“It’s Lankor.”

  After dispatg Tristan and Yvolt to the Elven Kingdom for corruption recovery, Burn, Yvain, and Maled down to piece together the information they had gathered.

  Yvain finished reading the dots Tristan and Yvolt brought for them ahem ba the table. “The ior of the Vision Resonator is the illegitimate prince, Lankor.”

  Burn nodded. He decisively said, “One.”

  Yvain started reting everything he'd learned from Finn and the nobles he'd met. Their movements, it seemed, had been noted—and not kindly. To both the First Prince’s and the Prime Minister’s fas, their as were nothihan an attempt to establish a new power bloc.

  “They’ve seen us, and they know us,” Yvain said grimly.

  Man tapped a finger against her temple, her tone reflective yet sharp. “After finding that pitiful sve and everything that happehat night, it’s obvious the Demon Lord is operating out of Inkia. It’s just a matter of time before they make a move.”

  She paused, the out a dry ugh. “Holy, it’s not even Inkia’s problem anymore, is it? The problem is the Demon Lord. Or rather, Inkia’s problem is because of the Demon Lord.”

  Burn shifted in his seat, gng behind him. Finn, standihe door, had stiffened, narrowing his eyes at someone approag.

  The man stepped forward, addressing Burn with a low voice. “Sir, are you sure it’s wise for me to be here? Sir Bedivere’s guarding Edensor alone now.”

  It was Gawain, Rank 5 of the Round Table—a knight whose steadfastness could put most saints to shame.

  “Did y my steeds?” Burn asked, ign the questioirely.

  Gawain chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course I did. Couldn’t leave those beauties behind.”

  In every loop, Gawain was the orusted to care for the two meical Griffiths. He’d also been charged with overseeing Edensor under Soulnaught’s banner. With Yvain’s duties piling up, it fell to Gawain and Bedivere to keep Edensor’s occasionally treacherous nobles in check.

  Though, to be fair, the magical pasured treachery was mostly a thing of the past.

  Gawai before Burn, his posture perfect, his demeanor severe. If loyalty were measured, Gawain was only sed to Gahad himself—amusingly, even he surpassed Percival, Burn’s so-called first guard knight.

  “Gawain Agravaine, rep to His Majesty.”

  Burn gave a nod of approval. “Good work. We’re stretched thin as it is—Tristan and Yvolt are out rec.”

  And thin didn’t even begin to cover it. The entire Round Table was drowning in assigs. Percival went bad forth between Soulnaught Capital and the Northern Border. Morien was campihe borders of Inkia and Soulnaught.

  Gawain and Bedivere had been tasked with Edensor, while Sagramore, Ered Howl alternated between guarding Elysian and shuttliween the emptied kingdom and Soulnaught.

  Gahad and Landevale, mercifully, had avoided being dragged into yet another charade of repg Burn and Man.

  For now. Both knights had been absent from their posts for far too long, and Burn had put out a carefully worded statement g that he’d taken Man south to a ‘winter retreat’ for her health. Better air. Better weather. ve excuses.

  Though Edensor required attention, Gawain wasn’t particurly ed about Bedivere managing things solo. With the region stabilizing, its once-defiant nobles had been cowed—if not by the magical pact, then by Man’s return and the relut acceptance of Yvain and Burn’s co-rule.

  Even the most stubborn holdouts had started to fall in line. Begrudgingly. Naturally.

  It wasn’t often that Burn summoned Gawain like this. Typically, he assigned him to distant matters, tasks that required a steady hand far from Burn’s direct ht. The reason was simple: Burn trusted Gawain implicitly. Beyond Gahad and Percival, Gawain was one of the very few given the freedom to wage war as he saw fit, without the need for prior sultation.

  In other words, Burn wouldn’t so much as bat a Gawain’s decisions, no matter how unorthodox—or how absurd. Whether it involved exeg criminals, sughtering is, or pig fights with allies and enemies alike, Burn trusted him to ha.

  When it came to deaking and sheer ing, Gawain’s methods mirrored Burn’s more closely than anyone else’s. That’s precisely why Gawaihere was more to this summons thahe eye. If Burn had called him here in person, it wasn’t without reason.

  “Take a seat and try to keep up with the versation,” Burn instructed, his tone as sharp as ever. “I’ll let you ask questions when I think it’s time for you to uand.”

  He then turo Finn, who still hadn’t moved. “You too. Sit.”

  “We are talking about the rise of the Demon Lord… in Inkia.”

  The politidscape of Inkia wasly difficult to grasp—it was chaos ly disguised as order. Rafaye Inkor wasn’t meant to asd the throhat honor had been reserved for his older brother, Ledger. With the support of the former Prime Minister and a formidable Queen Mother, Ledger’s cim to the had seemed unshakable.

  But while Ledger was busy ing up his brothers—removing anyone who might challenge his right to rule—someone else decided to him up. The result was nothing short of stunning.

  Ledger Inkor, a healthy young man of 25, died peacefully in his sleep. A heart attack, they said. No poison, no foul py, no evidence of tampering. Just a tragic twist of fate. Or so they cimed.

  Of course, no one believed it. How could they? The timing was impeccable. Suspicious. Too ve by half. And with Ledger gohere was only oimate heir left to cim the throne: Rafaye Inkor.

  No one had ever expected him to rule. Unfavored and unsupported, his ast to power seemed less like destiny and more like a cruel joke. But where luck failed him, shrewdness carried him. Rumor had it that Rafaye had once fessed to the former Prime Mihat he had killed Ledger—a quiet boast whispered in passing. True or not, Rafaye wasted no time solidifying his position.

  He married strategically, g iial daughters from powerful families. In turn, those families fought tooth and nail to curry his favor, their self-serving schemes only strengthening his own. All Rafaye had to do was sit back, py the long game, and build his power base.

  Years of maatioually bore fruit. Queen Celia Angemoux emerged as his stro ally, creating the First Prince’s fa with his blessing. But the former Prime Minister didn’t fet. He’d lost the battle to secure the throne for Ledger, but he wasn’t done fighting.

  The old man used his remaining influeo make his son the Prime Minister, passing down the war like a family heirloom before dying of an act. And the current Prime Minister needed a prio make his vision of the future a reality.

  The two younger legitimate princes—children of another queen and a e—weren’t worth the effort. But an illegitimate prince? One who was already a t success in his ht? That was a different story.

  Enter Lankor. At 30 years old, he was everything Rafaye wasn’t: young, brilliant, iial, wealthy, and powerful. The son of a Wintersin noble, Princess Willow, Lance’s bloodliretched to the Wintersin Emperor himself. Yes, he was teically the son of the distant fourth cousin of Wintersin’s ruler.

  As the owner of the ti’s most exclusive gentlemen’s club and a close associate of Loneborn Mert Group—the wealthiest mert syndicate in the nd—Lance was more than capable of holding his own.

  In fact, it wasn’t so much that the Prime Minister backed La felt more like Lance was bag the Prime Minister. Even after the death of Princess Willow and her father in the Wintersin’s Civil War.

  What truly set Lance apart was his survival. Rafaye hadn’t aowledged him until well into adulthood, vely sparing him from Queen Celia’s earlier purges of potential threats to her own son’s rise. By the time anyone cared to look twice, Lance was untouchable.

  But it was actually deeper than that. Because all of this couldn’t have happened only retly. This all seemed to be something that had been pnned for decades.

  So, they had to start from the very beginning.

  Burn raised his voice, “Who helped Rafaye’s rise to the throne?”

  A heart attack. Ledger Inkor’s death had never sat right. And now, with the Demon Lord’s shadow creeping through the world’s rulers, Rafaye being one of his paw almost iable.

  “Rafaye met Princess Willow Barbarel’s father about a month before Ledger’s death,” Finn said, handing Burn a dot. “It’s the only unusual thing in his timeline.”

  “Lankrandfather helped Rafaye secure the throne, opposing the previous Prime Minister…” Yvain said.

  “Two,” Burn noted in his mind. “?”