Shadows Beneath the Crown

"Let's go," he said quietly.

The guard nodded. Together, they stepped out of the courtyard, their silhouettes swallowed by the deepening dusk.

The long corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit by the flicker of torches that hissed against the chill air. The silence between them was thick—neither spoke, but both felt the weight of what lingered unsaid. Ben walked with slow, deliberate steps, his face caught between a faint, grim smile and the heaviness that shadowed his eyes.

The sound of their boots echoed down the hall—measured, steady, and final.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost weary. "What a day for news," he muttered, half to himself.

The guard hesitated before answering. "My sire," he said carefully, "as you commanded, the others have begun to investigate the trespass—whether it was within our court or from outside the city walls. But…" He swallowed, as though weighing his next words. "…there's also unrest, my lord. Word of the Moon Eagle sighting spread quickly. People are gathering. Talking."

Ben's brow furrowed, though his steps didn't slow. "Gathering?"

"Yes, sire. Near the south quarter. Some say it's an omen, others… think it's connected to the court."

A muscle in Ben's jaw twitched. He didn't respond immediately. The sound of his footsteps deepened as they reached the stone archway that led toward the royal chamber. The air was heavier here—cooler, steeped in the scent of parchment, ink, and the faint trace of burning oil from the braziers.

His thoughts spiraled quietly.

So it begins again, he thought. Rumors spread faster than truth ever could.

The guard slowed as they reached the main court doors. Two sentries stood by the massive iron-bound gates—halberds crossed in front of them. When they saw Ben approaching, they straightened, their armor clinking sharply.

"Open the doors," Ben commanded softly.

The guards exchanged a brief glance, then bowed. The iron bars shifted with a deep groan, and the heavy doors swung open.

The great court of Lionheart Kingdom lay beyond—vast, echoing, and alive with tension. Rows of ministers, officers, and scribes stood scattered along the marble floor, their conversations dying the moment Ben entered.

One of the heralds, a slim man with a sharp voice, stepped forward and raised his staff. "His Majesty, King Ben Lionheart, enters the court!"

Every voice fell silent.

Ben walked forward, the torches casting tall shadows across the walls as his cloak trailed behind him. The sound of boots and breath filled the space until even that seemed to fade.

As he passed, each courtier bowed, their eyes flickering with both respect and apprehension. The throne waited at the far end—a dark seat of iron and wood, framed by banners bearing the silver crest of the lion.

Ben ascended the steps with slow precision, his gaze sweeping the hall as he sat. The room seemed to breathe again once he spoke.

"Report," he said simply.

A brief shuffle broke the stillness. Then a man—a portly figure dressed in layered robes of deep brown—stepped forward from the right side of the chamber. His face glistened slightly under the heat of the torches, and his fingers fidgeted with the edge of a scroll tucked beneath his arm.

"My sire," he began, bowing low, "I've followed your command. I traced the recent transfer orders and financial routes linked to the outer territories—especially near the western borders."

Ben leaned forward slightly. "And?"

The treasurer's expression shifted—an uneasy blend of pride and dread. "What I found… is troubling."

He gestured to a guard standing near the lower platform. The guard stepped forward, carrying a rolled scroll sealed with the crimson wax of the finance division. The weight of the hall seemed to tilt as the man climbed the steps and extended it toward the throne.

Ben took it without a word. The parchment was warm to the touch, still freshly sealed. He broke it open, eyes narrowing as he began to read.

The room held its breath.

His gaze moved slowly across the words—his jaw tightening with each line. What started as confusion turned into disbelief, then a sharp glint of anger flickered beneath the calm surface of his eyes.

The numbers didn't lie. Nor did the signatures.

Funds redirected. Routes falsified. Shipments marked for the Moon Gate—under his own crest. It wasn't just theft. It was treason masked as loyalty.

His heart thudded once, hard, as he exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. "Who authorized this?" His tone was low, but the ripple it sent through the room was immediate.

The treasurer bowed deeper, his voice trembling now. "We are still verifying, my lord… but the markings align with one of the northern councils. Possibly—"

Ben's eyes flicked up sharply. The man froze, his words caught in his throat.

"Possibly?" Ben repeated.

The treasurer swallowed. "Possibly… within our court, sire."

The silence that followed felt like a blade drawn too slowly.

Ben closed the scroll carefully, his fingers pressing against the parchment as though trying to contain the fury rising beneath his composure.

He leaned back slightly, the light catching the hard edge of his face. "So," he murmured, "someone has been feeding the Moon Eagle's shadow from my own table."

No one dared to speak.

The fire in the braziers crackled softly, the only sound in the hall. Ben's gaze drifted across the room—each court member lowering their head under his stare.

His eyes, though calm, carried the storm of a man who'd already seen betrayal too many times to be surprised by it. But this time, it was closer. Too close.

He rose slowly from the throne, scroll still in hand. The movement alone drew every eye. "Until I see proof, no one leaves this court," he said, his voice quiet but absolute. "Double every guard in the treasury wing. No correspondence leaves the palace until I command it."

The guards at the edges of the room straightened immediately, hands to their chests in salute.

Ben glanced toward the treasurer. "You'll stay," he said. "We're not done."

The man bowed shakily. "Y–yes, my lord."

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