The chamber was silent, save for the soft hiss of candle flames. Isolde Lamoril sat at the head of the table, her lapis gaze sweeping across the small circle of her most trusted advisors. She wore a deep red gown, embroidered with Aldrath's insignia in gold thread.
The air was heavy, the kind of silence that pressed against the chest and demanded reverence.
"The prophecy has been spoken," she said, her voice smooth yet edged with a sharpness that could cut. "It speaks of Fire. Rebirth—Annexation."
A shiver seemed to ripple through the room, though no one dared to meet her gaze.
The priest, an older man with trembling hands clutching his intricate robes, cleared his throat. "Your Supreme Majesty, forgive my insolence; however, prophecies—prophecies are delicate things. They are not threads to be woven by mortal hands. They--"
"They are threads to be woven, cut, or tied as I see fit," Isolde interrupted, her voice still, but final. "Aldrath will not wait for fate to bestow its blessings. We will claim them."
The priest hesitated, his lips forming silent words before he finally spoke. "It will fall into place naturally, Your Supreme Majesty. The divine--"
"Enough," she snapped, her eyes flashing. The word cut through the air like a blade, brutal and unforgiving. "We do not bow to the divine; we bend it to our will."
A murmur rippled through the council, quickly fading as Isolde turned her attention to the matter at hand. "Othryss, a kingdom rich in gold, is where the seeds of this prophecy lie. That is where we must act."
Silence stretched for a heartbeat, each councilor wary of speaking out of turn.
One of the advisors, a grizzled lord with deep lines etched into his brow, leaned forward, his voice cautious. "Your Supreme Majesty, whom would you send to such a place? Diplomacy in Othryss is a delicate affair, and their trust is not easily won."
An ostentatious lady nodded, draped in taffeta, her jeweled rings clinking as she interlaced her fingers. "Their king is young, known for his stubbornness and defiance. Persuasion may prove as futile as force."
Isolde's lips curled into a faint, calculating smile. "Which is why we will send someone just as unyielding, a force that can endure and infiltrate."
A murmur of uncertainty rustled through the council, until one brave soul probed, "And who among us possesses such qualities, Your Supreme Majesty?"
Isolde's gaze sharpened, her voice smooth as velvet yet cold as winter. "Thaddeus d'Grosvenor will be the one to go."
The council exchanged uneasy glances, few bold enough to question her choice. "But Thaddeus, though valiant, is a soldier first. His methods are... direct. Some might argue they are too blunt for the subtlety this mission requires."
Isolde's smile dropped, a glint of steel in her eyes. "That was not a suggestion. Bluntness has its own elegance. Thaddeus is our knight of the Rising Dawn, the embodiment of Aldrath's might. Othryss will bend, or it will break."
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. The council knew better than to challenge her decree.
Her gaze flicked briefly to the priest, who had gone pale beneath his robes. "As for the prophecy," she murmured, almost to herself, "it's time it served a purpose beyond mere words."
"Faith, after all, is a tool like any other. We shall wield it as such."
The meeting adjourned, the advisors dispersing with troubled thoughts and tested loyalty. As the priest bowed and turned to leave, Isolde's voice stopped him cold. "Faith may guide the masses, but it is my will that leads. Remember that, Father."
The priest's shoulders hunched as he departed, the flickering candlelight casting menacing shadows along the walls. In the dim glow, Isolde remained alone, sovereign not just over Aldrath, but soon over destiny itself.