The Betrayal at Karlštejn Castle

Shadows in the Castle

The winter wind howled against the stone walls, rattling the iron-bound windows of the great hall. Inside, the flickering glow of torches barely dispelled the gathering darkness. The Emperor's advisors, lords, and knights had assembled in urgency, their faces grave.

“A traitor lurks among us,” Lord Petr of Rožmberk announced, his voice low yet commanding. He unfurled a parchment sealed with the imperial crest, the wax still fresh. “This letter was intercepted before it could reach the border. It speaks of an imminent plot—an attempt to steal the Crown Jewels.”

A murmur spread through the hall like wildfire.

Lord Jan of Domažlice scoffed. “Nonsense! Karlštejn is impenetrable. No thief could breach these walls.”

“And yet,” Countess Alžběta countered, her voice edged with tension, “someone has betrayed the Emperor’s trust.”

At the far end of the chamber, Sir Matěj, captain of the castle guards, remained silent. He had seen battle, faced enemies beyond the castle walls, but this—this was a threat from within. A threat he had never faced before.

The Emperor’s gaze swept across the room. “Find the traitor before he strikes,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade.

Matěj straightened. “I will see to it personally, Your Majesty.”

The hunt for the betrayer had begun.

A Warning in the Dark

Long after the council had dispersed, Karlštejn remained restless. Footsteps echoed through the stone corridors, torches flickered against the cold drafts, and whispers lingered in the great halls.

Matěj patrolled the castle walls, his senses heightened. Snow had begun to fall, dusting the battlements in white. The scent of burning wood from the kitchens mixed with the crisp winter air.

He paused.

A figure stood in the shadows near the chapel entrance. Cloaked in darkness, it moved swiftly, retreating into the alcoves before Matěj could call out. He pursued, his boots crunching against the stone.

When he reached the alcove, the figure was gone. Only a single piece of parchment remained, fluttering against the stone floor.

Matěj picked it up. The ink was still fresh.

“Periculum”—Danger.

Matěj’s grip on the note tightened. This was no mere warning. It was a promise.

The Mask of Deception

By morning, a new piece of evidence surfaced—a dagger, its hilt engraved with the sigil of Lord Vojtěch of Krumlov, had been discovered near the chapel doors.

Summoned to the great hall, Lord Vojtěch stood before Matěj and the Emperor’s council. His gray eyes burned with indignation.

“This is madness,” he spat. “I have served the Emperor faithfully for years!”

Matěj studied him. Vojtěch was ambitious, yes, but a traitor? He had never given reason for suspicion before.

“And yet,” Matěj said, holding up the dagger, “this was found where no one but the Emperor’s most trusted should tread.”

Vojtěch’s jaw clenched. “Someone is trying to frame me.”

Matěj’s instincts warred within him. He had spent years learning to read men, and Vojtěch’s outrage seemed genuine. But if he was innocent, then the real traitor was still at large.

A horn blast echoed through the castle, shattering the tension. A rider had arrived at the gates, carrying urgent news.

“The Emperor is in danger,” the messenger gasped.

The Night of Betrayal

Night fell, thick and oppressive. The castle was on high alert, every passage guarded, every corridor watched.

Yet somewhere in the darkness, the betrayer moved unseen.

Matěj had stationed himself near the royal chambers, sword in hand, prepared for anything. Outside, the storm had grown fiercer, howling through the towers like a beast hunting its prey.

Then—

An explosion rocked the castle. The lower halls filled with smoke and fire, the cries of startled guards echoing against the stone. The chaos was the perfect distraction.

Matěj knew where the real attack would come from.

Rushing through the corridors, he reached the entrance of the chapel, where the Crown Jewels were kept. The door was ajar.

Inside, a figure stood before the jewel-encrusted chest, the golden Imperial Crown reflecting the torchlight.

Matěj stepped forward, sword raised. “Turn and face me, coward.”

The figure hesitated, then slowly turned, removing the mask that obscured their face.

Gasps filled the room.

It was Lord Petr of Rožmberk.

“You?” Matěj whispered.

Petr’s expression remained eerily calm. “Karlštejn deserves a stronger ruler. The empire is weak under Charles IV.”

“You mean you deserve the throne,” Matěj growled.

Petr smirked. “Perhaps.”

The tension snapped. Petr lunged, dagger flashing. Matěj met him mid-strike, their blades clashing. Sparks flew as steel rang against steel.

They fought with the desperation of men who knew only one would leave the chamber alive.

With a final thrust, Matěj’s blade found its mark.

Petr staggered, blood blooming across his tunic. He sank to his knees, his breath ragged.

“You were always a fool,” he whispered, before collapsing onto the stone floor.

The traitor was dead.

The Emperor’s Judgment

By dawn, the castle was silent once more.

In the great hall, the Emperor sat upon his throne, weary yet resolute.

“Lord Petr was my most trusted advisor,” Charles IV said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “His betrayal wounds me more than any blade ever could.”

Matěj knelt before him. “He sought to take your throne. He would have destroyed the empire.”

The Emperor nodded solemnly. “Justice has been served. And for your unwavering loyalty, you shall be rewarded.”

The court murmured in approval as Charles IV stood. “From this day forth, Sir Matěj shall be known as Guardian of Karlštejn.”

The title was more than just an honor. It was a burden—a promise that Karlštejn would never again fall prey to treachery.

Yet, as Matěj gazed across the grand hall, he could not shake the feeling that another betrayal lurked just beyond the horizon.

For at Karlštejn, the echoes of deceit never truly faded.

The End.