An Ominous Decision

Gregor arrived at The Quiet Room long before he was supposed to. He had skipped dinner, telling himself he wasn’t hungry, but the truth was he couldn’t sit in the great hall with the Council buzzing and the eyes of half of Regalia on him. Not when his mind was already set on what lay beyond the broken wall.

The room welcomed him—the fire smoldering low, the soft glow of the aquarium casting the walls in hues of shifting green and blue. He sank onto the couch and let his thoughts circle. The whispers still clung to his ears, the sound of wings pressing at the edge of silence. Whatever waited in the tunnel was no trick of air. He knew it, the way he knew danger when it crouched unseen in the shadows.

Time stretched thin. He kept glancing at the door, willing it to open. For a moment, the weight of being “The Peacemaker” pressed harder than his sword belt ever had, where he now carried his flashlight.

At last, the wood yielded and Luxa entered. The instant he saw her, he knew something was different. Her shoulders were taut, her violet eyes shadowed with strain. Not since the banquet—when the assassin had lunged from the crowd—had he seen her so wound.

“I am sorry I am late,” she said, setting her sword against the mantle with a sharp clink. “The Council… they are divided as ever. More so, tonight.”

Gregor straightened. “What’s going on?”

She gave a weary laugh without humor. “One faction says that every hour I breathe must be theirs—that the queen is not a person but a function of the throne. Another argues that the crown makes me sovereign, that I may do as I will regardless of their voices. And still others whisper that evenings should be mine alone, for no one may command where the heart turns.”

She crossed the room, her steps brisk, and sat beside him. For a long moment, she stared into the aquarium’s shifting light. “It is exhausting, Gregor. They would pull me to pieces if I let them.”

Gregor reached for her hand. “Then don’t let them. You’re more than their arguments.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “I could not bear it without this room—and without you.”

They sat in silence, their clasped hands resting between them. But after a while, Luxa shook her head. “I have not eaten. Have you?”

He shrugged. “Skipped it.”

“Then we are both foolish.” Her mouth quirked in the smallest of smiles. From beneath her cloak she drew a small bundle wrapped in cloth. When she set it on the low table and unfolded the fabric, the smell of bread, cheese, and dried fruit filled the air. “I took this from the kitchens when I passed. We shall plan on full stomachs.”

Gregor grinned despite the heaviness pressing on them. “Better than Council stew, that’s for sure.”

They ate together, sharing the simple food as though it were a banquet. The warmth of bread and the sweetness of dried berries steadied them both.

When the food was gone, Luxa leaned back, her expression settling into resolve. “We must be clear, Gregor. Whatever lies behind that wall—it is not chance we go to meet. It may be an enemy the Council has forgotten, or one they wish forgotten. Either way, we cannot go in unprepared.”

Gregor nodded. “I’ll bring the flashlight. I don’t trust torches in a place that hasn’t seen fresh air in who knows how long.”

Her lips curved in agreement. “Good. And I will bring my sword. But more than steel and light, we must bring trust. If we find what I fear, the Council will wish to turn it to their own ends. You must be my witness, Gregor—the Peacemaker who speaks not as queen nor councilor, but as himself.”

The word struck him again, heavier than before. “Why me? Why that title? I just want to be a peacemaker, not THE Peacemaker”

“Because you are not bound by their chains,” she said simply. “When you speak, it is not for power, but for truth. That is why the room opened to you. That is why I trust you with what even Vikus does not know.”

Gregor swallowed hard. He wanted to argue, to say he was no symbol, no THE Peacemaker. But looking into her eyes, he realized the truth—she believed it, and maybe, deep down, he did too.

The fire in the grate flared as though stirred by unseen breath. Gregor glanced toward it, then back at her. “So tonight, we eat and plan. Tomorrow night, we go.”

Luxa’s hand found his again. With a decided voice she said, “No. We go tonight. The Council must not delay what we know is right.”

And The Quiet Room seemed to hold its breath as the firelight dimmed, their vow sealing the night.