The council room was a cold, quiet place.
It was all dark stone and high windows.
Long tables were arranged in a square.
The ministers sat in their heavy chairs.
They wore fine robes, but their faces were like closed doors.
The air smelled of old paper, cold tea, and quiet power.
The big door creaked open.
Everyone turned.
Duke Aster walked in first.
He moved like a mountain walking.
His face was calm, but his crimson eyes were watchful.
He wore his black uniform.
The silver wolf on his chest seemed to glare at the room.
Beside him was Lady Roseline.
She wore a dress the color of deep winter sky.
Her face was pale but still beautiful.
Her hands were folded neatly, but her knuckles were white.
Behind them came Alex.
He looked like a younger version of the Duke.
Tall, straight, serious.
His long black hair was tied back tight.
His eyes swept the room, counting friends and enemies.
He did not sit.
He stood behind his father’s chair, a silent guard.
Last came Ace.
He didn’t try to look serious.
He leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed over his chest.
He wore black, as always.
His shirt was open at the throat.
He smirked at the room, but his ruby eyes were sharp as broken glass.
He was looking for Rykar.
He found him.
The young minister was sitting near his father, Kalgen.
Rykar wouldn’t meet Ace’s eyes.
He was staring at his hands, which were shaking.
Good.
Ace’s smile got a little more real.
Then, the door opened again.
A hush fell.
Jade walked in.
He was different.
He wasn’t wearing his simple green tunic.
He wore a fitted northern coat of dark grey wool.
It was clearly new, made for him.
It made his shoulders look less narrow.
His white hair was pulled back from his face, tied neatly at the nape of his neck.
On his nose sat a pair of small, silver reading glasses.
He looked older.
Colder.
Like a scholar.
Or a lawyer.
In his hands, he held a thick ledger and a folder of papers.
He didn’t look at the Duke.
He didn’t look at Roseline.
His eyes flickered across the room.
They passed over Alex’s still form.
Then they landed on Ace.
For one second, their eyes locked.
Ace saw nothing in them.
No sadness from the garden.
No surprise from the dance.
No reaction to yesterday’s threat in the hall.
They were flat.
Like two red stones.
Then Jade looked away.
As if Ace was a stranger.
As if the dance never happened.
As if the wall between them hadn’t felt thin, for just a moment.
Ace’s jaw clenched.
His smirk vanished.
He felt a hot, sharp stab in his chest.
It felt like betrayal, which was stupid.
Jade was the enemy.
He had always been the enemy.
But the cold dismissal… it hurt.
Jade walked quietly to the other side of the room.
He sat down at the table with the ministers who had brought the petition.
Minister Kalgen gave him a small, oily smile.
Jade did not smile back.
He opened his ledger.
He did not look up.
The Duke sat down at the head of the table.
Roseline sat beside him.
“Let us begin,” Duke Aster said.
His voice filled the stone room.
An old minister with a wrinkled face stood up.
He cleared his throat.
“As petitioned, we are here to review the matter of the Valebane succession.
The claimant, Jade Aster Valebane, presents a case based on ancient bloodline law.
He is, by birth date, the firstborn son of the Duke.”
He started talking in a dry, boring voice about laws and dates and rights.
Ace stopped listening.
He watched Jade.
Jade stayed quiet.
He looked down at his ledger.
He wrote a note sometimes.
He was calm.
Too calm.
Then Minister Kalgen stood up.
His voice was smoother, louder.
“It is not just about birth order, my Duke.
It is about the future of the North.
We need a leader who understands… subtlety.
Diplomacy.
The pen, not just the sword.”
He looked at Alex.
“Prince Alex is a fine soldier.
Brave.
Strong.
But he is young.
His world is the battlefield.
The North now faces enemies in courts, not just in forests.
We need a gentle hand.
A polished mind.” He gestured to Jade.
“Someone like Lord Jade.
Raised in the Southern Court.
Educated.
Calm.
He would bring a new… peace.”
Ace felt his blood start to boil.
Gentle hand.
Polished mind.
They were calling his brother a brute.
They were saying the only thing he was good for was fighting.
Another minister, a fat one, nodded.
“The… wildness of the current heirs is a concern.
Prince Ace’s… adventures are well known.
They bring scandal, not stability.
Together, they represent a house of fists, not thought.”
That was it.
Ace pushed off the wall.
“You want thought?” His voice cut through the room, loud and clear.
All heads turned to him.
“You want subtlety?
My brother has more thought in his little finger than all of you have in your fat heads!
He’s been running border patrols and settling land disputes since he was fifteen!
What has your ‘polished’ claimant ever run?
A poetry club?”
“Ace,” Duke Aster said, a low warning.
But Ace was too angry.
He walked forward, pointing at Jade, who finally looked up from his ledger.
His face was still blank.
“He doesn’t belong here!
He’s a Southern plant!
A pretty weapon sent by the Emperor to break our house apart from the inside!
And you’re all too stupid or too greedy to see it!”
The room erupted in shouts.
Ministers yelled back.
Kalgen was smiling.
In the noise, one old minister at the end of the table, who hadn’t spoken yet, slowly got to his feet.
He was very old.
His hands were bony.
His eyes were pale and cloudy.
He didn’t shout.
He just looked at Ace.
The room got quiet, waiting for the old man to speak.
He pointed a bony finger at Ace.
His voice was like dry leaves scraping stone.
“Boy,” he said slowly.
“The one who doesn’t belong here… is you.”
The words hung in the cold, silent air.
Ace stared.
He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He looked at his father.
The Duke’s face was like carved stone.
He did not look at Ace.
He looked at his mother.
Roseline’s eyes were wide with shock.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
He looked at Alex.
His brother’s icy mask was gone.
For the first time Ace could remember, Alex looked… afraid.
Ace turned back to the old minister, confused, furious, hurt.
“What… what did you say?”
The old man just stared, his pale eyes boring into Ace’s.
He didn’t say it again.
He didn’t need to.
The words were already in the air, poisoning everything.
The one who doesn’t belong here… is you.