Few months ago.....!
Izan swung the training sword with precision. Each movement was fluid, controlled, a dance of power and discipline. His muscles burned with the familiar ache of exertion, but it was a sensation he welcomed. It reminded him that he was alive, that he was still fighting, even if the rest of the world believed otherwise.
To the court, Izan was a mere shadow of the man he had once been, a cripple, confined to a rolling chair, the once-fearsome heir to the throne now reduced to what the court whispered was a mere figurehead.
The assassination attempt had been the latest in a long line of attacks. It had occurred just few years ago, during what was supposed to be a routine inspection of the northern borders.
Izan had been leading his troops, as he always did, when the explosion happened. A carriage meant for transporting supplies had been rigged with explosives, and it detonated as Izan passed by.
The blast had thrown him from his horse, the force of the explosion crushing his legs beneath the wreckage. By the time his guards reached him, it was a miracle he was still alive.
But the real miracle was something no one else knew. While the court and the empire believed their crown prince to be crippled, unable to walk, the truth was far more complex. Izan can walk just fine, though he hide this fact carefully.
He allowed the rumors of his crippled state to spread, using the perceived weakness to his advantage. His enemies believed him broken, and that gave him the upper hand. In a court as treacherous as the one in Arcanoria, information was power, and Izan intended to use every bit of it to protect himself.
In the quiet hours of the night, away from prying eyes, he was a warrior, sharpening his skills, preparing for the battles yet to come.
The door to the secluded chamber creaked open, and Dillon, his most trusted confidant and childhood friend, stepped inside. He watched for a moment, waiting until Izan finished a particularly complex maneuver before speaking.
"My prince," Dillon's voice was soft, respectful. "I have news."
Izan lowered the sword, turning to face Dillon with a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. "What is it this time, Dillon? Another plot to poison me, or perhaps they've found a new way to try and kill me off?"
Dillon's face remained serious as he approached. "It's not another assassination attempt. At least, not yet." He handed a stack of papers to Izan, who took them with a raised eyebrow. "These are reports from our spies. It seems the Empress has been celebrating your… unfortunate condition."
The smile faded from Izan's face as he quickly scanned the documents. His sharp mind absorbed every detail, the words stoking a fire of anger and determination deep within him. "Of course, she is," he muttered. "She's probably already planning how to secure the throne for Lucian now that she thinks I'm out of the way."
"Precisely," Dillon confirmed. "She's been quietly gathering support among the nobles, convincing them that a crippled emperor would be a disaster for the empire. They're starting to rally behind Prince Lucian."
Izan's jaw clenched as he tossed the papers onto a nearby table. The Empress had always been a thorn in his side, ever since she had married his father.
She had resented Izan from the moment she stepped into the palace, seeing him not as a child, but as a rival a living reminder of the late Empress Rena, the emperor's first love and the woman who had borne him the rightful heir to the throne.
She had tried to win over the Emperor's heart, to replace Rena in his affections, but she had failed. The Emperor's love for his first wife had never waned, and that love had extended to Izan.
It had always been clear to everyone in the court that Izan was the Emperor's favorite, the son of his first love, and that had only fueled the Empress's hatred. She had tried everything to diminish Izan's standing in the court, but nothing had worked. The Emperor's love and the people's respect for Izan had made him nearly untouchable
"My prince," Dillon's voice broke the silence, his tone careful. "What do you plan to do?"
Izan's gaze drifted to the distant horizon, his eyes narrowing with resolve. "The time for playing defense is over."
Dillon paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied Izan's face. "What do you mean, My prince?"
Izan's lips curved into a faint smile, one so subtle it was almost imperceptible. "I mean that it's time to go on the offensive."
Dillon's concern deepened, but he masked it well. "What exactly do you intend to do?"
"I intend to rid the court of the Empress's allies, one by one," Izan said, his voice cold with purpose. "She's grown too comfortable, too secure in her position, believing that I'm no longer a threat to her ambitions. But this is where she's wrong. And it's time she learns just how wrong she is."
Dillon nodded slowly, understanding the weight of Izan's words. "Where do we start?"
"Grand Duke Marcelo," Izan replied without hesitation. The name dropped like a stone into still water, sending ripples through the air. "He's the Empress's most loyal supporter, the architect behind many of her schemes. If we dismantle his influence, we cripple her power."
The mention of Grand Duke sent a chill down Dillon's spine. The man was a shadowy figure within the palace, feared and respected in equal measure.
His cunning was matched only by his cruelty, and his loyalty to the Empress was unshakable. To go after him was to court danger on a scale that could shake the foundations of the empire. But Dillon knew that if anyone could bring Marcelo down, it was Izan.
"And how do you propose we do that, My prince?" Dillon asked, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his chest.
"Every man has a weakness," Izan said, his eyes darkening with calculation. "We find Marcelo's, and we expose him. Once he's compromised, the Empress will lose one of her most trusted allies. Her power will begin to unravel."
"I'll begin gathering information immediately," Dillon said, already mentally sifting through their network of informants and spies. "We'll need to move carefully, my lord. If Marcelo catches wind of this, it could put you in even greater danger."
"Let him try," Izan replied, his tone unyielding. "I've spent years playing the cripple, letting them believe I'm weak, defenseless. They won't know what hit them."
Dillon hesitated, then took a step closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "My prince, are you certain this is the right time? The Empress is still powerful, and Marcelo has many allies. If we move too soon…"
Izan met Dillon's gaze, his eyes sharp and unwavering. "Dillon, we've been on the defensive for too long. Every time we've held back, they've grown bolder, more ruthless. My mother was killed because my father didn't act quickly enough. I won't let that happen again." His voice softened, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the steely resolve. "I won't let them take anyone else from me."
Dillon's expression softened with understanding. "As you wish, Your Highness. I'll see to it that everything is in place."
Izan nodded, and with a simple gesture, ordered Dillon to take him back to his chambers. Dillon carefully placed Izan in his rolling chair, pushing him through the palace corridors. Servants watched with a mix of pity and respect as the Crown Prince passed them, unaware of the fierce determination burning within him.
Once inside the safety of his chambers, Izan broke the silence. "Did you look into the other matter I asked about?"
"I have, My Lord," Dillon responded immediately. "I've set trusted men to investigate. We should have the information you need very soon."
Izan said nothing, his gaze distant as his hand moved to the half-heart pendant that hung around his neck. His thumb brushed against the cool metal.....