**
The doors were already open when I arrived. High arches. Cold stone.
I walked in to see a long table ringed with old money and older politics.
They were seated—lords, advisors, a few generals in crested uniforms. None of them looked up at first, not until I stepped through the threshold.
Then they all turned.
Their gazes found me like knives finding a sheath—sharp, deliberate. Measuring my worth like a prized hog. Questioning. Judging.
I didn’t flinch. I just walked in with my usual calm and took a place near the wall—not at the table. Not until I knew if they’d treat me as an equal… or an enemy.
Syrena stood at the head. Regal in posture, but her eyes flicked—just briefly.
Warning. Maybe apology.
“I’d like to begin,” she said, her voice clear and controlled. “But first, an introduction.”
Every eye in the room snapped to me.
“This is Phoenix,” she continued, “formerly of the King’s Shades. A battle-mage of the highest class, and one of the few responsible for Elira’s survival. He will be present for our council moving forward.”
Silence followed the announcement, then the whispers began.
“Charming,” Lord Renlor muttered, loud enough to carry. “We’ve invited fire into the powder room.”
Another councillor—grey-bearded, cold-eyed—narrowed his gaze. “A defector from Ashton’s army, seated in Virell’s inner circle?”
“How do we know he’s truly turned?” asked a hawk-faced woman. “Loyalty that deep doesn’t just vanish.”
I didn’t answer. Let them stew in their discomfort.
I met her stare instead—cool, steady. I’d faced worse in rooms far darker than this.
If she wanted a performance, she didn’t understand what I was.
Syrena didn’t blink. “Because he bears the scars of it, Adelaide. He burned off his brand during the battle at Varrowmere.”
That landed. A flicker of unease rippled through the room.
“Phoenix has given more for this kingdom protecting my daughter than most of you have in years,” Syrena said. “And he did it without titles or promises. That’s loyalty Ashton never earned.”
Adelaide’s mouth thinned, but she said nothing.
Renlor spoke next. “What intel can you offer us?”
“Depends on what you want to know,” I said.
Renlor leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Movements. Weaknesses. What the king values. What he fears.”
“He fears losing control,” I said. “Which is already happening.”
Several of them exchanged glances.
“He’s paranoid. Obsessive. The second someone slips his grip, he sees betrayal in every shadow. That’s why your armies haven’t seen a full push—he’s too busy putting out fires inside his own walls. Vael’s escalations in Varrowmere haven’t helped.”
“Vael is fighting with Ashton still?” Therrin asked.
