Oskar's arms ached beneath the weight of books he carried through the hallways. His destination was the war room, and while it was not a warring matter, his heart was at war. The prince did not know what reactions to expect when he presented the information before his father and the advisors. He'd been nervous the first day that he brought the horn in, but today was going to be quite different.

Like his previous visit, Oskar's father stood at the far end of the room with his hands resting on the edge of the table. Though unlike last time, the maps of Unara's land and neighboring kingdoms had been returned to their rightful places. All the advisors stood around the table, talking to each other while directing their pointed gazes at the approaching prince.

"Gentlemen," said the king as Oskar placed the stack of tomes on the table and stood beside him. "As you can see, my son returns with his findings with regards to the dead Unicorn. Before we begin, where is General Corrin?"

The prince glanced at all the faces in the room, and indeed the general was not present. He hadn't seen the man since the library a few days before.

"General Corrin will join shortly," replied one of the younger servants standing at the back wall. "He sends his apologies."

Oskar raised an eyebrow. It was unusual for the general to be late as he was known for his punctuality. But his absence triggered a thought in the prince's mind.

Why would General Corrin be late to a counsel meeting?

"With your permission, Father," he said, opening the first tome in the stack. "I would like to share the most pressing information I have found. This entry speaks of a law passed by Queen Delia, which was later considered banned by Chief Steward Godric Rhore. He was co-regent to King Aldrich and thought this law prevented leniency for those unintentionally killing a Unicorn while hunting. Meaning, anyone could claim Accidental Hunting and no punishment would be given. Which also means any—"

"Anyone could have been hunting Unicorns without fear of punishment," the king interjected, leaning over the stack to read the passage himself. "Claiming any such happenings to be an accident and walking away with a false clean conscience."

Oskar could feel the weight of his father's words pressing down on him like a heavy stone. The anger in the king's voice was unmistakable, but beneath it, Oskar caught something else—frustration, grief. A pain that had been buried beneath years of duty and silence. This was a deeper reaction than when Oskar first brought his original findings to Father's study. As if the knowledge had truly not hit until now.

He swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the table. "It was never about ignorance," he drawled, his voice quieter but firm. "It was about permission. A loophole disguised as an excuse."

His father's jaw tightened, but he did not refute the words. Instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Oskar clenched his fists. How many had suffered because of inaction? Because of laws twisted into shields for the guilty? He had always believed in justice, but now he saw just how fragile it was—how easily it could be manipulated. And that made his resolve even stronger.

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty."

Oskar's gaze snapped up at the sound of General Corrin's voice. The man stood at the other end of the table, hands behind his back as he fixed the prince with an unreadable stare.

"I have read the very passage the prince refers to, and I do not see how it is relevant," the general said with the shake of his head. "We have not had such reports or claims of accidental huntings. The prince volunteered to research, but I have conducted my own study of the subject. I believe His Majesty will find my findings much more useful."

Oskar tried his best to conceal his shock, but the warmth of his frustration filled his cheekbones. He glanced at his father, hoping he would back him up first. Certainly, the general held senority and Oskar was only just beginning to participate in counsel meetings. The prince was the one who brought the matter before the king—Oskar was the one dedicating his mind and soul to resolving this issue. Why did the general disregard him this way?

"General Corrin," the king replied, clearing his throat as he placed a hand on Oskar's shoulder. "I trust your findings reflect what my son has brought forth. However, your tone suggests you do not wish to hear what Prince Oskar has to say and that his research will no offer resolution. Are you intending to discredit my son?"

Oskar kept his gaze locked on General Corrin, the man's unreadable expression sending a cold prickle down his spine. Something was off. More than before. The tension in the room had shifted—not because of what he discovered in the archives, but because of Corrin himself.

Oskar's mind reeled back through everything—the general's unwavering presence, his perfectly timed interjection, the way he had tried to take the research away from him only days ago. The way he had downplayed the Unicorn's death. The way he had dismissed Oskar's research before even hearing it.

And now, the way his eyes flicked—just for a second—to the far corner of the room, as if something unseen lurked there.

A memory hit Oskar like a bolt of lightning.

The horn's spell. The illness that had puzzled healers for decades, the strange symptoms no one could explain, the affliction that seemed to touch only a few—and always in connection to a certain kind of exposure. The Unicorn's words entered Oskar's mind, reminding him that it was not a sickness, but a consequence.

"...you will see it in their appearance and mannerisms."

His breath caught.

It had never been about the hunting law alone. It was never just about a dead Unicorn.

It had always been about the magic.

Oskar felt his fingers tighten against the table's surface. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, but his pulse thundered in his ears. His father might not have noticed the general's glance, but Oskar had. And now, everything slotted into place.

Corrin wasn't just reluctant to acknowledge the truth.

He was afraid of it.

Oskar inhaled slowly, leveling his gaze at the general. His mind screamed for him to say something, to confront the man outright—but instinct told him to hold back. He needed more. He needed Corrin to speak, to confirm what Oskar now knew.

"Are you unwell, General?" Oskar asked, his voice calm but deliberate. "You seem anxious."

"I am as fit as a horse," was the general's reply, his tone suggested he was apalled by the prince's question. "I have seen war, young prince. Nothing makes me anxious."

Oskar tilted his head to the side, still holding Corrin's gaze. He reached for the medical journal containing the information about the illness, and read the passage aloud.

"You see," Oskar went on as he glanced around at the different faces. "When one kills a Unicorn, the horn releases a certain magic—a mark if you will. It leaves the killer ill, a consequence for their actions..."

He trailed off when he noticed the general's hands had begun to shake. General Corrin clasped them together, glancing to one side. No one stood there, but Oskar saw his mouth moving—forming words he could not hear.

"General Corrin," the king said as he moved around the table and the other advisors. "What is this behavior? You show signs mirroring those my son has just read. What have you done?"

Oskar's eyes grew wide as the general's entire body shook. Sunlight suddenly entered the room, shining bright on the man in the shadows. Revealing his paled skin and dark eye sockets. He did not appear to have aged, for he was a middle-aged man already, but his hair did appear to have turned more white.

"Guards," the king went on, speaking to the pair of armed men behind the general. "Take this man to the dungeons until I summon him."

A sneer spread across General Corrin's face as the guards unsheathed their weapons, the cold shhhing of steel slicing through the air. The room erupted in overlapping voices—shouts of protest, gasps of shock—but Oskar barely heard them over the pounding of his own heart. His breath hitched as he instinctively stepped closer to his father, his hand itching toward the dagger at his waist.

Everything had shifted in an instant.

This wasn't just treachery. This was a coup.