Chapter 10: Allan

The High Chancellor's steps were fast and steady, defying his age, as he made his way through the hallways to a wing of the palace that Allan had never visited—the Diamond Wing. It was a place adorned with elegant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow upon intricately carved pillars and walls. The Diamond Wing had once belonged to the late queen, and not many people ventured there since her passing shortly after the prince's birth.

There had been gossip before about Prince Magnus seeking solace in the Diamond Wing, supposedly running there in fear after every sparring lesson, too intimidated by his instructor. Others speculated that his frequent losses left him hurt and embarrassed, driving him to hide in his late mother's chambers. However, regardless of the rumours, Prince Magnus had defied all odds and become the greatest swordsman in the kingdom.

For generations, Lord Hastings' family had produced remarkable warriors, some of whom possessed a limited ability to use spirit thought. Meanwhile, the royal family's proficiency in spirit thought seemed to diminish with each passing year. As a result, it came as a huge surprise when Prince Magnus demonstrated his exceptional skill in his very first tournament at the age of 15. He won every match and showcased the power of spirit thought at its prime. He went on to win every match in the following five years.

Yet, he didn't stop there as he, in only three years, put an end to a war that took place for over two decades, taking back most of the land they had lost in the north. He was the kingdom's hero and prince and the only heir to the throne.

Still trailing the chancellor, Allan thought that, instead of a prank, maybe the prince was hiding again in the Diamond Wing as he did when he was a child in order to hide from attackers. The prince he knew, though, wouldn't do that. He would rather fight to death instead of hiding.

Still, the idea of the prince's demise crossed Allan's mind, considering it might bring him closer to seizing the crown for himself. The High Chancellor came to a halt in front of two exquisitely adorned wooden doors, slipping through one of them and leaving it slightly ajar. Allan approached the doors cautiously, barely daring to breathe, and positioned himself right in front, attempting to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond.

Before being able to see anything, he heard the voices of two men. One of them was rugged and harsh, belonging to the chancellor, while the low and polite voice of the unknown man was laced with a hint of impatience and entitlement, yet it demanded respect. He tried to look through the little space between the doors and was surprised by the view. Through the slight opening, Allan could see a plush velvet couch situated in the centre of the room, its deep green hue contrasting against the bright, flowery wallpaper and a small, ornate table with delicate carvings in front of the high windows. No sight of the men.

Their voices resonated from an undisclosed location, as if they were arguing elsewhere. The low voice sounded concerned. "This wasn't part of the plan, was it?"

"No, of course not," the old man responded. "It is too early for the egg to hatch and too soon for any of our plans to be set in motion."

"If it's not someone from our side, do you think it is someone else with similar intentions?"

There was a prolonged silence, prompting Allan to try to shift his position to catch a glimpse of their departure. However, the chancellor's harsh voice froze him in place.

"There are many others who harbour animosity toward the royal family, but none who share the same intentions. The path to the throne is not open for just everyone, my lad," the chancellor replied firmly.

The other man sounded dissatisfied. "Are you saying there are no other potential contenders? What about Daemon? He is next in line after the prince and has every chance to get the support of the people."

The old man's response reflected Allan's thoughts perfectly. "Lord Daemon is loyal to the prince. More loyal than to the king many might add. The chances that his grace would hurt his family, his friend and companion are close to zero."

"Yet not zero." The man insisted.

"Your highness," the chancellor began, his voice calm and pleading, causing the hidden man to be taken aback, "the bond between them is unbreakable. I cannot envision a scenario where either of them would defy the world for the other. They are closer than brothers."

That seemed to annoy the other person as he clicked his tongue at the chancellor before continuing. "Then we have no suspects."

"I'm afraid so."

"What about Duke Everglow? His disdain for the royal family is well known. Could it not be his desire for power a good reason to start a revolt or take the crown by any chance?"

The old man seemed to ponder upon it, taking his time to respond with an angry voice. "It wouldn't surprise me. That man is ready to walk on anybody just to get his way."

"Then it's decided!" The unknown man announced. "We should investigate the duke, maybe get him on our side. We can use his daughter. She is at the castle, isn't she? I saw her last night at the ball."

"No," the chancellor hurried to answer. "She is just as greedy and insidious as her father, have you not seen it?"

"I saw it last night, High Chancellor, just not as you describe it. The lady is pleasant and sweet."

"And she captures your heart as well as your mind. Your highness should be careful around such people."

Allan knew of the chancellor's hatred towards Duke Everglow as well as the fact that he was highly religious and Lady Ivalyn's ways could only be seen as vulgars. Though Allan knew that even if the lady would have been the most pious person, it wouldn't change the old man's opinion.

The young man moved closer to the windows, his back to the door, standing before a round table. Allan observed him—a tall and robust figure with dark, cropped hair—and wondered if he had seen him at the ball the previous night.

After thinking for a while, he answered the chancellor. "I don't agree and I'll have to speak with my father about this. If it's power the duke is seeking, what better way to attain it than by becoming the father of the queen? Don't you agree?"

The old man seemed too shocked to speak and stuttered when doing so. "Queen? Someone like her? I beg you to reconsider, your highness."

"As I said, I will confer with my father and seek his opinion on the matter. Perhaps even now," the young man dismissed the chancellor's concerns, turning to face him.

Finally, Allan caught sight of the man's face—a visage with chiselled features, a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. His lips were full and well-shaped, curling into an arrogant smile as he regarded the chancellor.

Yet, what struck Allan the most were the man's eyes, a mesmerising shade of delicate lilac.