Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 168 - Hundred And Sixty Eight

The throne room was a cavern of tension, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and nervous sweat.

King Alistair sat slumped on his velvet throne, his crown feeling heavier than usual on his graying head. He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the gilded armrest, a small, impatient sound lost in the drone of political debate.

"Where’s Liam?" the King whispered, leaning slightly to the side.

The royal guard standing at attention beside him didn’t move his body, but he gave a almost imperceptible shake of his head. He didn’t know. No one knew. The Crown Prince had vanished hours ago, storming out of his chambers in a fury that had terrified the servants.

The King sighed, a long, weary exhale that rattled in his chest. He muttered under his breath, "The court is in session, the fate of the kingdom is being argued, and he is nowhere to be seen."

"So what do you suggest, Your Highness?"

The voice cut through the King’s reverie. He blinked, looking up to see the expectant eyes of his council fixed on him. They were waiting for a decision, for leadership he felt too tired to give.

He straightened his posture, trying to look regal. "What are we talking about again?" he asked, his voice rough.

Lord Grayson, a man with a face like a hawk and eyes like polished coins, stepped forward. He was Jane’s father, and he wore his ambition like a cloak. His robes were trimmed with expensive fur, a stark contrast to the subject at hand.

"The taxes paid by the people, Your Highness," Lord Grayson spoke smoothly, though his tone held a hint of condescension. "A petition was sent from the lower districts asking for them to be reduced. They claim the burden is too heavy. But some of us... disagreed."

He looked around the table, his gaze daring anyone to challenge him.

Lord Vance, an older, kinder man with worry etched into his forehead, interrupted. He stood up, leaning on the table with both hands. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

"We must also see the plight of the people, Grayson," Lord Vance argued passionately. "The harvest was poor this year. The winter will be hard. If we can just reduce the tax a little... just a fraction... so that even those with very low sources of income can still pay without starving. A hungry populace is a dangerous one. They are starving. If we take their last coin, they will have nothing to buy bread.

A dead peasant pays no tax."

Lord Grayson scoffed. It was a harsh, dismissive sound.

"Starving peasants are always complaining," Grayson countered, waving his hand as if shooing away a fly. "We need to look at the bigger picture. We need to fill the treasury. We need gold, Vance, not sympathy."

"For what?" Vance asked. " What emergency do we possibly need gold for?"

"For a possible war," Grayson declared, his voice dropping to a dramatic, ominous register.

The room went silent. The word ’war’ hung in the air like a blade.

Lord Ferris, a stout man who usually avoided conflict, spoke up. "What are you saying, Grayson? We have a treaty. We have peace."

"Peace is an illusion," Lord Grayson spoke, his eyes gleaming with a greedy light. War was profitable for men like him. "I am sure the West is planning against Strathmore. They have been quiet for too long. Silence is the sound of an enemy sharpening his sword."

He turned to the King, trying to sow fear.

"Think about it, Your Majesty," Grayson urged. "All of the your spies are giving fruitless reports. ’Nothing to report.’ ’All is calm.’ It is suspicious. It is as though there is a traitor feeding them information! A traitor in our midst who tells the West exactly where our eyes are looking so they can hide their knives!"

Everyone gasped. A ripple of unease went through the council.

"A traitor?" someone whispered.

"Inside the palace?" another murmured.

Some sided with Lord Grayson, nodding their heads. They saw the logic in his paranoia. They feared the West, remembering the old stories of magic and bloodshed.

"He is right," a younger lord said. "We cannot be too careful. We should raise the taxes. We need to build defenses."

But others disagreed.

"It is impossible!" Lord Vance shouted, his face red. "You are mongering fear to line your own pockets! We have been trying to avert the war between the West and Strathmore for years! We have worked for peace to avoid the casualties that happened during the war between Eudora and Mercia. Do you want to see our sons die again?"

"I want to see our kingdom strong!" Grayson shouted back. "And strength costs money!"

The argument erupted into a mixture of shouting. Men pointed fingers. Papers were thrown. The King watched, his head throbbing, feeling the control slipping away from him.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the throne room slammed open with a violent BANG.

The sound was so loud it silenced the room instantly. Every head turned.

Prince Liam stood in the doorway.

He looked terrifying. His hair was disheveled, his chest heaving. He held his sword in his right hand, the steel gleaming in the torchlight. His knuckles were white.

But it was what he held in his left hand that froze the blood in everyone’s veins.

He was gripping a woman’s hair. A fistful of long hair.

He marched into the room, dragging her behind him. She was on the floor, her body sliding on the polished marble. She was screaming, a muffled, terrified sound, her hands clawing at his wrist, trying to loosen his grip, but he was too strong, her legs kicking uselessly.

"Let me go!" she shrieked. "Your Highness! Please! I won’t do it again!"

It was Lady Jane.

The council members stumbled back, their eyes wide with horror. Lord Grayson’s face went white as he recognized his daughter.

"Liam!" the King gasped, standing up. "What is the meaning of this?"

Liam didn’t stop. He dragged her all the way to the foot of the dais. He threw her forward. She sprawled on the steps, weeping, clutching her head.

Liam stood over her. His eyes flashed with a cold, murderous anger that made even the bravest general flinch. He looked at his father.

"I have found your traitor, father," He said.