Rega woke before the sun had fully claimed the horizon.

  The chamber was still wrapped in the blue hush of predawn, pale light slipping through the carved ebony shutters and catching on the golden inlays of the floor tiles. The air was cold — unusually so — and it pressed against the back of his neck as he rose and crossed to his mahogany table alone.

  A plate of spiced fruit and grilled goat sat before him. He ate without appetite, picking absently while the palace assembled itself around him — muffled footsteps in distant halls, the clatter of armor, the sharp whistles of morning drills. Normally those sounds steadied him.

  Not today.

  A knock came at the door.

  "Enter."

  Kenya and Zuri stepped inside, their armor still faintly dusted from a night of pursuit, fatigue worn around their eyes from being out all night. They bowed in unison.

  Rega set down his fork. "Report."

  The two guards exchanged a brief, wordless look, and Zuri stepped forward.

  "The targets were not found, my King. We followed the dwarf and the girl, Lia, through the fighters' corridor and into the city streets." Her jaw tightened. "They must have realized we were following and removed their disguises."

  Rega's fingers stilled above his plate. His face was unreadable.

  Zuri continued. "They were seen meeting with two others, the scholar and the young boy who had attended the dinner, and they were also seen using vines to escape. You were right all along my king, the girl Lia was most likely the Aseborn."

  Then he smiled — slowly, thinly. The smile of a man who had doubted a piece of himself and felt that doubt die.

  "So," he said softly. "The dwarf and the girl are one faction."

  "They are, my King," Kenya confirmed. "They worked in tandem. And they are gone."

  Rega leaned back, the chair creaking under the shift of his weight. His mind was already racing — calculations, consequences, angles — but one question demanded immediate attention.

  His finger tapped once against the polished wood.

  "Then tell me," he murmured, "how the Affinity Stone failed to expose the Green à??born."

  Zuri stiffened. Kenya swallowed.

  Rega rose and crossed to the velvet-draped stand where the stone rested. He lifted it — cold, weightless, inert — and turned it slowly in his hands.

  "It should have reacted. It should have burned in the dwarf's hand. Or the girl's." He was speaking more to himself than to either guard. "They switched it. Or rendered it inactive."

  He set the stone back onto its pedestal and stood very still.

  Only a handful of people possessed the knowledge — and the motivation — to tamper with the stone's enchantments. He moved through them one by one.

  Kenya inhaled. "There is one thing worth noting, my King. The wind last night was unusual. Localized."

  Rega's smile returned — colder now, and sharper.

  "High Seer Jabara."

  The woman who spoke openly of balance and divine will, who tested him with veiled warnings, who seemed to genuinely believe she could maneuver around him. She was competent. Dangerous. Useful, until the moment she decided she wasn't.

  He would not remove her yet. Not without proof. Not without leverage.

  But he could begin tightening the leash.

  "Send word," he said, turning back to his guards. "I'll speak to Diviner Zuberi before I depart this afternoon."

  Kenya and Zuri bowed low, fists to their chests, and withdrew — boots striking marble once before the heavy doors sealed Rega back inside the cold morning quiet.

  "A clever play, High Seer," he murmured. "Let us see how clever you remain once I begin to tighten the cage."

  He returned to the table, lifted a piece of spiced fruit, and bit into it slowly — already crafting a plan for the High Seer in his mind.

  Rega dressed methodically: bronze breastplate fastened, leather straps pulled tight, the crimson sash of command folded twice and tied at his waist. He turned to the cedar table where a map of the Northern territories lay stretched flat, the Dark Forest marked near the top just past the Botarian region.

  A knock. Not hesitant, not bold. Measured.

  "Enter."

  The messenger pressed his forehead nearly to the stone floor. "My King. The Bash??run Adisa requests an audience. Chief Tendaji accompanies him."

  "Of course." Rega folded the map with deliberate calm. "Tell them I come."

  The inner court's audience chamber was cool and shadow-heavy, its walls carved with the frozen victories of past kings—men whose stone faces radiated the serenity of those who had never once questioned their right to act. Incense curled from golden bowls shaped like crouching lions.

  Bash??run Adisa sat upright on a carved ivory seat—not a throne, but elevated just enough to remind men where power truly rested. He was tall and iron-boned, aged not into softness but compression, like hardwood under long pressure. His agbada was deep indigo, trimmed with the gold threadwork reserved for his office. Chief Tendaji stood at his right: broader, shorter, fingers resting lightly on his sword hilt, expression carrying the practiced blankness of a man who had survived three kings.

  Neither smiled.

  Both bowed as Rega entered—the precise, measured bow of men who acknowledged a king.

  "You prepare to leave," the Bash??run said.

  "I do."

  "For the Dark Forest."

  Rega inclined his head. "Yes. It has piqued my interest, and I have decided to see it for myself."

  Tendaji’s fingers tapped lightly on his sword hilt. "Or perhaps you mean to plant something there."

  Silence settled like dust.

  "If I meant to plant something," Rega replied evenly, "I would say so plainly."

  The Bash??run studied him with the unhurried patience of a man who had watched kings lie for decades. "You moved soldiers without full council approval. You recalled scouts from the western ridge without notice. You had Silas’s body removed so your little pet Njiru could experiment on it." He paused. "Three decisions, Rega. Made alone."

  Rega clasped his hands behind his back. "Silas’s death was not something I had orchestrated."

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  "Yet you sent Njiru to take the body," Tendaji pressed. "What is it you plan to do with it?"

  "Njiru will let me know of the possibilities."

  "And what possibilities are you expecting?" the Bash??run asked quietly.

  "I do not know, Bash??run. Once I know, you will know."

  "You will admit there was more to his death than a tournament skirmish," Tendaji said.

  "I admit I measure what I release and when." Rega’s voice remained level. "You have nothing to fear from Silas’s death. That I can assure you."

  "You assure us," the Bash??run repeated. Not quite a question.

  "Yes."

  A longer silence followed. The two older men exchanged a glance that carried an entire conversation in its margins.

  "The Dark Forest is dangerous. If you do not return from this forest?" Tendaji asked.

  "Then you may choose a commander who hesitates," Rega replied.

  That almost earned a smile from the Bash??run. Almost.

  "We would consult the diviners before sanctioning such a venture," Tendaji said. "Formally."

  "Of course." Rega nodded. "Where is Diviner Zuberi? I would hear his take on your questionings before I depart."

  The Bash??run folded his hands. "Zuberi no longer holds the highest seat among the seers."

  Rega did not blink. "Is that so."

  "High Seer Jabara has been elevated," Tendaji said. "The council voted just before we arrived."

  The name arrived like a blade slipped between ribs. Rega felt heat climb behind his sternum. His jaw did not move. His eyes did not flicker.

  "I see," he said.

  "The kingdom evolves," the Bash??run added mildly. "It is wise for a king to evolve with it."

  Rega bowed his head—correct depth, not an inch deeper. "Then I will seek High Seer Jabara’s counsel before I depart."

  Tendaji watched him carefully for any twitch in Rega’s face. "You are not displeased?"

  "Why would I be? She has ascended; she has earned it."

  Internally, his thoughts moved with cold speed. Zuberi cannot be sidelined. Not now, not with the expedition ahead and Njiru’s work still unfinished. Zuberi understood necessity—understood that power must be guided, not worshipped. Jabara questioned everything.

  The Bash??run’s gaze sharpened, searching for the crack in the stone. He found nothing.

  "You understand," Bash??run Adisa said softly, "that the council’s patience is not without limits."

  Rega met his eyes fully. "And you understand that neither is mine."

  Both understood the truth beneath those words. The Bash??run held the old law—the quiet authority to remove and replace a king. But Rega was not the child puppet the council had hoped for when they planned his father’s removal. Removing Rega would not be quiet. It would fracture the kingdom along every fault line already forming.

  They both knew it.

  Tendaji broke first. "We all desire stability."

  "Yes," Rega agreed. "We do."

  A final look moved between the three of them—a look between men who needed each other but could not trust each other.

  "You will have provisional approval for the journey," the Bash??run said at last. "Seek the High Seer’s blessing before you ride."

  "I will."

  "And Rega—" He paused. "If there is something you are not telling us..."

  Rega allowed the faintest inclination of his head. "Then it is because telling you would endanger us all."

  One final silence. The incense curled.

  "Go," the Bash??run said.

  Rega bowed—correct depth, correct duration—and turned. His cloak whispered across the polished floor, and he did not quicken his pace until the chamber doors shut behind him.

  High Seer Jabara.

  He would smile at her. He would listen. He would nod at whatever the ancestors supposedly told her. And before his horse cleared the city gates, he would ensure Zuberi still had a path back to relevance—quietly, without fingerprints.

  Behind him, in the shadowed chamber, Adisa and Tendaji took their own corridor—parallel to his, watchful, armed with the old law and the patience of men who had outlasted kings before.

  For now, they let him go. For now, Rega let them believe they held the knife.

  They walked their separate corridors of power, trusting each other not at all.

  The heavy doors thudded shut, sealing the audience chamber in a silence that felt heavier than the incense. Bash??run Adisa did not move for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the spot where Rega had stood. The mask of iron composure he had worn for the King didn't shatter, but it certainly softened into something weary.

  "Replacing his father may have been a mistake," the Bash??run murmured.

  Tendaji’s sword struck the stone floor with a sharp clack. "Do not say things you do not mean, Adisa. The old King was a rot in the foundation. He had to be pulled."

  "And in his place, we planted a thorn," Adisa replied, finally turning. He began to pace the length of the carved walls. "We cannot replace him again. Not yet. The blood from the last transition hasn't even dried in the gutters of the lower city, and the council cannot survive the optics of two fallen kings in a single decade. People will call it a coup, not a correction."

  "The people," Tendaji said with a tinge of disgust.

  "Yes, the people. Unlike his father, Rega is actually gaining in popularity. The citizens—the farmers, the smiths—they truly believe that boy has their best interests at heart. They see his 'methodical' nature as strength. They see his defiance of us as independence." Adisa’s voice dropped to a hiss. "But that boy, pretending to be a man, is disregarding every law and tradition of the Orisha. He treats the old ways like a garment he can shed when the weather gets warm."

  Tendaji leaned against his sword, his eyes narrowing. "The boy is good. I’ll give him that. If I were just another dumb citizen, I might also believe he was doing the most for us. He has a way of making his transgressions look like progress." He paused, his fingers tightening on the wood. "But I know him. He is planning something behind our backs, just like the late King used to do. It’s that Atherium Genesis Institute. There is a smell of heresy coming from that place."

  Adisa stopped in front of a carving of a great battle, his eyes reflecting the flickering gold of the bowls. "He was supposed to be gone by now," he whispered. "We made sure the followers of Iku were contacted. We paved the way for Silas to enter that tournament with a single purpose: to have Rega killed in a 'tragic' accident of the blade."

  A flicker of genuine irritation crossed the Bash??run’s face. "And then that cursed dwarf ruined it all."

  Tendaji walked over to his companion, placing a hand on the Bash??run’s indigo-clad shoulder. "Let us have patience, Adisa. A King who walks too fast eventually trips over his own shadow. Rega is arrogant. He thinks his popularity is a shield, but it is actually a weight."

  The Chief looked toward the door through which the King had exited. "He will make a mistake. Between the Dark Forest, the experiments of his 'pet' Njiru, and his obsession with things that should stay buried, he will provide us the opening. And when he does, we will have the political capital to remove him from power—not as conspirators, but as the saviors of the kingdom’s soul."

  Adisa nodded slowly, the iron returning to his spine. "Until then, we let him play at being King."

  "Until then," Tendaji agreed.

  Diviner Zuberi entered the private dining hall in a studied performance of reverence — perfectly dressed, carrying the subtle scent of expensive oils, face arranged into alert deference. He bowed low and waited.

  Rega dismissed the attendants with a wave and let the silence stretch until the last footstep faded from the hall. Then he looked at Zuberi with cold, flat eyes.

  "I need you to kill High Seer Jabara."

  The composure fractured instantly. Zuberi's practiced smile vanished, his eyes widening in genuine shock. He swallowed. "My King — with the greatest respect, I am only an à??seer. Jabara is an àlaà??, a true master of elemental and combat magic. To engage her directly would be—"

  "Do you think I don't know what you are, Zuberi?"

  Rega's voice dropped to a low, dangerous register that seemed to fill the room without rising above a murmur. "I watch my people. I know who hides their strength and why. You have been waiting for her to stumble — planning the perfect move against her influence — and now the moment has arrived. Her meddling with the Sunstone was the final straw. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise."

  The blood drained from Zuberi's face. He took a slow breath.

  A calculating light replaced the terror in his eyes, and something coiled in the air around him — a power that had been suppressed for a long time, patient, considerable.

  He bowed deeply. "I will do it, my King. But I will need time to choose the correct moment. A direct engagement will carry a cost."

  "Cost is irrelevant," Rega said. "Ensure it is done before day's end. I want no loose ends when I leave the capital."

  "It shall be done."

  Rega inclined his head. "You are dismissed."

  Zuberi bowed again, lower than before, and backed from the room. He had not merely been given an order. He had been handed an opportunity.

  He did not look back.

  The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the palace courtyard as Rega crossed it in his expedition armor — functional black and gold — with Kenya and Zuri flanking him in practiced silence. The armored transport waited at the courtyard's edge, door open, engine idling. He was ready to leave the palace's suffocating politics behind and move toward problems with tangible solutions.

  He had just reached the vehicle when a dry, rasping voice stopped him.

  "My King. A moment, if you please."

  He turned. Njiru approached across the courtyard, black robes drifting faintly in the breeze, his shock of orange hair vivid against the dark fabric. The necromancer moved with his characteristic unhurried certainty, as though time bent slightly around him.

  Rega frowned. "I thought you would be occupied with the specimen I provided."

  "The deceased Silas? His remnants hold considerable potential, my King. But a dead body will not go anywhere. This opportunity may not come again." He bowed respectful. "I would like to accompany you to the Dark Forest. For research purposes."

  Rega considered it briefly. He had intended to leave Njiru behind to work on Silas, but the necromancer's expertise in the manipulation of life and death could be valuable if he meant to capture Dryads or other magical creatures for the experiments ahead.

  "Very well. You can ride in the supply vehicle behind us, with my personal belongings."

  Njiru declined smoothly. "I have specific items to bring — tools, chemicals, a small number of assistants. I will manage my own transport. I will be ready before the scheduled departure for the Sky Citadel."

  "Good." Rega nodded and turned back to the vehicle.

  He climbed in, sinking into the leather seat, and Kenya and Zuri slid in beside him. The door closed with a heavy, final thunk, and the transport began to move.

  Rega let out a long, quiet breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  "Hopefully," he murmured, "I can get more use out of Njiru before he does something that makes me kill him."

  Kenya and Zuri said nothing.

  Their silence was answer enough.