Chapter 12: The Feast of Shadows
The large hall of the palace was filled with light and laughter as nobles came for the banquet in Alaric's honor. The tables were laid with the best linens, packed with roasted meats, fresh fruits, and goblets of the kingdom's sweetest wine. Music flowed through the air, combining with the sound of clinking glasses and the faint hum of conversation. It was a celebration of victory, a tribute to the man who had returned from exile as a hero of the realm.
But amid the warmth of the festivities, Alaric felt the chill of something deeper under the surface. The palace was different from the one he remembered. The faces around him were familiar, yet distant, as though the years of his absence had destroyed the bonds he previously shared with these individuals. The grins sent in his direction were pleasant, but hollow. Alaric realized these were the same nobles who had turned on him when Edwin had cast him out. And now, despite they hailed him for his wins, he could sense their disquiet.
At the head of the table, the king sat, lifting his glass to salute Alaric's successes. "To Commander Alaric Valemont, the hero of the battlefield!" the king proclaimed, his voice booming across the chamber. "May his courage continue to bring glory to this kingdom."
The lords joined in the toast, their voices a cacophony of feigned joy. Alaric raised his own glass, nodding in acknowledgment, though his thoughts were far from the feast. His gaze moved across the room, searching for Edwin. His cousin sat at the far end of the table, beaming as he conversed with many lords. But Alaric could see the flicker of calculation beneath Edwin's gaze, the slight strain in his movements.
Edwin was plotting something. Alaric didn't need to hear the whispers to know it. This meal, this magnificent display of jubilation, was nothing more than a façade. Edwin had been waiting for Alaric to return, and now that he had, the real game was about to begin.
As the night dragged on, Alaric remained on edge, his senses sensitive to every movement, every word said around him. The nobility fawned over him, hailing his military exploits, but Alaric could feel their insincerity. They were watching him, waiting to see how he would play his hand in the kingdom's political game. And then there was Edwin—always present, always lurking in the background like a shadow waiting to strike.
Halfway into the feast, Edwin approached Alaric, his smile as flawless as ever. "Quite the celebration in your honor, cousin," he replied casually, raising his glass. "It seems you've won over the hearts of the kingdom once again."
Alaric didn't reciprocate the smile. "The people honor victory," he said, his voice firm. "But we both know that power in this kingdom doesn't lie with the people."
Edwin's smile grew, while his eyes remained icy. "Power is always a fleeting thing, wouldn't you agree? One instant, it belongs to one individual. The next, it shifts to another. I'm confident you've learnt that lesson well."
Alaric's jaw tensed, but he didn't take the bait. Edwin was attempting to agitate him, trying to remind him of the day he had been cast out, robbed of everything. But Alaric had learnt patience in the years since his exile. He wasn't going to allow Edwin goad him into making a mistake.
"I've learned many things," Alaric answered calmly. "And one of them is that power built on lies is never as secure as it seems."
Edwin's eyes blazed with something dark—anger, perhaps, or fear—but his countenance remained neutral. "Lies, you say?" he mused. "Funny. I've always discovered that truth may be just as dangerous as falsehoods."
Before Alaric could react, a servant arrived at Edwin's side, whispering something in his ear. Edwin nodded slightly, then turned back to Alaric with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "If you'll excuse me, cousin, I have some matters to attend to."
Alaric watched as Edwin went among the mob, his mind racing. Something was wrong. He had felt from the minute he arrived to the banquet that Edwin had been preparing something, but now that suspicion was growing stronger. The manner Edwin had spoken, the obscure tone of his words—it all pointed to a strategy blossoming beneath the surface.
As the feast progressed, Alaric stayed attentive, his senses attuned to any indication of danger. The nobility joked and drank, oblivious to the tension that simmered just under the surface. But Alaric wasn't fooled. Edwin had a plan, and whatever it was, it would strike when Alaric least anticipated it.
Hours passed, and the meal began to wind down. The music slowed, and many of the visitors had already begun to drift away, leaving the big hall in smaller groups. Alaric waited, keeping a cautious eye on Edwin, who remained engrossed in conversation with a group of powerful lords. The mood had transformed, becoming more intimate, more deadly. Alaric could sense it—an undercurrent of conspiracy snaking through the gathering.
Suddenly, a ruckus broke up near the entrance of the hall. Alaric's attention snapped to the source of the commotion, his fingers reflexively reaching to the hilt of his sword. A man stumbled into the room, his face pallid, his eyes wide with fright. He was a messenger, his attire marked with the symbol of the royal treasury.
"My lords!" the man cried, his voice shaking. "There has been... an attack!"
The room fell silent, every sight gazing on the messenger. Alaric's heart quickened. An attack? Here, in the capital? His mind raced with options. Was this part of Edwin's plan? Was the attack real, or a distraction aimed to draw attention away from something more sinister?
The king stood from his throne, his features set in a gloomy frown. "What attack? Speak, man!"
The messenger swallowed hard, his voice wavering. "A group of armed men... they've stormed the treasury. They've taken hostages. They... they demand to speak with Commander Alaric Valemont."
A startled quiet followed the man's statements, the nobility exchanging apprehensive glances. Alaric felt the weight of every eye in the room on him, yet his thoughts were focused completely on one person.
Edwin.
Alaric turned to glance at his cousin, who stood at the edge of the room, his demeanor carefully controlled. But Alaric saw the flicker of delight in his eyes, the small curl of a smile playing at his lips.
This was the moment Edwin had been waiting for.