Night fell over the capital like a shroud, cloaking its towers and alleys in deep shadow. From his high balcony in the royal keep, Crown Prince Reuben watched the lights flicker like dying stars. His fingers drumd the stone railing, his mind restless.
The news had reached him swiftly: A mysterious rchant had entered the capital. He had him investigated. He relaxed when he learned he was a wealthy but ordinary rchant from Cavinta.
Behind him, a figure erged from the gloom of the chamber—a man draped in the black robes of the king’s secret council, his face hidden beneath a silver mask.
"Your Highness," the masked man said, his voice soft as a serpent’s hiss, "all proceeded as you commanded. Prince Alaric and his soldiers are suffering as they travel. The farther they are from the capital, the more they would suffer."
Reuben didn’t turn. "Great! But I know my brother’s capability. He is probably not suffering as much as we thought. Send an urgent ssage. Bandits ambushed a group from the capital and beat everyone, not knowing that one of them was the first prince of Northem. Make sure that this does not reach the king’s ears. Even if he hated him, he is still his son." He said, his voice asured.
"The king will only see and hear what you wish him to see and hear, Your Highness," the man replied. "His hatred blinds him. He will not question Alaric’s fate until it is far too late."
A slow smile spread across Reuben’s face. "Wait! I changed my mind." He suddenly turned around and almost bumped into the masked man. His voice was full of excitent: "Let the people believe Alaric escaped and beat his escorts to half death. Let the old fools of the court tremble at the na of their exiled prince. When the ti cos, they will beg to save them. Then let soone pose as Alaric, enter the capital, and lead a rebellion."
The masked man bowed low. "And when it is done?"
Reuben’s eyes glinted in the moonlight. "When it is done, I will wear the crown not as heir—but as king."
...
Matthias closed the heavy door behind them, the iron latch falling into place with a dull thud that echoed in the cramped chamber. For a long mont, he stood in stunned silence, staring at the figure before him—this man who bore the na Kasr, but whose presence spoke of a truth he dared not voice.
The room slled of smoke, oil, and old wood. A single lamp flickered on the table, casting long, jagged shadows along the walls, as if the forge itself recoiled from what was unfolding.
"You must make do for now, as it is already late. I will arrange a better one tomorrow." Matthias said as he tried to smooth out the creases on the linen on the bed.
Kasr lowered his hood fully now, revealing the full scar—jagged, ugly, stretching across his brow and vanishing into his hairline. His obsidian eyes locked on Matthias’s with a gravity that made the forge-master feel as if the air had thickened around him.
"It should be," Kasr said quietly. "We are used to even worse conditions."
Matthias’s throat worked as he tried to speak. He crossed the room, bolted the shutters, and checked that no prying ears lingered outside. Then he turned, his voice low, urgent.
"Tell it’s true. Tell it’s you..."
Kasr—inclined his head once. The na hung heavy in the room, like a long-buried blade unearthed.
"I ride under another na now. But yes, Matthias. It is I."
"But what if you are discovered? Aren’t you courting death?" Matthias looked troubled.
"That’s why I need your help. I am now a rchant. Even if they investigate, they will find that Kasr is just soone who hailed from a family of rchants from Cavinta."
Matthias gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. His mind raced back to the day they buried the king’s bastard son—or thought they had. The boy who had vanished in the fire, the boy whose mother had died, cursing Heimdal’s na.
"Why co back here?" Matthias whispered.
"Because I need to co. Kasr answered, his voice hardening. "Because your forges fuel the war that my brother plans. And because there is no one else I can trust."
Matthias stared at him, then let out a breath that seed to deflate the years of bitterness he’d carried. "You have my loyalty. Gods forgive , I should have known sooner."
Kasir gave a grim smile—just a flicker at the edge of his mouth. "Then help . My companion and I need shelter."
Matthias nodded. "You can move to an inn east of the capital tomorrow. Rest tonight—and when dawn breaks, we’ll speak more."
Kasr clasped his shoulder, the first hint of warmth between them. "I knew I could count on you, old friend."
As Matthias disappeared from the door, Kasr remained in the chamber, staring at the lamp lighting the room. The wick crackled as the fla licked it. He felt the weight of what had just begun—the return of a dead prince and, with him, the awakening of a reckoning long delayed. That was what Kasr wanted everyone to see.
Outside, the forges roared into the night, but beneath their music, Matthias thought he could hear the storm gathering.
...
The old bed creaked beneath him as he lay down on it. His companion opened the high window, and the room grew cooler. A single torch flickered on the wall, its light casting wavering shapes that seed to dance like ghosts in the dark.
The room, which used to be a slter cellar, was a low, cavernous chamber carved from stone, its walls blackened from old fires. Broken tools and warped iron lay on the side, relics of when fire burned day and night to slt swords and shields for kings long dead.
Kasr’s companion stood in silence against the window, hood drawn low. Then the figure turned and pushed back the hood, revealing a ruggedly handso face, sharp-featured, pale from travel, his eyes quick and alert beneath a fall of dark hair.
"Your disguise is quite good. Even Matthias is fooled." He said, his voice deep and amused.
Kasr studied him in the dim light. "Let us see if all the others will not see through our disguise. But Matthias needed to know our true identity sooner."
The man folded his arms, leaning against the cold stone. "Isn’t that a risk? Matthias might slip and expose you."
The man on the bed carelessly rose and disposed of his cloak. "Matthias is loyal. He owes his life to . That’s as good as a sworn oath."
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