Chapter 4: The Veiled court

"No," Arthur gasped, the word tearing from his throat. He gripped Liran’s forearm with a white-knuckled desperation. "We're already exposed. We can't take any more risk. We are leaving."

Liran’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "Leaving, My Liege? In your condition? You can barely stand. The streets of the capital are—"

"That is an order, Liran," Arthur cut him off, his voice trembling but carrying the ghost of his royal authority.

Realizing the futility of arguing with a stubborn king, Liran shut his mouth and went to work. The dark blue vial was finally beginning to do its job, cooling the raging liquid fire in Arthur's veins just enough to pull him back from the edge of delirium.

His mind cleared.

Enough for him to drag himself up from the ground.

If he wanted to stand before Malakor and the court tomorrow morning without baring his throat, he had to get this heat thoroughly out of his system tonight. There was only one way to do that.

Liran helped him strip out of the heavy, suffocating royal velvet and gold-lined robes, helping him into a simple, unadorned linen shirt and dark trousers—the clothes of a common merchant.

Moving to the private study, Liran pressed a concealed notch along the mahogany bookshelves. With a low, grinding click, a section of the wall swung inward, revealing a dark, narrow stone staircase. It was a passage known only to him, leading far beyond the palace walls and directly into the secure inner room of 'The Blind Boar', a sprawling, boisterous tavern in the lower district.

Arthur leaned heavily on Liran as they descended into the damp dark, his skin still slick with sweat. By the time they reached the hidden room at the end of the tunnel, Arthur collapsed onto the plush, silken bed waiting there. The room was heavily insulated, the faint, rowdy roar of the tavern below muffled to a low hum.

"Stay here, My Liege," Liran whispered anxiously, checking the locks. "I will fetch him."

Minutes stretched like hours in the dark. Arthur breathed heavily, the sweet, intoxicating scent of peaches and honey filling the enclosed space as his body cried out for release.

The door clicked open. Liran slipped back into the room, followed closely by a blue-eyed, sharply dressed man.

Kaelen.

Kaelen knelt smoothly by the bedside, head lowered in total submission.

Not once did he look directly at Arthur.

In the Veiled Court, no one looked upon the Master uninvited.

Behind him stood a tall, broad-shouldered young alpha. A thick, black silk cloth was tied securely around his eyes.

Any one who saw the Master’s face did not leave the Court alive.

A year ago, an arrogant alpha had dared to pull his blindfold loose during the deed. He was executed before he could even leave the room. No one had dared to try since.

Though their master was an omega, even Kaelen bowed his head in profound, unwavering respect

“He will not fail you, My lord.” kaelen said quietly.

“He knows the rules.”

The young, blindfolded alpha stepped forward, bowing deeply.

His nostrils flared slightly but his posture remaining perfectly disciplined. He walked slowly towards the edge of the bed.

"Leave us," Arthur whispered, his voice cracking.

"I will be right outside the door, sire," Liran said.

He and Kaelen backed out of the room, the heavy iron locks clicking into place, sealing the King with his shadow.

-------

The heavy oak doors of the grand council chamber swung open with a resounding echo.

Arthur exhaled once.

And became the King again

He walked in.

There was no tremor in his hands. There was no sweat on his brow. Draped in his heavy, gold-embroidered velvet robes, his spine was perfectly straight, his eyes cold and commanding. He looked every inch the monarch he was born to be.

Lord Vance looked up, his jaw dropping slightly. Across the mahogany table, Malakor sat in his usual relaxed posture, though his dark eyes narrowed to slits as he scanned Arthur's face, searching for a single crack. He found none. Arthur's scent was completely masked once more—cold, distant, and utterly unreadable.

Arthur ascended the dais and took his place upon the obsidian throne. The councilors fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

"We have considered the matters of the state," Arthur began, his voice a resonant, flawless baritone that echoed off the high stone walls. He unrolled a heavy parchment scroll, the royal gold wax seal glinting under the chandelier light.

He locked eyes directly with Malakor.

"Let it be known across the realm. Effective immediately, by royal decree, full command of the Royal Guard is hereby transferred to His Grace, Regent Malakor—under the strict condition that any and all operational orders issued must bear the Crown's handwritten, verified seal within twenty-four hours, or be deemed acts of high treason punishable by immediate execution."

Gasps erupted across the council table. Vance half-rose in shock.

A small smile played on Malakor’s lips.