The three hours Lilith granted Gladia’s kingdom felt less like mercy and more like a countdown. Still, no one spoke of it openly.

The moment the throne room meeting ended, nobles flooded into the council chambers like frightened birds seeking shelter from a storm.

Outside, the palace remained under heavy guard.

Inside, panic reigned. The former royal family had already been forgotten since their fate was effectively sealed.

For the first time in generations, the question before the Gladia nobility was not how to serve a king but who would replace one.

The discussion began immediately and loudly.

"This is impossible."

"We cannot appoint a king in three hours."

"We have no authority."

"We have no choice."

The arguments overlapped endlessly. Dukes shouted at marquises. Counts accused barons. Several elderly nobles looked moments away from collapsing from stress.

No one wanted responsibility. Because responsibility now came with a terrifying knife hanging above their heads.

The Dark Elf kingdom.

The highest-ranking noble present eventually slammed his hand onto the table and the room fell silent.

Duke Orion Baringham

The wealthiest and oldest man in the kingdom. The most influential noble remaining and perhaps the only person present capable of forcing order.

"We are wasting time."

No one disagreed.

The duke’s expression remained grim.

"The queen gave us three hours."

Silence filled the room.

"If we fail, she will choose for us."

That possibility horrified everyone because they doubted what she would choose. She wasn’t familiar with their nobility, what if she just points at anyone that catches her eye and chooses them, then what?

The room remained quiet.

One count finally spoke.

"The duke should become king."

Several people immediately nodded since it was reasonable, logical, and expected. He had been in the kingdom just as long as the king, hence more knowledgeable.

Duke Orion, however, shook his head.

"No."

The answer surprised everyone.

The count frowned.

"Why?"

The duke folded his hands.

"Because I am one hundred sixty-eight."

Awkward silence filled the room. They had forgotten that part in their haste. The kingdom needed stability not a ruler nearing the end of his life.

Another noble cleared his throat.

"Then your son."

The room froze. Heads slowly turned toward the suggestion, as the thoughts filtered slowly into their minds.

The duke himself remained silent. His son was young, capable, educated, and popular among the military. Most importantly, completely unrelated to the former royal bloodline. Exactly what the Dark Elf Queen demanded.

The room immediately began considering the possibility.

One noble spoke.

"He has administrative experience."

Another nodded.

"The army respects him."

A third added quietly.

"He wasn’t involved with the royal family’s affairs or decisions."

Unlike most of them, he had been in the military or out learning about the world to focus on the royal family. The perfect candidate since that mattered a lot.

Blame now carried value and the distance from blame carried even more.

The discussions continued. Alternative candidates emerged. Most lasted only minutes before being rejected for various reasons. Either they were too old, too controversial, too connected, or too weak.

Eventually, the room arrived at the same conclusion repeatedly. The duke’s son remained the strongest option. He wasn’t perfect but they were all just looking for someone acceptable, someone the citizens could easily warm up to.

The duke finally broke his silence.

"If chosen, my son accepts."

The room relaxed slightly. For the first time all day, a path forward existed. One by one, the nobles agreed. The kingdom had a future king whether he wanted the position or not.

An hour later, the decision reached lilith. She listened, nodded once, and approved. The matter ended there just like that.

A thousand-year royal bloodline had effectively concluded. Simply because circumstances had rendered them unnecessary. Most of the nobles were just thankful she didn’t erase the whole bloodline since, as expected, they were intertwined with the royal family in some form of marriage.

Far below the palace, four prisoners spent their final night alive. None slept much since there wasn’t much point.

Morning arrived carrying a chill. Heavy dark gray clouds covered the sky.

Gladia’s capital awakened slowly. Yet, unlike previous mornings, people moved with purpose. Crowds were formed, shops were also closed and every worker abandoned routine.

Everyone headed toward the central square where the execution platform stood ready, freshly constructed.

Atheline stood beside Lilith atop a balcony overlooking the square. It was far enough to avoid becoming the center of attention but still close enough to observe.

Neither of them wore ceremonial clothing nor appeared interested in ceremony. This wasn’t their event.

Atheline looked toward the gathering crowd. Perhaps more than a thousand, he wasn’t sure. The entire city seemed present.

Lilith watched silently as they waited for it to begin. Atheline glanced toward her.

"You aren’t going down there?"

"No."

"Thats for the best."

She raised an eyebrow.

"You sound relieved."

"I am."

Lilith almost smiled.

Atheline understood why she didn’t want to participate. This needed to belong to Gladia not the dark elven kingdom.

If the executions happened beneath the Dark Elf banner, resentment would remain. If they happened beneath Gladia’s authority the message changed.

The people would judge their own rulers.

The square continued filling. The atmosphere felt strange as more and more people arrived. It was neither celebratory nor mournful but something in between. A collective of relief and exhaustion.

Although Gladia was a rich kingdom, it didn’t mean it didn’t have its own problems. Political failures, economic decline, and military disasters. The abandonment had only been a cherry on top.

Everything had accumulated and now, the people finally had faces to blame.

The former royal family.

The new king arrived shortly afterward.

Sanders Baringham.

No longer the duke’s son, having forcefully gotten the title shed without his consent.

The king title still looked unfamiliar on him.

The crown seemed heavier than expected. Yet he carried himself well, with confidence, determination, and a bit of nervousness. Since he was aware that history had just dropped onto his shoulders.

Murmers spread through the crowd the moment they noticed him. Then, silence followed.

The new king stepped forward.

Then the former royal family emerged soon after.