Chapter 429: Chapter 429

A group of old men convened in a grand hall that resembled a banquet setting. They had been at this for months, literally. The discussions never made any progress. It was unknown if it was their ego, their love for the land or just pure hypocrisy, but they never came to any consensus.

The tension filled the air as they engaged in more heated discussions. Voices fluctuated, with arguments and counterarguments flying like arrows across the room. Customarily reserved for celebrations, this hall now experienced this empty intense debate.

"How can we trust a mere bookkeeper’s claims?" one Elder exclaimed without addressing Brian by his name. He struck the table loudly. "We demand more concrete evidence!"

"How many times are you going to be asking the same questions? Of what use will it be for Brian to lie to the council and the people in this room?" Another asked,

The third person to speak up seemed to be marked by age and wisdom, replied,

"Brain has been our most dependable source for centuries. If he believes Roman is alive, we must take it seriously."

At this, Prince Syla, Romans’ brother and the one person who had tried to be enthroned but failed, scrunched his eyes in dissatisfaction at this, while his son, Prince Simon, also frowned.

Another Elder, with sharp and calculating eyes, added, "And what of Prince Syla? His unusual reaction to the attempt to crown him suggests there might be more at play here."

Syla wanted to retort, but without his core energy, he could not do that much harm to them. Also, was the fact that the words were not wrong. He was the one who had made a spectacle of himself in front of all the Faeland people, but that was a case for another day.

The room fell silent, the gravity of the words impacting everyone present. All were aware of the last incident but had discussed it only in whispers, wary of the repercussions.

As the debate progressed, the Elders deliberated their options, understanding that their choice could impact the future of the Fae kingdom. They required a plan, and they needed it soon.

Even though Brian also sat in the room with them, he did not take offence to what was going on and the not-so-subtle insinuations about him.

The air in the chamber was thick, oppressive, like the weight of too many unspoken words pressing down on Brain’s chest, but he gave nothing away of what he felt on the inside. As the record-keeper, Brain was an old man well-versed in the art of court decorum.

Most importantly, he had seen tension before, more so than he would have liked to admit. He had recorded centuries of strife, recorded the downfall of royalties, the rise of brave men who tried to make things right, and the quiet manipulations of power-hungry men, like the two who were their leader then.

They smiled as they plotted ruin, and even that lesson that Syla had been taught seemed not to be enough to deter him. But this... this suffocating stillness between the two Princes and the Elders felt like a blade hanging above their heads.

"That is besides the point. My time is past and my son needs to be crowned as previously discussed. The time is already up!"

The few elders opposed to it shared glances, akin to rival generals on a battlefield, their outward politeness barely masking the impending turmoil.

If Syla did not remember the past incident, they remembered too well. They remembered the pain that they had endured, even as bystanders.

Every movement, every twitch of a hand or flicker of an eyelid, was measured. The other Faes in the room remained unnervingly silent, barely daring to shift in their seats. One wrong word, one misplaced breath, and the illusion of peace would shatter. They knew this Father and son royales more than enough.

Brian exhaled slowly, gripping the edges of his parchment with steady hands. He had no stake in this war of wills, but he would not allow his name to be recorded in the annals of history as the man who sat idle while disaster unfurled before him. He thought of a diversion strategy so that tempers would calm down.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward ever so slightly, offering a cordial smile.

"My lords," he said, his voice deliberate and neutral.

"Before we proceed, may I suggest we turn our attention to the recent reports on trade in the western provinces? The spies we sent to the human land talk of treasures we have that may be going waste in this land. I know there is unrest among the people because of the throne, but if we give them something in the interim to occupy them, maybe....

"It would be wise to address these concerns before they become... pressing matters." He ended up saying instead,"

It was clearly a diversion. A desperate attempt to extract the venomous tension from the room. Brian realized that neither prince cared about the merchants or the people. They only cared about the throne and the power it bestowed upon them.

For a brief moment, Brian stiffened and then his facial expression relaxed, one question dangling in his mind, ’Would the father and son duo take a step back? Or would history, once again, be written in blood?’

Brian knew that the latter was more likely....

"What are you suggesting?"

"How about we discuss the iron issue?"

Someone brought up randomly.

Grunts of dissatisfaction and satisfaction went all round at the deliberate attempt to change the conversation topic.

"We can briefly look at this pending issue and go back to the enthronement when the tempers die down."

"Continue what you want to do. I am retiring for a rest," Prince Syla interjected.

The people in the room all stood up and bowed as the oldest Prince was wheeled out of the room. He had been needing a lot rest in recent times, so it was unsurprising that he left.

"A fine question, but you’re looking about it all wrong."

The conversation continued as soon as Syla had left.

"You, come and give us those details....."

One guard walked briskly to the front and then bowed,

"Y’see, it’s nae iron that’s causin’ the problem .... Naw, it cud be de sulotion! W’ seen thi’ ’n d ’uman wo’d.

Though, us, the Fae, have little use for th’ stuff, to be sure. It’s tozic, truth be told, most uv’m prob’ly’d prefer not to ’round the stuff, but th’ iron ain’t harmful to ’em, like u bel’ve."

"What is he saying?" One elder mouthed, scrunching his face.

"Are you saying that we should go handle iron? Are you nuts? Isn’t that a death trap? Are you a spy? Or just plain foolish?"

The man went on his knees instantaneously,

"I wu’dn’t dare! It’ be more distasteful-like, if y’follow my meaning. We c....."

The guard talked and talked. It was just that his accent was rough and very native that most of the people in the room had all but stopped using such.

"... now dig it up an’ hammer it a bit, eh? That will make things in’trestin’, mak jewelly... n odaz lik’ ’at?"

"Y’see, it’s the act of workin’ the metal that makes it so deadly to us, aye an’ ...."

He paused, still on his knees,

"...but you didn’t hear that from me, yeah? See, us faerie types are birthed in the wild o’ nature herself, and them as part o’ the natural world an’ all are harmed by that which Man makes un-natural. It’s th’ act o’ forgin’ an’ makin’ and gen’rally bendin’ the natural world into things that it weren’t meant to be that makes it so deadly to the Fae."

"Get this fool out of my way! My head hurts just hearing him talk! What kind of speech is making me use all my brainpower just to understand him? We all know that we cannot come into contact with iron, so what nonsense is he sporting!"

Prince Simon shouted,

"You know what? Place him in the dungeon for suggesting such foolishness!"

"Y’a Maj- Mi Kin’! Pl-"

He never completed his words and was dragged out of the room. None of the people in the room batted an eye, but Brian felt slightly guilty. He knew that he had played dirty by letting this man who was so enthusiastic about iron talk, but Brian needed this man for his plan to work. With that, he thought,

’This is for the greater good!’ As to what good that would make, no one but Brian knew. Also, Brian was more than positive that Prince Simon would push through the coronation, he hoped in his mind that something would happen to stop him before a similar tragedy like that of his father happened again. It would sad for the same issue to be recorded in their archives.

"Now, stop this nonsense and tell me if the witch had agreed to our conditions for next week?" Prince Simon asked impatiently,

Just before anyone could answer, a small commotion ensued at the door,

"WHAT IS IT?" Simon screamed,

"My King, we found two trespassers...."

The new guards exchanged glances,

"We think that you would like to see these two."

Prince Simon’s words got stuck in his throat when his eyes landed on the two. He was first surprised that the arrogant Prince momentarily lost his composure as did most of the people in the room, but one.

Along the corridors, Prince Syla raised his hand, signalling the person pushing him to stop,

"Would you like to go somewhere else, Prince Syla?"

"Who was it that passed over there?"

"Erm, I believe it’s the patrol guards."

Prince Syla lowered his head in a thoughtful stance, but before his mind could comprehend why he had even asked that question, an overwhelming tiredness washed over him,

"Never mind, send me back and report to me what happene-"

"You know what? Forget it. I must have been imagining things!" He added the last part for himself, but Prince Syla felt uneasy in a way that he could not pinpoint.

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