The Council's Reckoning
The grand hall of the council chamber was abuzz with tension, the heavy atmosphere palpable as councilmen gathered for their scheduled session. Sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows, highlighting the intricate carvings on the walls, but the beauty of the setting was lost on the agitated crowd. Everyone was murmuring about the sudden, unexplained disappearances of prominent nobles and councilmen.
At the head of the chamber, Roman sat on his throne-like seat, exuding calm authority. His expression was unreadable, a mask of serene indifference that only served to enrage his opponents further. To his left sat Veranthor, the Prime Minister, his face a storm of barely contained fury.
When the murmurs finally subsided, Veranthor rose, his robes billowing as he stepped forward. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice carefully measured, "it seems we are convening under... unusual circumstances. Several of our esteemed colleagues are absent today, and their whereabouts remain unclear."
Roman met Veranthor's gaze with an icy calm. "Indeed, Prime Minister. It is unfortunate. I have heard rumors of foul play but no concrete evidence has been presented. Have you heard anything of note?"
The veiled challenge was clear, and Veranthor bristled. "Rumors abound, Your Majesty, but the pattern is undeniable. Nobles who have dared to voice their concerns about recent policies have disappeared overnight. Surely, this cannot be mere coincidence."
A murmur spread through the chamber, but Roman raised a hand, silencing the crowd. "Prime Minister, are you suggesting that these disappearances are politically motivated?" His voice was calm, almost amused.
Veranthor hesitated, aware of the trap laid before him. If he accused the king directly, he risked exposing his own dwindling power and influence. Yet the fury burning within him demanded action. "I am merely suggesting
Veranthor's voice, dripping with contempt and barely veiled accusation, echoed through the chamber. "We demand clarity, Your Majesty. The absence of our colleagues, many of whom had expressed... differing opinions regarding recent policies, raises questions. Surely, a ruler as just and wise as yourself would not condone such chaos within his own capital?"
Roman leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him. "Prime Minister, you seem quite troubled by these absences. Are you suggesting that I, your king, am responsible for the personal affairs of every noble in this city?" His tone was calm, yet the undertone of menace was unmistakable.
The other council members shifted uneasily, exchanging wary glances. Even those loyal to Veranthor hesitated to speak, their fear of Roman's growing power palpable.
Veranthor pressed on, his anger barely masked. "Your Majesty, these absences are not mere 'personal affairs.' They represent a disruption to the council, to the governance of this kingdom. If the crown cannot ensure the safety of its nobles, what message does that send to the people?"
Roman's eyes gleamed dangerously. "I fail to see how the personal failings or misfortunes of a few council members reflect on my ability to govern. Perhaps they had enemies of their own, enemies they failed to placate. Or perhaps..." He paused, letting the silence hang ominously, "...they simply underestimated the price of betrayal."
The room grew deathly quiet. The implications of Roman's words were clear, and a shiver ran through the assembly.
Veranthor, however, refused to back down. "Your Majesty, such words carry weight. This council cannot function under the shadow of fear. We are here to advise, to assist in the governance of the kingdom, not to be targets for retribution."
Roman stood abruptly, his presence towering over the room. "Advise? Assist? Forgive me, Prime Minister, but for the past year, I have seen little of that from your faction. Instead, I have witnessed obstruction, treachery, and a blatant disregard for the welfare of this kingdom. If those who oppose me find themselves... indisposed, perhaps it is not my leadership they should fear, but their own inadequacies."
Veranthor's face turned a deep shade of red, his hands clenched at his sides. He opened his mouth to retort, but Roman silenced him with a sharp gesture.
"This discussion is over," Roman declared, his voice cold and final. "The council will focus on the matters at hand—strengthening our borders, securing our trade routes, and ensuring the prosperity of our people. I will not tolerate distractions. Is that understood?"
The council members nodded hesitantly, cowed by Roman's authority. Even Veranthor, seething with rage, was forced to remain silent, knowing that his dwindling power left him no choice but to comply.
As the meeting adjourned, Roman watched the council members file out, his expression inscrutable. The Bloody Night had sent a clear message: opposition would not be tolerated. And now, with his grip on the capital secure, Roman turned his thoughts to the future, his mind already plotting his next move.