like wildfire through the marble halls of the palace. Word had spread that a dish meant for the young royal bastard had been intercepted by a keen-eyed servant. No names were uttered, no fingers openly pointed—but the fear was tangible, coiling in the air like smoke. Everyone was waiting. For blood. For his.
Kaelian had not screamed, not wept, not even flinched. Instead, he retreated to his quarters and began to calculate.
The poison had been too sophisticated for a mere kitchen boy. It was laced with rare extracts from the Isles of Ulmarin—subtle, precise, lethal in silence. This wasn't an outburst of rage. This was strategy. Someone had tested his guard, his wit... or hoped to eliminate him quietly, without scandal.
Théor? Virella? Another hungry noble? The court had too many masks and too few truths.
But everything changed the following morning.
With a solemn tone dipped in hypocrisy, Prince Théor called for Kaelian to appear before the Privy Council for a "security evaluation." On the surface, it was a gesture of concern. Beneath, everyone knew it for what it was—a trap, a ploy to isolate and dispose of him, far from the protection of watchful eyes.
Kaelian couldn't refuse. Refusal would brand him defiant, rebellious—guilty. Compliance would make him vulnerable. Every step he took toward the great hall felt like walking into a pit of blades.
Then, as he mounted the final steps to the audience chamber, a voice—firm and absolute—sliced through the tension:
"This boy is under my protection now."
Heads turned sharply. The voice came from the arched gallery above. A figure emerged, cloaked in violet robes lined with silver glyphs. Each step he took down the staircase sent an invisible ripple through the room. The guards, instinctively, lowered their spears.
Master Elgorn.
Archmage of the realm. Keeper of the Grimoire of Origins. Adviser to the King in all matters arcane—and a figure shrouded in awe and dread.
Kaelian blinked, taken off guard. He had only ever heard of Elgorn in stories—some praising his wisdom, others whispering of rooms turned to ash and traitors turned to stone.
The archmage's voice rumbled again, commanding the air.
"He enters the Royal Academy in three days. Until then, he is under my direct authority. Any attempt to interfere will be treated as a violation of the Imperial Protocol for the Education of Noble-Blooded Wards."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Prince Théor's expression flickered. But he recovered quickly, his smile thin and diplomatic.
"Of course, Master Elgorn. We would never defy the Empire's protocols."
Kaelian said nothing. His mind raced. Why now? Why this sudden interest from a man of Elgorn's stature? What game was unfolding behind the veil?
Hours later, Kaelian found himself seated within the black tower that served as the archmage's sanctuary. The walls pulsed faintly, etched with runes that shimmered like living things. It felt like the tower itself was listening.
Elgorn stood near a wide window, arms folded behind his back.
"You have many enemies, Kaelian," he said flatly.
"And apparently… one unexpected ally. Why protect me, Master? You don't strike me as someone who believes in noble bloodlines—especially mine."
Elgorn turned, settling into a throne-like chair adorned with ancient carvings. His eyes gleamed, sharp as drawn steel.
"I don't protect you out of sentiment," he said. "I protect you because war is coming—war not just of blades, but of minds. And this kingdom needs new players on the board. You, whether you like it or not, are one of them."
Kaelian said nothing.
The archmage leaned forward slightly, studying him with unnerving precision.
"I've seen the reports. You manipulate, you observe, you move people like chess pieces. That isn't instinct. That's design. You're not what you appear to be."
A flicker of alarm crossed Kaelian's chest. He kept his face neutral.
Elgorn's lips twitched in the ghost of a knowing smile.
"No need to confirm. Your silence says enough." He stood, pacing slowly. "At the Academy, you'll be in a semi-neutral zone. But know this: you'll be watched more closely than ever."
He stopped before Kaelian, voice dropping to a near whisper.
"Be careful with your truths, Kaelian. Some truths will set you free. Others will destroy everything you are."
Two days later, as the sun rose crimson behind the spires of the palace, Kaelian received a sealed letter bearing the royal crest. Inside was a set of Academy robes—tailored to perfection—and a handwritten note.
To my son,
Though born outside propriety, you carry my blood.
It is time you prove your worth in the courts of merit.
Seek neither vengeance nor validation.
Earn them. Or vanish.
No warmth. No pride. Just a trial.
Yet Kaelian felt something stir. An acknowledgment. A door.
In the stables, while adjusting the straps on his horse, he felt a presence. Lyssa.
"You're really going?" she asked softly.
He nodded without meeting her eyes.
She hesitated, then pulled something from her satchel. A small crystal vial—glowing faintly blue.
"Essence of Moon," she said. "Rare. Could save you if someone tries again. Poison doesn't always strike right away."
He took it silently and slid it into his sleeve. When their eyes met, he saw no ambition, no schemes—just genuine worry. That unnerved him more than any enemy ever could.
"Thank you," he said at last. "But be careful yourself. In this place… even the snakes wear crowns."
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the departure began.
Kaelian rode among a retinue of robed figures—not soldiers, but mages-in-training from the Order. The message was subtle, but powerful: he no longer belonged to the Court. He belonged to the Arcanum.
The palace gates closed behind him with a final, echoing thud.
He did not look back.
He was no longer just a survivor. No longer just a bastard prince dancing through webs of courtly deceit.
He was a threat.
High above, on the marble balcony of the Queen's quarters, Virella watched the procession disappear into the distant dusk.
In her hands, a torn scroll—its seal shattered.
Her lips curled into a cold smile.
"Protected by Elgorn or not… he's still an anomaly. And anomalies?"
"They must be corrected."
End of Chapter 14.
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