Chapter 378: Chaos In The Court
In a brightly lit throne room, Reuben’s inner circle along with the different ministers were having an urgent meeting. Though the throne room blazed with golden light, the atmosphere was gloomy. Its high-vaulted ceilings echoing the footsteps of hurried attendants and murmurs of anxious ministers. Tension thickened the air as news of disaster hung like a storm cloud over the royal court.
Prince Reuben stood before the assembly, his hands clenched at his sides, eyes smoldering with disbelief. At the center of the chamber, surrounded by a semi-circle of ministers, generals, and lords, General Marlon Norse stood exposed like a criminal in judgment.
"Carles—lost in a single day?" Reuben’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. "General Marlon Norse, explain this! Carles was entrusted to you. How can it fall this fast?" Reuben’s voice thundered inside the high ceiling chamber. "It wasn’t even two months since General Odin was banished. Are you saying that you are incompetent and unworthy?"
The crown prince’s anger was so palpable in the air. The echo of his voice soared to the heights of the domed ceiling before falling upon the crowd like thunder. Even those seated at the outer edge flinched.
Marlon’s face flushed a deep crimson, shame and fury warring in his expression. His voice trembled as he struggled to speak.
"Your Highness," he stuttered. "It was Bener’s girl friend. She was a spy of Estalis. She let the elite soldiers of the enemy inside the new town hall and everyone was caught in surprise." How can he admit that his son was so stupid he allowed a woman to manipulate him and she made him dance to her tune.
Reuben’s hand struck the armrest of his throne. The sharp crack of wood echoed louder than his words.
"You dare pin this catastrophe on Bener’s former girl friend who is your son’s whore? You think I am a fool, Marlon?" He leaned forward, voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "For two years Carles held strong. And now—because of one woman? No. This is your failure."
Before Marlon could speak again, a slow, deliberate tapping broke the rising storm.
Tap... tap... tap.
All heads turned as an old man entered the throne room—stooped, but unbowed by age. His silver hair hung loose beneath a weatherworn hood, and his cane struck the stone floor with solemn rhythm.
"Perhaps," came the gravelly voice, "the fall of Carles was written the moment your court cast General Odin aside. You should have expected this outcome."