Alle Kapitel von The Omega King: Kapitel 31 – Kapitel 40

The morning after the banquet, a heavy, expectant quiet hung over the grand chamber of the Royal Council. Sunlight streamed through the tall stained-glass windows, painting the long mahogany table in shades of crimson and gold.Usually, this room was a battlefield of raised voices, clashing egos, and arrogant lords who interrupted one another to secure royal favor. But today, as the councilors gathered, the air was suffocatingly still.Arthur entered the council chamber expecting the usual flurry of arguments and posturing. He was dressed in a simple yet elegant tunic of deep navy, his hair combed neatly, his posture relaxed. Beside him walked Malakor, imposing and silent, his hand resting casually near his blade.As Arthur took his place at the head of the table, the ministers bowed in unison—deeper and slower than usual. Nobody spoke. Nobody shuffled their papers. They all waited, eyes lowered, for the King to sit.Arthur glanced around the table, taking in the cautious, rigid postu

The weight of the crown was a silent, suffocating beast. In the days following the grand banquet, the royal palace had transformed into an arena of whispers, forced smiles, and calculated bows. Every step Arthur took through the stone corridors was trailed by watchful eyes, and every word he uttered was dissected by councilors terrified of becoming the next name in Elias Marsh's leather ledgers. Inside the royal study, stacks of state reports, tax ledgers, and intelligence briefings from the provinces covered the polished oak desk. Arthur sat near the high stained-glass window, chin resting in his palm, staring out at the golden late-afternoon sun bathing the distant autumn hills. He felt trapped. He missed the quiet cabin in Oakhaven. He missed the stillness, the smell of fresh pine, and the simple warmth of lying in Malakor's arms without the shadows of Vance, the council, or the crown standing between them. The wooden doors creake

The quiet rustle of silk sheets echoed softly through the King's private bedchamber. The hearth had burned down to a bed of embers, casting long, amber shadows across the dark velvet canopy. Malakor stood by the mattress, his large frame bent awkwardly as he tried to unbutton the collar of Arthur's linen tunic. It was proving impossible. Arthur was delightfully uncooperative. Still tipsy from the dockside tavern's dark ale, the King lay sprawled across the thick quilt with a radiant grin on his flushed face. He hummed the jaunty tune the tavern fiddlers had played, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress and swatting at Malakor's hands whenever the Regent reached for his belt. "Arthur, please," Malakor hushed in a desperate whisper. "You need to change. Stop moving." "Malakor," Arthur breathed sweetly, his eyes half-closed as he tugged playfully at Malakor's earlobe. "I had so much fun today." Malakor rumbled fondly

The deep bell tolling midnight had long since faded into the silence of the palace. In the dimmed outer corridor, Malakor moved like a ghost through the shadowy passageway, his leather boots silent against the thick carpets. He was prepared to weave past the heavy double guard shift outside the King’s private doors. Instead, he found the corridor completely deserted. Malakor paused near the arched alcove, his hand dropping to the hilt of his blade. There were no royal guards standing post. No sentries at the crossroads. Arthur had deliberately dismissed every single guard in the West Wing for the night. A dark pulse hummed through Malakor’s veins. Leaving a King unguarded in a palace crawling with whispered treasons was sheer madness. Yet, as he reached the grand oak doors and found them unlocked, he knew exactly why Arthur had done it. He didn't want a single living soul near his door to interrupt what was to come. Malakor pushed the heavy door open, stepped inside, and pulled

The low ceiling of the private archive study bowed under centuries of dust and heavy parchment. Rain tapped against the high windows, leaving Elias Marsh's desk in a pale, watery light. Elias laid three ledgers before the King and the Regent. "It wasn't a single leak, Your majesty," the young scribe said softly, running an ink stained finger down a column of military requisitions. "It was a siphon. For four years, quartermasters in the eastern provinces and six merchant guilds misreported grain yields and weapon shipments. Border intelligence was delayed on purpose, sometimes by weeks, to justify emergency spending." Malakor leaned over the desk, his frame blocking the lamplight. "And the gold?" "Into private land along the river," Elias said, turning a page. "Duke Vance's mark isn't on a single deed. He was too careful for that. But Minister Whitmore's seal is on the contracts, and Bishop Thorne's, and Baron Hale's. Every purchase went through shell accounts opened three weeks af