For the commoners of the royal city, it was just an ordinary night. As usual, they prayed on their terraces, in the parks, by the roadside—anywhere they could see the White Lady and the Blue Child. They had no idea that when the sun rose the next morning and they awoke, the royal city would have a new master. Meanwhile, the atmosphere inside the palace had grown icy. Neither side dared make a move, afraid that one mistake would cost them everything. The great hall was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. Azar was full of questions. Why hadn't the king contacted him? By rights, he was the king's greatest asset. Thinking it over, Azshara hadn't received any special instructions either, just the usual attempts to win her over. The person sent to contact her clearly wasn't one of the king's close attendants. Could the king suspect him? It was possible! After all, killing the king's unborn child would secure his own position as heir. He had never thought of doing such a thing, but he was the kingdom's youngest God of War, one of the finest of his generation, and the king's nephew. He had ability and royal blood, making him the most likely successor. In other words, the king's child posed the greatest threat to him, and if that child died, he stood to gain the most! They were all sly old foxes, every one of them calculating better than the rest! A faint pulse of Arcane energy suddenly made Azar tense. Who could it be at a time like this? The two men in the hall also looked puzzled. Was it him? Him? Him? "That's enough!" A dignified voice rang out from behind the crowd, drawing everyone's attention. The speaker strode toward the center of the hall, his posture straight and his clothes elegant, a One-handed Sword hanging at his waist. Azar recognized him at a glance: Daresmar Sunstrider. He had never met Daresmar, but he knew that sword—Felo'melorn, the legendary weapon of fire mages! At the sight of him, Azar instinctively glanced at his wife, his eyes full of questions. Azshara, however, continued watching the center of the hall as if nothing were wrong. Something's off! His wife was definitely hiding something. Her hands were poised to cast a spell at any moment. Why? What role was she playing in all this? The two men in the hall saw Daresmar step forward and were overjoyed. See? Our reinforcements are here.
"I said, the banquet is over." When no one reacted, he repeated himself, his tone firmer.
"Why aren't you moving? Do you still think you're the winner, and don't know whether you should be the one to leave?" At his second remark, the king and the High Priest's expressions changed dramatically. He isn't on my side! Azshara! You're ruthless. But Azar was every bit as shaken as the other two. My wife... My wife is the one who's been lurking in the shadows! I've been played too. Azar stared blankly at her, replaying everything that had happened lately. The more he thought about it, the colder his back grew. A woman's heart was as unfathomable as the sea! He had become a mere backdrop in this scheme. First, she had put him at ease, pretending they were trying for a child together, while secretly arranging everything. She had used her status as a double agent to quietly build her own forces all along. The two old men had foolishly assumed she was on their side! He had been her perfect cover. The king had believed he held the military power and that victory was within reach; the High Priest had thought she had won Azar over and let his guard down. And Azar himself had believed that Azshara was his wife, that she was about to give him a child, and that everything she did was for their family. She had fooled everyone and used them all! His hand closed around Quel'Delar. He wanted to draw it then and there. Calm down. I have to stay calm. He kept reminding himself as he guided the Power of Order within him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and gradually, his hand moved away from the hilt. Think it through. She isn't trying to attack me. Her spell is aimed at the two men in the center. Azar saw the anchor of Azshara's spell lying at their feet, cleverly concealed. No one else had noticed it. What is she planning? Azar's face twisted as he wrestled with himself. Azshara, perhaps too tense, hadn't noticed the turmoil in her husband beside her. All her attention was fixed on the center of the hall. The grand play she had directed was about to reach its finale, and the key players were about to make their entrance.
"Come out. Don't send a mere foot soldier to shield you. He's not worthy." The High Priest spoke calmly, his voice heavy with sorrow, as if he had already accepted his fate. Everyone present was stunned. There's someone else behind all this? Azshara walked slowly toward the center of the hall, and Daresmar quickly took his place behind her, remaining on guard.
"I knew I couldn't hide it from you, Teacher." Azshara sounded calm too, as if they were simply chatting.
"I didn't see it before. But if I still couldn't see it now, I'd truly be a fool. It seems we really are getting old, Jabani." The High Priest seemed to age all at once, his voice filled with deep sorrow. After hearing him, the king looked at the High Priest, then at Azar, and finally fixed his sharp gaze on Azshara. "You did this!"
"Does it matter, Uncle?" Azshara replied, her gaze unwavering.
The king's expression crumpled. He was right; it didn't matter anymore. There was no point in dwelling on it. A loss was a loss. He had struggled for a hundred years, only to be undone by his own poor judgment, despite everyone praising his foresight. The High Priest had been right: he really was terrible at judging people. At least Azar hadn't been involved. From the look on his face, he still cared about family, after all. The king was his uncle. This whole scheme must have been the woman's doing.
"There's no turning this around. I know what I taught her, and I imagine you taught her plenty too. Well, at least my teachings will live on." The High Priest tried to console himself, helplessly. He surrendered completely. Just as everyone thought he had accepted his fate, he suddenly raised his right hand and struck himself hard on the forehead! There was no sound, but anyone who knew what it meant understood: he was going to die...
"No one can defeat me! Except myself!" Those were his last words, heard only by the few people nearby. The king watched and sighed softly. "You really are proud enough to die for it. Very well. Let me keep you company." He immediately made the same move as the High Priest and ended his own life. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but no one heard him—except Azar. Child, there's something hidden in the compartment beneath the throne.
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