Chapter 7 - The Trap is Set
The morning of the Full Moon dawned grey and misty. The rumor of Mara’s “death” had been kept secret from the broader public, but within the castle walls, Malakor had already moved to consolidate his power.
Believing the troublesome orphan girl was out of the way and the King broken by grief, Malakor summoned an emergency session of the High Council in the Great Hall. His goal was simple: declare King Alistair unfit to rule due to mental anguish and appoint himself Regent, with Celeste named official Heir Apparent.
The grand chamber was filled with dozens of noble lords, dukes, and high officials. Malakor stood at the central altar, dressed in magnificent golden robes. Next to him, Lady Celeste radiated arrogance, wearing her finest silver gown and royal tiara.
“My lords!” Malakor announced, his voice booming off the vaulted ceiling. “It breaks my heart to inform you that the grief of losing his child twice has broken our beloved King’s mind. He is no longer capable of holding the sceptre. Therefore, as Lord Protector, I shall assume the Regency, and my daughter, Celeste, shall be named Crown Princess!”
A murmur of mixed reactions swept through the council. Some corrupt nobles cheered, while older loyalists lowered their heads in sadness.
“Do you take the crown with clean hands, Uncle?”
A voice suddenly rang out from the high balcony—a voice that made Celeste’s blood run cold.
The heavy doors at the back of the hall slammed open.
Walking down the grand aisle was King Alistair, wearing his full royal armor and golden crown, looking stronger and more formidable than he had in twenty years. Beside him marched Captain Vance and a platoon of armed guards.
And walking right next to the King, wearing a stunning gown of deep crimson velvet that exposed her collarbone, was Mara.
The entire council erupted into thunderous gasps.
Celeste stumbled back, her face turning ghastly white. “No… no! You’re dead! I saw your body!”
“You saw what we wanted you to see, cousin,” Mara said, her voice echoing with absolute authority as she stepped toward the altar.
Malakor’s eyes darted frantically around the room, realizing he had walked straight into an ambush. “Seize them!” he screamed to the hall guards. “They are imposters! Black magic!”
Not a single guard moved. Captain Vance’s men immediately drew their steel, pointing their swords directly at Malakor and Celeste.
“The time for lies is over, Malakor,” King Alistair roared, pulling the dusty archive journal from his cloak and throwing it onto the central table before the High Council. “Here is the confession of your own alchemist, detailing how you started the palace fire seventeen years ago and ordered my daughter to be hidden under a magic-suppressing ointment!”
The council lords rushed forward to examine the documents, their expressions turning from shock to utter outrage.
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“This is treason! Forgery!” Malakor yelled, his voice cracking with desperation.
“If you speak the truth, let the Ancient Stone decide!” Mara declared, pointing toward the sacred altar at the front of the hall. “The Blood Ritual is ready. Let us see if the Phoenix accepts me!”
