Chapter 129: Chapter 129: The forgotten history

"You are Kamal," Gabriel said.

Kamal bowed. "Your Imperial Majesty."

His voice remained perfectly measured.

That alone told Arik he was uncomfortable.

Kamal had not survived court by serving one throne after another and learning to bend prettily with every change of wind. He had served one sovereign. One. Goliath.

Afterward, when the empire broke and Felix Canmore’s shadow spread like poison through the ruins, Kamal had not sworn himself to the victor. He had disappeared beneath the surface of Wrohan instead, watching Felix from places where names became useless, shielding Amara and the remnants who still carried enough truth to be dangerous, and gathering information piece by piece with the grim patience of a man who believed return was not hope but delayed logistics.

And now Gabriel Lyon’s attention made even him choose every breath carefully.

Gabriel studied him through the projection with bright, surgical interest.

"So," Gabriel said, "you are the man who served Goliath."

The room changed.

Kamal did not move.

Arik’s gaze sharpened slightly, but he said nothing.

Damian’s golden eyes remained calm, though the stillness around him deepened. Edward, behind them, raised his gaze from his tablet with a mild focus that felt like an interrogation beginning before anyone asked a question.

Kamal inclined his head. "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."

Gabriel watched him quietly for a moment.

Then he said, "We received two reports regarding you."

Kamal did not move.

"One was written by you," Gabriel continued. "At Arik’s request after you accepted the position of steward again."

"The second," Damian said calmly, "came from the Shadows."

Mezos remained perfectly still beside the door.

Gabriel’s dark eyes stayed on Kamal. "Your report was useful. Careful. You minimized yourself extensively."

Kamal’s mouth curved faintly. "I did not believe my condition relevant compared to the others."

"That," Gabriel said softly, "was incorrect."

The room quieted.

Gabriel continued, "The Shadow report reconstructed the attack after Seraphina and Silas died."

Arik’s jaw tightened.

The names still felt wrong inside him. Known, understood, but distant in the terrible way incomplete memories always were.

Arik’s hand closed on the edge of the table.

Silas.

Goliath’s first son, almost two years old.

The name did not tear through him the way it should have.

That was the horror.

He knew the nature of the grief. He knew the fact of it. He understood that Goliath should have broken the palace stones with his bare hands for that child and his mother.

But the feeling remained distant, sealed behind the missing parts of himself.

Only anger came easily, and Arik decided to use that as fuel to his revenge.

Damian’s gaze remained fixed on Kamal. "Felix wounded you while trying to reach Amara."

"Yes."

"And the pheromones?"

Kamal paused briefly. "Poisonous already."

Gabriel’s expression lost the last trace of amusement.

"He nearly destroyed your lungs."

Kamal inclined his head once. "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."

Arik looked sharply toward him.

Kamal met his gaze calmly. "Felix did not care enough to finish killing me. He wanted Amara."

The words landed coldly.

Gabriel’s fingers curled once against the arm of his chair. "The report says it took twenty years before breathing stopped being painful."

Kamal’s silence confirmed it.

Even Edward’s expression shifted slightly.

Arik stared at Kamal now, suddenly understanding dozens of small things he had overlooked. The measured breaths. The pauses between longer sentences. The constant warmth of tea.

"You described it as a minor impairment," Gabriel said.

"It became manageable."

"That is not the same thing."

"No," Kamal admitted quietly.

Damian leaned back slightly. "And yet you remained in Wrohan. Watching Felix."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Kamal answered without hesitation this time.

"Because someone had to remember what happened."

The room fell silent again.

Kamal lowered his gaze briefly. "I protected those I could. Amara first. Others after. Refugees. Former household staff. Anyone Felix considered inconvenient enough to erase."

Damian leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping once against the armrest. "Felix is really that stupid? He wants the Empire’s core?"

Kamal clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, Your Majesty. As my report states, Felix’s pheromones have consequences for him as well. Whatever he turned himself into requires ether to remain stable, and not in small quantities. The core is the grand source. Survival alone would tempt him."

Gabriel’s eyes sharpened. "But it is not only survival."

"No, Your Imperial Majesty." Kamal’s voice cooled. "It is also erasure."

The room quieted.

Kamal continued, "Felix, Prince Olivier, and Alan did not only kill Nuria. They spent decades making certain people forgot what Nuria had been. Records were altered. Temple accounts rewritten. School histories softened. Civilian songs forbidden. Goliath became a myth, a tyrant, a saint, a monster, a warlord—anything except an emperor who had built systems still feeding the continent."

"Nearly twenty?" Arik asked, eyes narrowing. "What about the first twenty?"

Kamal’s expression shifted.

"The first twenty years," he said, "were war."

The secure room quieted.

Kamal’s hands remained clasped behind his back, but his voice changed, deepening around old memory. "Goliath had fallen. He had not died. That distinction mattered more than Felix understood at first."

Damian’s gaze sharpened. "His loyalists kept fighting."

"Yes." Kamal lifted his eyes. "Ministers. Generals. Household commanders. Regional governors. The old infrastructure officers. Men and women who had sworn to Goliath himself, not to Nuria as a concept and certainly not to Olivier. They did not accept Felix’s rule. They did not accept Olivier’s claim. For twenty years, the empire bled because Goliath’s court refused to kneel."

Gabriel leaned back slightly. "That does not match most current histories."

"No," Kamal said. "Because most current histories were written after the people who remembered correctly were dead."

Arik said nothing.

Kamal looked at him now.

"You used to joke that nobody followed you. That they only feared you enough to obey." His mouth curved faintly, humorless and old. "It was one of your more foolish jokes."

Arik went still.

Kamal continued, "They were devoted to you. Not gently. Not romantically. Not in the way songs later pretended loyalty should look. But absolutely. Your generals burned supply routes rather than surrender them. Your ministers falsified entire provincial records to keep resources away from Felix. Your household staff moved children, archives, wounded soldiers, and stolen ledgers through servant corridors while Olivier sat in borrowed rooms calling himself patient."

Edward’s pen paused.

Damian’s fingers stopped tapping the armrest.

Gabriel’s eyes had gone dark and intent.

"For the first two decades," Kamal said, "Felix could poison, assassinate, bribe, and break individual pieces, but he could not fully claim the court. Goliath’s name still meant command. Even trapped between life and death, even reduced to a body they could not display and did not dare kill, he held the empire together by absence."

Arik’s jaw tightened.

"So Olivier waited."

"He schemed," Kamal corrected. "Badly at first. Then better, with Alan guiding him. But he could not wear the title openly while too many of Goliath’s people still breathed. He would have been laughed out of the throne room by dying men with missing hands."

Gabriel’s mouth curved faintly.

"That vivid?"

"I am being polite."

Damian said, "Then what changed?"