When Dareios Falls

For a moment, that felt like eternity, they stared at each other. Kaerith knew she should look away, should blend back into the crowd of servants and observers, should do anything other than meet the gaze of the man she'd been sent to spy on.

Instead, she found herself frozen by his green eyes, by the way he seemed to look not just at her but into her, as if he could see past her servant's disguise to the trained killer beneath.

There was no recognition in his expression—he had no idea who she was. But there was something else, something that made her breath catch in her throat.

Curiosity. And beneath that, an awareness that suggested he knew exactly what she was doing in that gallery, even if he didn't know why.

The moment stretched between them, a silent communication that transcended the physical distance and the political complications that separated them.

Kaerith felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with her mission and everything to do with the way this stranger seemed to 'see' her.

Then one of his advisors leaned close to whisper something, and Aldric's attention returned to the Council table. The spell—if that's what it had been—was broken.

Kaerith finally managed to step back from the screen, her heart pounding so hard she was sure everyone in the gallery could hear it.

She realized that the hall had long continued with hushed whispers and criticism of Aldric's earlier statement emanating from the people in the galleries.

King Varezhan looked calmer, but still angry. And the merchants and farmers seated together were still furiously discussing something.

A king dressed in shimmering hazel cloth looked particularly bored, as the king, next to him, attempted to engage in a conversation.

A few of the other gallery occupants were already rising from their seats, murmuring among themselves about trade routes and harvest expectations. And Aldric's proclamation.

The political drama was over; now came the mundane business of diplomacy.

But below, the tension had not dissipated.

King Varezhan rose abruptly from his seat, his dark robes billowing as he moved with purpose toward Aldric's position at the Council table. The movement was fluid but predatory, like a wolf circling its prey.

"Your Majesty," Varezhan's voice carried up to the gallery, smooth as silk but edged with steel.

"A moment of your time before you depart," he continued.

Aldric turned, his expression neutral but his posture subtly shifting. Not defensive, but alert.

"Of course, King Varezhan," Aldric said politely.

"Quite an interesting statement you made today, though I hope you do not come to regret it soon," Varezhan replied, stepping closer until they stood mere feet apart.

Tiny sparks of blue and silver lightning began crackling around him—dancing across his shoulders, flickering at the edges of his dark, long robes, making the air itself seem to hum with barely contained energy.

Surprised murmurs rippled through the watching nobles.

In the gallery above, Kaerith could hear whispered conversations as observers exchanged glances—clearly taken aback by Varezhan's bold attempt to use magic as intimidation at Greiholld of all places.

The hazel-clothed king had abandoned his bored expression entirely, leaning forward in his chair with obvious interest.

Other nobles began paying attention to the two monarchs, drawn by the promise of political theater. Even the merchants in the gallery had stopped their complaints to watch.

"Your Majesty," Councilor Meredith interrupted sharply, rising from her seat.

"I must remind you that Greiholld is neutral ground. Violence of any kind—magical or otherwise—is strictly forbidden within these walls!" She shouted firmly, her voice amplified by magic that rolled through the chamber like thunder, causing the very stones to tremble and making everyone present feel the authority in their bones.

The hall fell silent so that you could hear a pin drop.

Aldric, meanwhile, looked entirely unimpressed by the display, his expression holding the same patient amusement one might show a performing street magician.

"Just harmless fun," Varezhan joked, laughing playfully as the lightning continued to dance around him.

"Until we meet again, Your Majesty," he said with exaggerated courtesy, offering a shallow bow before turning sharply on his heel.

His entourage fell in behind him as he strode toward the chamber's exit, their departure swift but dignified. 

The hall erupted in louder chatter than before. Excitement and anger swept through the hall, voices rising as nobles and merchants alike tried to process what they'd just witnessed.

Aldric immediately turned back toward the Council table, but as he moved, his eyes swept upward to the gallery once more. Through the carved screens, his gaze found Kaerith's again with that same deliberate precision as before.

For a heartbeat, the connection held—his green eyes meeting hers across the political chaos below.

"Your Majesty," Councilor Meredith called, her voice still carrying traces of the magical authority she'd used moments before.

"Perhaps we might discuss the evening's... developments."

Aldric's attention snapped back to the Council, the spell broken once again.

Kaerith sighed quietly and returned to collecting empty glasses, her hands moving automatically while her mind struggled to process everything she'd witnessed.

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Kaerith tried to focus on her serving duties, but her eyes kept drifting back to Aldric. He was conferring quietly with his retinue now, reviewing documents with the same calm efficiency he'd shown throughout the meeting.

There was something magnetic about his presence—not the forced charisma of her father's court, but a genuine authority that seemed to draw people in.

The council was discussing among themselves, certainly, about the repercussions and gravity of what Aldric had stated.

"More wine, my lady?" she asked one of the merchants, her voice steady despite the chaos in her thoughts.

The woman nodded absently, her attention fixed on the proceedings below.

"Fascinating evening," she murmured. "Though not quite what I expected." 

You and me both, Kaerith thought grimly.

As the formal session had concluded, people began filtering out of the gallery. Kaerith continued to gather empty glasses and plates, using the mundane tasks to anchor herself while her world shifted around her.

She needed to leave.

Needed to return to her father and... what? Report that Aldric was refusing support?

She was making her way toward the servants' stairs when movement below caught her eye. Aldric was rising from the Council table, clasping hands with the various Councilors in farewell.

His retinue had formed up behind him, preparing to depart.

And then, as if he could feel her watching, he looked up again.

'Again' she thought.

He held her gaze for three heartbeats, four, five, six...

His lips moved, speaking quietly to the aide beside him, and Kaerith's blood turned cold as she read the words: "Who is she?"

The aide followed Aldric's gaze toward the gallery, but the screens concealed too much for him to see clearly. "I don't know, Your Majesty," came the response.

Aldric nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Then, impossibly, the corner of his mouth lifted in what might have been a smile.

Not mocking or threatening—almost... amused? As if he found her presence more intriguing than concerning.

The moment stretched until another Council member approached Aldric, breaking the connection. Kaerith stumbled backward, her tray clattering against a chair.

She had to leave. Now.

Forcing herself to move with deliberate calm, she finished collecting the remaining dishes and made her way to the servants' stairs.

Each step felt weighted, as if she were walking away from something crucial—though whether toward safety or greater danger, she couldn't say.

As she descended the narrow stone steps, her mind raced through her options. She could return to her father and deliver the intelligence she'd gathered.

Report on Aldric's refusal of allies, his evidence of massive assault preparations, and King Varezhan's behavior.

By the time she reached the castle's service entrance, the sun had set completely.

The kitchen master barely glanced at her as she returned her serving tray, too busy directing the cleanup to pay attention to one temporary servant among many.

"Two silvers, as promised," he said, pressing the coins into her hand without ceremony.

Kaerith pocketed the payment and slipped out into the night.

The streets of Greiholld were much quieter now, most of the evening's political observers having retreated to their lodgings or departed entirely.

She walked slowly back toward the Peaceful Hearth, her thoughts churning. Tomorrow, she would have to begin the journey home.