POV: Nameless Narrator
Date: First day of the Court
Location: Narshia Estate — Inner Courtyard, Court Chamber
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Even the walls in the Court of House Narshia were built to listen.
No wind passed through the marble lattice.
No flame flickered too loud.
Only voices. Controlled. Measured. Poisoned in silk.
The high nobles of the household gathered.
Not for justice —
But for show.
They sat beneath the silver banners of Narshia.
Each stitched with the twin moons crest — the old symbol of balance.
But balance had long since rotted into tension.
---
At the high seat sat Count Halden Narshia.
Once firm in presence. Now… a tired man with too much war behind his eyes.
At his right stood First Wife: Lady Yveline.
Clad in black and deep blue. Not mourning — no.
Just dressed to kill.
To his left, Lord Sael, the Count's younger brother.
Still smiling. Still smooth. Still reeking of manipulation.
> "So," said Lady Yveline, voice sharp as a blade.
"The foreign boy disappears, and my son is poisoned. Shall we call this coincidence?"
Lord Sael smirked.
> "I would call it… opportunity wasted. If I wanted to poison your son, I'd not fail."
Gasps. Not too loud.
The court enjoyed theatre. This was their play.
---
Cerene Narshia stood to speak.
She had not been invited to the center — but she moved anyway.
> "While you sharpen your words, one of our guests still lies wounded, and your own heir nearly died."
Lady Yveline narrowed her eyes.
> "Careful, girl. You speak above your place."
> "No," Cerene answered. "I speak because the ones who should have protected this house — didn't."
The court murmured. Cerene stood taller.
---
Behind the veils, House Narshia's internal factions shifted like ice breaking underfoot.
The First Son, Almar, now recovering thanks to Elric, was absent — but his name weighed on the room.
The Second Son, Cieran, still silent — calculating, cold — stood like a shadow at Selene's back.
Whispers flew: Who supported the assassins? Who sent the mercenaries?
All eyes turned to the empty guest seat.
Nitsuo.
The one they could not trace, and could not silence.
---
> "This court," said Count Halden finally, voice worn but steady,
"Will not fall to finger-pointing. My children are not tools, and I will not let House Narshia eat itself from within."
His gaze swept over them.
But no one bowed.
Not this time.
---
Outside, the sunset faintly.
In the shadows, the next play had already begun.
And somewhere, a boy once called Tactician stirred in his bed.
Wounded. Haunted. But alive.
And the court had no idea what kind of man they were about to meet.