Queen Laura stood before her husband, Ragos, trembling with rage as she clutched a copy of the peace treaty he had signed.
Laura (screaming, her voice echoing through the corridor):
"Peace? You aren't signing a peace treaty, Ragos; you're signing the death warrant of the Vuanck family! Relinquishing the energy monopoly means we will become nothing more than a memory in history books. If you do not retract this nonsense, I will declare to the nobles that you have lost your mind, and I will exile you to the Islands of Silence!"
King Ragos (with a chilling calmness, sitting behind his desk):
"Exile me then, Laura. But know that I am the only thing standing between this city and total annihilation. This peace treaty will end the war without another drop of blood being spilled. I am buying our future, while you are trying to cling to a past soaked in blood."
Laura (approaching him with a sharp tone): "If you claim wisdom, prove it first by releasing Peonil. Your son is in prison while the mob celebrates in the streets? What kind of king are you?"
King Ragos (standing firmly): "Peonil is not a son right now; he is a criminal awaiting judgment. He will not leave his cell except for trial. The discussion is over, Laura. Go and pray that Kayan and his companions accept this treaty, because the alternative is the palace collapsing over all our heads."
At exactly three in the morning, on the palace's secret rear balcony overlooking the abyss, a strange craft landed—the likes of which had never been seen in Aetheria. It was completely silent, made of a matte black metal that reflected no light, moving with faint blue jet engines.
The craft's door opened, and a man stepped out wearing a long coat and a thin glass mask covering his eyes. This was Hintel, the secret advisor whose existence was known to no one but the Queen.
Laura (in a troubled whisper): "You're late, Hintel. The city is slipping through my fingers."
Hintel (in a voice as steady and rhythmic as a clock):
"Time is relative, my Queen. I have watched your husband's movements, and I have watched the growth of the 'Black Heart.' Ragos has become an obstacle to the natural evolution of Aetheria. The peace he seeks is nothing but a slow death for your greatness."
Laura: "He refuses to release Peonil and wants to hand over our secrets to the rabble. What do I do?"
Hintel (pacing slowly around the balcony):
"The King is old, Laura, and his mind is saturated with fear. Fear does not build empires. To save Aetheria, the engine driving it toward the abyss must disappear. Assassinating Ragos is not a crime; it is a necessary surgical operation to excise weakness from the throne."
Laura (in panic): "Assassination? He is my husband... and the King!"
Hintel (approaching her, his eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence behind the glass mask):
"He is the husband who threatened to imprison you yesterday, is he not? Listen to me carefully... if Ragos dies now, Peonil will ascend the throne immediately by right of legitimacy, and we will tear up the treaty before its ink is dry. I will arrange it to look like a heart attack caused by the stress of war. No blood, no chaos... just a swift transition of power."
Laura (after a long silence, nodding slowly as if under hypnosis):
"You are right... Peonil is the only one who understands the value of power. Ragos has become a burden."
Hintel (with a faint smile):
"Wise as always. However, for the plan to succeed completely and remain above suspicion, we need an external cause. We must destroy another party to execute the desired idea. I will leak the locations of Kayan's spies to the elite guards loyal to you. Eliminating them will ignite the rage of the Liberation Army, and when the assault begins, the King will die in the midst of the chaos. We will kill two birds with one stone: get rid of their spies, and get rid of the 'Peaceful' King."
Laura: "Do what you see fit, Hintel. All that matters is that my son returns, and Aetheria returns to me."
Hintel returned to his strange craft and vanished into the dawn mist, leaving Laura staring at her husband's wing with a cold gaze, as the great conspiracy began to tighten its threads around the King's neck.