By nightfall, the palace walls stood resolute, the Dunmere army vanquished, but the kingdom was far from secure. The streets of Aurelith, once filled with life, now lay eerily silent, as its citizens huddled in fear behind closed doors. The enemy's retreat had been a hollow victory; their forces were gone, but the scars they left behind were impossible to ignore. War had come, and it would not be easily turned away.

Mirelith stood once again in the council chamber, her body aching from the toll of the day's battles. As the representative of House Elderglen, it was her duty to be present at these critical meetings, but she was hardly the only one bearing the marks of the siege. The nobles seated around the table were disheveled, their usual airs of sophistication replaced with grim determination. Even Felix, ever the source of levity and quick wit, was silent, his face drawn in an uncharacteristic seriousness.

At the head of the table stood Prince Caius, his storm-gray eyes cold with barely contained fury. His armor, streaked with blood and soot, told the tale of a battle fought fiercely and without mercy. Despite the weariness etched on his features, he stood tall, his presence still commanding, as though he had been born to lead in moments like these. Beside him, Victor, his broad frame tense and vigilant, scanned the room, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword.

"The enemy had help," Caius's voice sliced through the thick silence, sharp and deliberate. "Their knowledge of the city was too precise. They knew our defenses, our movements, our vulnerabilities. Someone within our ranks betrayed us."

The words sent a chill through the room, rippling through the gathered nobles. Whispers of suspicion fluttered through the air like a gathering storm, voices lowered but urgent. Names were spoken in hushed tones, accusations barely veiled.

"Impossible," Lord Harwain, the seasoned knight, growled, slamming his gauntleted fist on the table. "No true Aurelithian would sell us out to Dunmere!"

"Loyalty is easy to claim," Felix shot back, his tone sharp, "but it's harder to prove when gold—or fear—is involved."

Victor, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward, his gaze steady and measured. "Whoever it is, they had intimate knowledge of our defenses. This wasn't a careless slip—it was deliberate. Calculated."

Mirelith's thoughts raced as she absorbed every word. The possibility of a traitor within their ranks was a bitter pill to swallow. If someone within their trusted circle had conspired with the enemy, the kingdom was in far more danger than anyone realized. She scanned the faces around the table, searching for any sign of guilt or fear, but all she saw were shadows of exhaustion and simmering anger.

At the far end of the table, the king sat, his once-vibrant presence now diminished by frailty. Though his sunken eyes remained attentive, his strength had clearly waned. His health had deteriorated further in the aftermath of the siege, and while his body was present in the room, his voice was little more than a whisper.

Caius turned toward him, his expression softening just slightly. "Father, your counsel would be invaluable in this matter. Who among us could betray their own kingdom?"

The king shifted in his chair, his breathing labored, but his eyes still held a sharpness that belied his weakness. "Loyalty," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, "is not always visible. But treachery leaves traces. Look for those... who avoid your gaze." He paused, his chest rising and falling with difficulty. "Or those who speak too boldly to divert attention."

His words, few though they were, hung heavily in the air. The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, the seeds of suspicion taking root.

As the discussion continued, the weight of tension pressed down on Mirelith's shoulders. The accusations grew more pointed, more deliberate.

"It's strange," Lord Brastion said, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the table. "Some of us were remarkably well-informed about the enemy's movements during the attack." His gaze settled on Felix.

Felix's head snapped up, incredulous. "Are you accusing me, Brastion? I've been at the frontlines since the first breach! Ask Victor—he saw me fighting alongside his knights."

Victor nodded curtly. "Felix was there. Whatever else he is, he's no traitor."

Brastion scowled but offered no further argument. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of unspoken accusations thickening the air.

Mirelith's mind churned with the implications of the conversation. Who had vanished at critical moments? Who had spoken too little—or perhaps too much? Every thought she had led to dead ends, the path forward obscured by doubt.

Finally, Mirelith stepped forward, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "If we waste time pointing fingers without proof, we'll only weaken ourselves further. Whoever betrayed us is still out there—watching, waiting. We cannot afford to descend into paranoia now."

Caius's eyes flicked to her, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Lady Mirelith is right. We need evidence, not speculation. Victor, assign your most trusted knights to investigate. Discreetly."

Victor gave a sharp nod. "It will be done."

Mirelith could feel Caius's gaze linger on her for a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to the table. "Until we find the traitor," he said, his voice cold, "we must assume they are still feeding information to Dunmere. No plans are to be discussed outside this room. If anyone leaks information, they will answer to me personally."

The threat in his tone was clear, and the room fell silent under the weight of his words.

As the council adjourned, the nobles filed out of the chamber, their faces grim and heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. Mirelith remained behind, her thoughts a whirlwind of unease. The idea of a traitor in their midst, someone she might know or trust, gnawed at her, making her skin crawl.

Felix approached her, his usual smirk replaced by something more somber. "You handled yourself well in there," he said quietly. "Not many could speak up in a room full of sharks."

Mirelith gave him a faint smile. "Desperation makes us braver than we are."

Felix chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "Desperation or not, you're making an impression. Even Caius noticed." His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Careful, Mirelith. You might end up on his good side."

Before she could respond, Victor joined them, his expression grave. "You should both be careful tonight," he said in a low voice. "If the traitor suspects they're being watched, they might act... unpredictably."

Felix frowned. "Unpredictably? That's a polite way of saying 'deadly.'"

Victor didn't reply, but the gravity of his warning hung in the air long after he had spoken.

Mirelith returned to her chambers, but sleep eluded her. She sat by the window, staring out at the ruined city below. The fires had been extinguished, but the damage had been done. Aurelith would never be the same.

Her thoughts drifted back to the council chamber, to Caius's barely contained fury and the king's cryptic advice. Treachery leaves traces, the king had said. But what traces? And where should she look?

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Mirelith made a silent vow. She would find the traitor, no matter the cost. The survival of the kingdom—and her place within it—depended on it.