He didn’t turn as he said, “Enter.”
Michael stepped in, bowing his head in a respectful nod. He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed, his cloak still smelling faintly of damp earth from his travels, but he stood tall, never one to back down from duty.
“It’s time, Kieran,” he said.
Kieran exhaled, long and steady, letting the fury inside him settle. If he was going to meet with his council, if he was going to accuse Sebastian directly for what he had done, he needed to remain calm, to show no hint of weakness. He needed the council to listen to him and to make sure Sebastian didn’t twist his words into something he didn’t mean.
“Aye,” he said. “It is.”
Michael hesitated. “Ye should be prepared… Sebastian willnae go down quietly.”
Kieran turned, and the look in his eyes made Michael’s breath catch. It was a look that promised something far worse than anger; it promised reckoning.
“He doesnae need to go down quietly,” Kieran said, fastening the last plate of armor at his shoulder. “He only needs to go down.”
Michael nodded once, resolute.
As they walked through the keep’s halls toward the council chamber, every step felt thunderous. Servants pressed themselves against the walls, sensing something dangerous in the air. Guards turned, watching their laird with a mixture of respect and tightly concealed apprehension.
The council chamber lay ahead, the doors tall and carved with the sigils of Clan McDawson. Behind them waited half a dozen elders, advisors, and Sebastian himself, who no doubt expected another day of subtle manipulation and veiled barbs.
But today would be different. Today, the truth would be laid bare before every pair of eyes that mattered.
Michael paused beside him at the doors. “Kieran… if I may?”
Kieran stopped and turned to him, lifting a brow.
Michael swallowed. “Lydia will want to ken what ye uncover today. She deserves to ken justice was served.”
A sharp breath cut through Kieran’s chest, but he shoved the ache down before it could root itself too deeply.
“Once this is done,” he said quietly, “I’ll tell her everythin’.”
And pray she didn’t slam the door in his face.
Michael pressed his hand to the door. “Then let’s finish it.”
Kieran nodded, and together, they shoved the heavy doors open. Light from the chamber’s windows spilled across polished stone, illuminating the circle of council members.
That morning, the council chamber felt colder than usual. It wasn’t the early-morning chill seeping in through the stone walls nor the draft curling under the heavy oak doors. It was the stillness, the eerie quiet that settled the moment Kieran stepped to the head of the long table.
Every elder was here. Every advisor. Michael stood at his right like a shadow of loyalty and steel.
Only one seat remained empty—Sebastian’s.
Kieran scanned the faces around him, his jaw tightening. With barely restrained fury. “Where is me uncle?”
The room shifted with unease. Some exchanged glances, others stiffened in their seats, but no one spoke.
Kieran’s voice echoed across the room, thunder trapped within stone. “This council was called for matters that concern him directly. Why is he nae here?”
Once again, there was nothing but silence.
A muscle ticked in Kieran’s cheek. Fury simmered under his ribs, radiating as heat through his body. “I willnae ask again. Where is he?”
Each word was punctuated, each consonant sharp as a blade.
“Me Laird,” one of the elders finally stammered, “we… we were told he’d arrived before dawn as usual. He was supposed to be here.”
