In the shadow of the sapphire coast, far from the crumbling lighthouse of Eldmere, whispers traveled faster than the wind. Princes, queens, and schemers from kingdoms both near and far began to move in the dark, plotting their rise to power. Among them, the Prince Cael Daemon stood with a burning hatred for the bastard he called a brother, and an ambition to see his own bloodline reign supreme.
His allies were many.
In Valmora, Prince Alric and his sister Vaenya looked over their maps with cold precision, plotting how to weaken the Sapphire throne. They had offered their hands to those who would take the crown by force. They spoke of fire. Of blood. Of betrayal.
"We strike when they least expect it," Alric said, his fingers tracing the southern border where Sapphire's defenses were weakest. "The Daemons are distracted by their own weakness. Let's take the throne while they play at games of honor."
Vaenya nodded, her dark eyes gleaming. "We all have reasons to want him gone. But none of us can move until he does. Until the last one falls."
---
In Gravemire, Queen Saria of the north, a woman whose beauty was matched only by her cruelty, had already made her move. Her twin sons, fierce warriors bred in cold steel, had already sent their assassins to the royal court in Sapphire, intending to take down King Levi and place one of her sons in his place. They were warriors of the old way. They believed that only the strongest could rule, and they would not let the Daemon legacy stand.
None of their plots had succeeded.
Each attempt to kill a monarch had been thwarted by the very warriors who had sworn to protect them. Each assassin was met with steel and fire. Yet the conspirators were undeterred. They waited. They whispered. They had seen the power of a dragon. They had felt the weight of Marcus's blood.
But in the silence of this deadly game, there was one plot that was unspoken—a plan so deep, even Marcus didn't know of its existence.
---
Princess Alina Daemon returned to the palace that evening, her heart still heavy with the encounter at Eldmere. The journey back had been long, filled with silence. She could still feel the warmth of her brother's fire in the air, the distant echo of her dragon-born brother, and yet, something gnawed at her.
She crossed the stone courtyard, a chill running through her as the sun dipped below the horizon. The palace, as regal and imposing as ever, stood silent, but there was something in the air—something off.
The guards at the gate didn't move to greet her.
When she entered the grand hall, the silence deepened.
"Alina..." came the soft voice of one of her father's servants.
She turned. The face of the servant was pale, his eyes wide with fear.
"What is it?" she asked, her heart starting to race.
"Princess... your father. King Levi... He's—" The servant couldn't finish the sentence.
Alina felt the ground shift beneath her feet. She ran, her boots echoing down the halls of the great castle, her pulse quickening as dread filled her chest.
When she reached her father's chambers, she hesitated. The door stood ajar, as if it had been left that way in haste. Elira pushed it open, her breath catching in her throat.
King Levi Daemon lay motionless in his bed. His skin was ashen, his eyes wide open, a single crimson mark upon his chest—the unmistakable wound of a poisoned dagger.
The room spun around her. The weight of the loss was too much, too sudden, too cruel.
"No…" Alina whispered, stepping forward in disbelief. "No, this cannot be true."
The guards outside her father's room had failed to protect him. His death was no accident. This was no natural ailment. It was treason.
With trembling hands, Alina knelt beside her father's body. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible.
Who had done this?
A shadow crossed the door, and Alina snapped her head up.
Standing in the doorway was none other than her brother, Prince Cael, his face unreadable, a dagger still stained with blood at his side.
"Father..." Alina whispered again, her voice barely audible. "What have you done?"
Cael's cold eyes met hers. "I did what needed to be done, Alina. He was weak. And you—you—could never lead this kingdom."
Alina stumbled to her feet, shock and fury boiling inside her. "You killed him?"
"I freed us from a dying king," Cael said, his voice steady, almost detached. "Now, I will take my rightful place."
The anger swelled inside Alina. "This is madness! You cannot just take the throne. There's more to ruling than ambition."
"Ambition is what rules, Alina. It always has." Cael's eyes were hard, his hand tightening on the dagger's hilt. "You should have known this. You should have seen this coming."
But Alina didn't hesitate.
With a flash of steel, her sword was in her hand. The battle of siblings began in that moment—one for power, one for justice.
And outside, unbeknownst to either of them, the other kingdoms continued their plans. The royals were all watching, biding their time.
Marcus Daemon was no longer just the bastard. He was the spark that could light the world on fire.