"But."
The king’s single word, sharp and clear as a shattering crystal, cut through the murmurs and the very air of the courtyard. It was a sound so final, so unexpected, that for a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop on its axis.
The effect on the crowd was a study in frozen shock.
"..."
A glass shattered on the flagstones somewhere, the sound absurdly loud in the dead silence. Lady Anya, Bane’s staunchest supporter, went pale. Other nobles looked genuinely shocked, some revealed rejoiced expressions, a few poorly pretended to be, and a handful of shrewd ones didn’t react at all, their faces unreadable.
On the side, Prince Bane’s serene mask solidified into something serious and hard. Only a faint tremor in his hand betrayed the seismic shift within.
"..."
King Liam’s expression was grim, resolute, devoid of any hesitation. He leaned harder on his staff to draw strength for what he had to say next. His voice, when it came again, was firm and carried the weight of decree, resonating with a power that belied his age.
"For too long, the law of primogeniture has decided the fate of this crown before a ruler has even proven their worth," he declared, his gaze sweeping over the stunned nobility. "It is a tradition that grants a single child a right by accident of birth, while denying others, who may be equally or more capable, any chance at all."
He paused, letting the heresy of his words sink in.
"I believe that every soul deserves a chance to prove their worth. And that includes every one of my children. Therefore, I will not simply name an heir based on tradition alone. I will not hand over our kingdom, our future, to someone based on a title alone. The future of this realm is too precious, too precarious, for such blind faith."
He looked at his children, his gaze lingering on each of them — on Josephina’s stunned calculation, Norvus’s dawning excitement, Aurelia’s wide-eyed astonishment, Clara’s fierce spark of hope, Neron’s sharp, predatory focus, Ilan’s bewildered confusion, and finally, on Bane’s still sunny but silent expression.
"The true heir," the King’s voice boomed, "must be the one who proves themselves most worthy. The one who demonstrates not just the strength to hold the crown, but the wisdom, the compassion, and the resolve to lead us through the challenges to come."
He drew himself up to his full height, the aura around him flaring with ancient, royal power.
"And thus, I have created a new succession. A series of tests designed to measure the very mettle of a ruler. I call this succession... The Trials of the Crown."
The name hung in the air, heavy and portentous. It was no longer a party. It was no longer an announcement. It was the beginning of a war. A war for the crown.
"And through these trials," King Liam finished, his voice dropping to a grave, ominous tone that promised both glory and suffering, "the next ruler of this kingdom will be chosen."
A beat of stunned silence followed the king’s proclamation. Then, the courtyard erupted into chaos.
"Your Majesty, you cannot be serious!" shouted a portly duke, his face flushed with wine and outrage.
"This is an affront to tradition! To the very laws that hold this kingdom together!" cried a minister, his voice trembling.
"The crown prince has done nothing to warrant this! This is wrong!" another noble’s protest rose above the din.
The loudest voices were obviously from Bane’s faction, their faces masks of panic and indignation. Their carefully laid plans, their years of investment and sycophancy, were crumbling before their eyes.
The court descended into a cacophony of dissent.
King Liam did not shout. He did not gesture for silence. He simply watched the uproar, his solemn expression slowly softening into something else... a small, knowing, and utterly calm smile.
It was the smile of a man who had anticipated every single objection and had long since prepared his answers.
When he spoke again, his voice cut through the noise with effortless authority, forcing them to quiet down to hear him.
"You cling to tradition as if it were a life raft in a storm," the King said, his tone almost pitying. "But sometimes, tradition is the anchor that drags us down. We must have the courage to improve, to evolve. Or we risk being left behind by a world that does not stand still."
He let that admonishment hang in the air for a moment before delivering his coup de grâce.
"And do you believe our sovereign, the great Ardentis Empire, the power to which we owe our allegiance and which rules over half this continent, leaves its succession to the mere title of a firstborn son?"
He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd, challenging anyone to contradict him.
"No. For centuries, they have honed their heirs through glorious and ruthless competition. They call their sacred rite The Trials of Thronal Ascension. It is a tradition of strength, of merit, that has produced the most formidable rulers this world has ever known."
The epic name landed with the weight of a hammer on an anvil. The assembled nobles fell silent, humbled and chastised by the comparison to their imperial overlord’s legendary system.
"It was the founding Emperor Ardentis himself who said, ’A crown earned in peace is a helmet too weak for war.’"
He paused once more, letting them realize the ’importance’ of his decision.
"I am not inventing chaos. I am adopting the principle that built the empire we are sworn to. I was inspired by His Majesty Ardentis’s own wisdom."
The reference to the legendary emperor was a masterstroke.
It reframed the king’s decision not as a break from tradition, but as an alignment with a greater, more powerful one.
"..."
Most of the protestors fell silent, their arguments stripped away. Only a few hardliners muttered amongst themselves, but their voices were lost.
The King’s gaze then shifted, landing squarely on his eldest son. The courtyard held its breath anew.
"Prince Bane," the King said, his voice losing its imperial tone and becoming that of a father addressing his son. "You have borne the title of heir with grace and strength. Your supporters speak loudly for you. So, I ask you directly, for all to hear. What are your thoughts on this, my son?"
The air grew taut.
This was going to be the most dangerous question of all.
"Are you dissatisfied as well?"