A Duet of Spell and Shadow

Prologue: An Uneasy Treaty

An aged man dressed in a lavender robe with black trimmings stood in front of a bookcase, his hands casually folded on the small of his back. He's late.

He was disinterested in the leather-bound tomes adorning the shelves; he knew he should be in bed during these late hours of the night, but he patiently waited for this clandestine meeting to happen.

From the halls, haste footsteps echoed as the loyal advisor hurriedly entered the library.

"What kept you?" the man asked, gaze glued to the books as if he was unmoved by the other's tardiness.

"Drunk and disorderly guard," he panted with quick breaths. "Had to scold his brethren to escort him to the guard barracks."

The man, his shoulder-length hair with gray streaks that displayed signs of aging, scoffed nonchalantly. "That is the concern of their commanding officer, not yours, Charles." Although it wasn't intentional for him to sound authoritative, it came naturally.

"Yes, Your Grace," Charles apologized. Finally, the older man turned on his heel and gestured towards the wooden table in the middle of the room. Charles obliged and took a seat across the man.

"I have been threading this treaty for what feels like ages," he vented, elbow planted on the table, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "As anxious as I feel about the whole thing going awry, I am counting on you and the court to ensure that the day of the treaty is executed as seamless as possible. It is a month away and yet it feels like time is against us."

"Time is an afterthought when it comes to the royal family, Your Grace. But fret not, I have already made the necessary arrangements for the day of the treaty signing. One of the ravens caught wind of the neighboring royals traveling by carriage. They shouldn't be but a month from the kingdom to arrive."

The man heaved a sigh of relief, but then his expression turned grim before he asked another question. "And what of the assassin?"

Charles shifted with discomfort in his seat; he was hoping the man would forget about that entire ordeal. But alas, he miscalculated his memory. "En route, Your Grace. The treaty negotiation is the perfect distraction."

Another sigh was expelled through his chapped lips. "It pains me, Charles, to think of what must be done. But the legacy of our family, the very power that courses through our veins, demands it. Aethyrismia's supremacy must remain unchallenged."

"It is a noble and needed sacrifice to secure the future of the lineage and the kingdom," Charles reassured. "The royal bloodline has always been woven with sacrifice to ensure the kingdom's dominance, and your reign."

The man's jaw clenched, a mixture of resolve and doubt warring within him. "Go then, Charles. Let the wheels be set in motion. I shall trust your judgment, as I always have."

As Charles stood and bowed once more before departing, the man remained alone, staring at the shimmering tapestries that adorned the walls. The legacy of power, the weight of centuries-old tradition, bore down on him like a crown of thorns. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with darkness, and the choices he made that night would shape the fate of the kingdom and the lives entwined within its magic.