The next morning, the coachman arrived at the royal palace looking as though the road itself had declared war on him.
He had left Wrenhollow before sunrise, carrying a burden heavier than any cargo he had transported in his years of service. Every mile had seed longer than the last.
His muscles ached.
Bruises blood beneath the dirt coating his skin.
Dust clung stubbornly to his clothes.
His eyes burned from lack of sleep.
Yet he never once considered turning back.
Because what he carried was not rely a ssage.
It was a warning.
Ahead of him, the royal palace dominated the horizon.
Towering walls of white stone rose beneath the morning sun.
Golden banners fluttered from watchtowers.
Marble spires pierced the sky.
To most people, the palace inspired awe.
To the coachman, it felt impossibly distant.
The massive iron gates stood open, guarded by rows of soldiers wearing polished armor that glead beneath the sunlight.
Taking a deep breath, he guided the carriage through the entrance.
The royal insignia token Drazeil had given him rested securely in his pocket.
Without it, he doubted he would have made it this far.
The carriage rolled across the courtyard before finally stopping near the royal stables.
Stable hands quickly approached to care for the horses.
The coachman climbed down.
His legs nearly buckled beneath him.
For a brief mont, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.
But then he rembered Elder Theai turning to ash.
He rembered the empty houses.
The silent streets.
The fear in the villagers’ eyes.
His jaw tightened.
He forced himself forward.
The throne room.
That was his destination.
Nothing else mattered.
---
The palace corridors stretched endlessly before him.
Servants hurried between rooms carrying trays, docunts, and baskets of supplies.
Nobles passed by dressed in expensive silks.
Guards stood at every major intersection.
No one paid him much attention.
To them, he was rely another commoner.
Another insignificant face.
Eventually, he reached the enormous double doors leading into the throne room.
Two royal guards imdiately stepped forward.
"Halt."
The coachman stopped.
"I need to see His Majesty."
The guards exchanged a glance.
"The King is occupied."
"It’s urgent."
One of the guards sighed.
"They all say that."
The coachman’s patience began to crack.
His hands clenched.
His voice hardened.
"This concerns Lord Drazeil."
That earned a slight reaction.
Not enough.
The taller guard folded his arms.
"And do you have proof?"
The coachman imdiately produced the golden token.
The royal crest engraved into its surface glead beneath the torchlight.
The guards inspected it.
Their expressions changed briefly.
Then, surprisingly—
They laughed.
"A token?"
The shorter guard tossed it back.
"You expect us to disturb the King because of this?"
The coachman’s face reddened.
Anger surged through him.
He had traveled for hours.
Risked his life.
Carried a warning that might affect the entire kingdom.
And these fools were laughing.
"This isn’t a joke."
The taller guard shrugged.
"Not our problem."
"Listen to —"
"No."
The guard pointed toward the exit.
"Leave."
The coachman’s breathing grew heavier.
His fists shook.
For a mont, he seriously considered punching the man.
Then a new voice drifted across the courtyard.
Calm.
Lazy.
Dangerous.
"Would either of you care to explain why you’re embarrassing the royal family this early in the morning?"
The guards froze.
The coachman turned.
Prince Thaddeus stood several ters away.
His hands rested casually inside his pockets.
His dark clothing looked expensive without appearing flashy.
A faint smirk played on his lips.
He seed relaxed.
Almost amused.
Yet the mont the guards saw him, their faces drained of color.
"Y-Your Highness."
Thaddeus ignored them.
His gaze landed on the golden token.
He stepped forward.
Picked it up.
Examined it carefully.
Then sighed.
A disappointed sigh.
The kind teachers gave particularly stupid students.
"Would I be evil if I fired both of you?"
The guards imdiately stiffened.
"P-Prince Thaddeus—"
"No, seriously."
He looked genuinely curious.
"I think firing incompetent people might actually be a public service."
Neither guard spoke.
The coachman almost felt sorry for them.
Almost.
Thaddeus flipped the token once before returning it.
"This is authentic."
His voice lost its playful edge.
"Which ans whoever carries it is here on official business."
The guards swallowed.
Hard.
"Open the doors."
One guard hesitated.
"Your Highness, the King instructed us not to allow interruptions—"
Thaddeus stared at him.
Silence.
Several uncomfortable seconds passed.
Then the prince smiled.
It sohow made things worse.
"Open."
The doors opened imdiately.
Thaddeus nodded.
"Good choice."
The guards nearly collapsed from relief.
The coachman blinked.
The prince had resolved the entire situation in less than a minute.
Without raising his voice.
Without drawing a weapon.
Without threatening anyone.
Sohow that felt more intimidating.
"Co on," Thaddeus said.
The coachman looked up.
The prince had already started walking.
"You’re obviously carrying sothing important."
The coachman hurried after him.
---
Together they entered the throne room.
The atmosphere hit imdiately.
Music drifted through the chamber.
Expensive perfu scented the air.
Wine bottles littered nearby tables.
Half-eaten fruit rested beside overturned goblets.
Silken curtains swayed gently in the morning breeze.
The King lounged comfortably atop his throne.
Or rather—
He lounged around it.
His crown sat abandoned nearby.
His robes hung loosely around his shoulders.
Three beautiful won surrounded him.
One sat comfortably upon his lap grinding him, while feeding him grapes.
Another rested against his shoulder.
The third occupied a seat beside him, laughing at every joke he made.
Reports lay untouched.
Docunts remained unopened.
Petitions gathered dust.
The affairs of the kingdom appeared significantly less important than the entertainnt currently occupying His Majesty’s attention.
Anyone entering the room for the first ti would have struggled to believe this man ruled an entire nation.
Thaddeus clicked his tongue.
Honestly.
The old man never changed.
The King finally noticed them.
His expression brightened.
"Thaddeus."
He raised his goblet.
"My son."
His eyes shifted toward the coachman.
"And who is this?"
The coachman imdiately dropped to one knee.
"Your Majesty."
The room gradually quieted.
Even the musicians slowed.
Sothing in his voice carried urgency.
The King noticed it too.
His smile faded slightly.
"What is it?"
The coachman swallowed.
His throat felt dry.
Every eye in the room rested upon him.
The weight of Wrenhollow seed to settle onto his shoulders once more.
He rembered Elder Theai.
The funeral.
The villagers.
The sealed mory Orb.
The impending evacuation.
The fear.
So much fear.
Taking a steadying breath, he lowered his head.
"I bring a ssage from Lord Drazeil."
That got everyone’s attention.
Even the King straightened slightly.
Thaddeus’ expression sharpened.
The won fell silent.
The room grew noticeably colder.
The coachman continued.
"Lord Drazeil requests imdiate aid."
The King’s brow furrowed.
"Aid?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The coachman’s voice trembled.
Not from fear.
From mory.
"The village of Wrenhollow has suffered another attack and this one more brutal."
The King set down his goblet.
Slowly.
Carefully.
For the first ti since they entered, the room felt serious.
"What kind of attack?"
The coachman looked up.
His eyes were bloodshot.
Exhausted.
Haunted.
"The Quiet Taking."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
One of the won gasped softly.
The King’s expression froze.
Even Thaddeus stopped moving.
The coachman felt every heartbeat pounding inside his chest.
Then he delivered the final blow.
"The Quiet Taking is expanding."
The King’s goblet slipped from his fingers.
It shattered against the floor.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The sound echoed throughout the throne room like a funeral bell.
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