Lord Wilhelm Bexley's passing made waves at court.
The man had been cautious, wise, and popular. And yet he had passed away during the night, with no one to blame.
Whispers spread like wildfire among the noble ranks—assassination, betrayal, some unknown guiding force behind all this.
And Aric was going to be that guiding force.
He leaned back in his private study, a goblet of black wine rotating between his fingers. Cedric stood behind him, expressionless face, but tense stance with unresolved tension. Sovereign's Brand still thrummed through his veins—a cord he could never cut.
"A power vacuum after Wilhelm's death," Aric said, a smooth sound from his lips. "The nobles will scramble to fill the gap."
Silence hung in response from Cedric.
Aric smiled. Good. He was understanding it.
"You will take this opportunity, Cedric," Aric went on. "Go talk to Lord Harland Wescott. Wescott was fond of Wilhelm, but cautious—afraid he'd be next."
Cedric's lips pressed together at the mention of the name.
"You want me to play Wescott?"
"No, to rule him." Aric's yellow eyes twinkled. "persuade him to join you. or persuade him to serve you. The choice is his."
Lord Harland Wescott sitting alone in his own manor, drumming fingers on his desk. He had not slept.
Wilhelm's murder haunted him.
No break-in. No witnesses. A clean kill.
Harland knew what that meant—someone in the court was killing obstacles.
"My lord," a voice broke his concentration.
He jumped, only to see that Cedric stood in the doorway of his study.
The young man had slipped in unnoticed.
Harland glared, concealing behind a mask of nerves. "Cedric. I was not expecting callers."
Cedric smiled mockingly.
"I've come to provide you protection, my lord."
Harland laughed. "Protection? That's a bold claim."
"Wilhelm felt protected too," Cedric informed him, his tone unfailingly calm.
Harland's fingers curled.
"I can ensure that is no longer the case for you."
The noble remained silent.
Fear weakened men.
And Cedric was quite familiar with how to exploit it.
Harland Wescott was no brave man. His wealth, his title, his lands satisfied him. Fear of their loss for any honor to the men who had been his friends.
At the close of the evening, he had bound himself to Aric's service.
Not as willing friend—but as man trapped by his own fear.
When Cedric came back to Aric, he knelt immediately.
"Harland Wescott is yours now, my lord."
Aric grinned.
One noble vanquished.
Many more to come.