Chapter 27 – The Gilded Leash
The chamber assigned as the headquarters for the newly sanctioned Royal Shadow Hunters was a study in gilded irony. Located in the austere eastern wing of the palace, it was lavishly appointed with furniture of polished sourwood and silver inlay, yet the windows were high and narrow, and the single door was observed at all times by the stoic Royal Guard. It was a beautiful cage.
Crown Prince Strelm stood admiring a tapestry depicting a historic Warsenbrenn victory, a goblet of wine swirling in his hand. He turned as Don, Caria, Leinara, and Dvrik entered, a smile of perfect, predatory charm gracing his lips.
"Lord Don," Strelm began, his voice smooth as honeyed poison. "Welcome. I trust your new station—and its accompanying authority—are to your liking. The Crown is most generous to those who prove their loyalty."
"The Crown's generosity is appreciated, Your Highness," Don replied, his own voice a calm counterpoint to the Prince's veiled threats. "We are eager to begin our work."
"Excellent," Strelm said, moving to a large map table. "Because your first official mission awaits. We have received troubling reports from the Barony of Silverwood. Whispers of violent beasts, strange lights in the forest, and growing civil unrest. The Baron seems unable to control his people." He tapped a location far to the north, in a territory known to be staunchly loyal to House Adraels. "Go there. Assess the threat. Pacify the region. Show the realm that the King's peace will be kept, by whatever means necessary."
The order was a finely crafted weapon. It was a legitimate task, yet its location and vague nature were designed to put Don in a politically impossible position—forcing him to either harass his own allies or disobey a direct royal command.
"We will leave at once," Don said, giving no hint of the trap he saw being laid.
While Don accepted the Prince's mission, his council was already moving on other fronts. Dressed as a simple courtier, Leinara made her way to the city's sprawling market. She didn't go near "The Serpent's Coil" but instead observed the flow of goods. Following a hunch, she tracked a specific merchant known to supply the palace kitchens. As she watched from a distance, she saw the merchant pass a seemingly innocent note to one of the Queen's known gardeners. The network was still alive, communicating through the mundane arteries of the city.
Miles away, in a fortified hunting lodge deep in the northern woods, two fathers met. Earl Dunnel Adraels and Lord Varant Griffor sat across from each other, a fire crackling between them.
"The message arrived," Varant rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "The boy is walking on a blade's edge."
"He is," Dunnel agreed, his face grim. "The King has chained him to the wolf. But a leash can be slipped." They spent the next hour planning in low tones—coordinating troop movements on their respective borders, redirecting trade caravans to bolster their allies, and preparing for a storm they both knew was inevitable.
In the palace, a different warning was being given. Princess Athina, under the guise of discussing elven poetry, met with Caria in the Royal Conservatory. "Be wary," Athina whispered, her eyes darting towards the door. "My brother is not just watching Don. He has requested texts from the forbidden archives—specifically, treatises on containing and neutralizing sources of elemental and ancestral fire. He is not learning about your power to respect it; he is learning how to extinguish it."
The journey to Silverwood was tense. When they arrived, they found no monsters. They found a town on its knees, its people gaunt and desperate. The Baron, a proud but broken man, confessed the truth. Crippling taxes levied by the Crown to fund its ever-growing army had bled his people dry. The "monsters" were illusions, clever light-spells woven by the Baron's court mage—a desperate attempt to frighten off the ruthless royal tax collectors.
"Prince Strelm knew," Don said, looking at the faces of the hungry villagers. "He knew there were no beasts. He sent us here to make an example of a loyal house."
Dvrik clenched his fist. "So we fight? Do we send the tax collectors packing?"
"No," Don said, a plan forming in his mind. "We obey the Prince's orders to the letter. He asked us to 'pacify the region.' We will."
Don returned to Erydon three days later and requested an immediate audience with the Prince.
"Your Highness," Don reported, his tone one of perfect military formality. "I am pleased to report that the situation in Silverwood has been pacified."
Strelm leaned forward, a hungry look in his eyes. "And the beasts? Were they difficult to dispatch?"
"There were no beasts," Don replied calmly. "The 'strange lights' were a minor magical disturbance emanating from a fissure in the earth—a natural, if unusual, phenomenon. We have sealed the fissure and contained the energy. The unrest among the people was due to the fear this phenomenon was causing. With the 'threat' gone, calm has been restored." He presented Strelm with a flawlessly written, technically detailed report, complete with geological surveys and magical readings fabricated by Caria. It was a masterpiece of plausible denial.
He then added, "To further aid the pacification, I took the liberty of using my house's funds to pay the barony's overdue taxes as a gesture of goodwill from the Crown. I'm sure you agree that a prosperous barony is a peaceful one."
Strelm was speechless. Don had followed his orders, solved the problem, and made the Prince look like a fool who had wasted royal resources on a ghost hunt. Worse, he had done so with a generosity that would earn him even more loyalty in the north.
The Prince forced a smile, but his eyes were chips of ice. "Excellent work, Lord Adraels. Your... resourcefulness is duly noted."
As Don left the chamber, Strelm stared at the false report, his knuckles white. The gilded leash he had placed on the young lord felt less like a chain and more like a tripwire. He had not caged a lion. He had invited a wolf into his own hall, and it was showing its teeth.