The market road shimmered under the midday sun, the air thick with the smell of roasting chestnuts and spiced meat skewers. Elara hadn't planned to be outside the palace again so soon, but the Duke's steward had insisted one of the documents she'd delivered the day before was incomplete. She'd come alone — a decision she was already regretting.
Her plan had been simple: finish the errand and return before the heat of the afternoon. But when she stepped into the shaded arcade that connected two rows of tall stone buildings, she froze.
Voices.
Men's voices.
And one of them she recognized — not by name, but by tone. Smooth, deliberate… the same as the cloaked figure from yesterday.
She pressed herself against the wall, listening.
"…change of plan. He'll be in the carriage at the west gate this afternoon. No more waiting."
Her stomach turned cold.
West gate? This afternoon?
This couldn't be right. The attempt on Kael's life — she remembered it clearly from the book — had been 10 days before. She'd counted, recounted, even marked it in her mind. But this… this was five days early. And the location was wrong.
One of the men shifted, and a boot scraped the cobblestone. Elara ducked into a narrow gap between the buildings, holding her breath. She waited until their voices faded before daring to move again.
---
By the time she reached the palace, her pulse hadn't settled. She spotted Kael in the training yard, sword in hand, sparring with two knights. His movements were precise, lethal in their economy, but there was no room to shout a warning — too many ears, too many eyes.
Instead, she approached the fence quietly, waiting until he caught sight of her between strikes. His brow furrowed at her expression. He ended the bout with a curt gesture to his sparring partners and crossed to her.
"You look as if you've seen a ghost," he said under his breath.
She swallowed, forcing her voice low. "Not a ghost. But I think you should be more careful and alert"
His eyes sharpened immediately, but before he could press her for details, a shadow fell across them.
Prince Rian.
"Well," Rian drawled, his gaze flicking between them. "Isn't this an interesting meeting?"
Elara stepped back instinctively. Something in his smile felt too sharp, too calculating — like a predator scenting opportunity.
---
Elsewhere, in the Queen's private chambers, Lady Serina sat beside her, eyes bright with the kind of fervor that came only from growing resentment.
"He ignores me. For her," Serina said. "A maid."
The Queen's hand drifted lazily along the armrest of her chair. "Then perhaps," she murmured, "it's time we give him something he cannot ignore… and remove what he cannot seem to stop looking at."
---
Far beyond the palace walls, in the candlelit chamber of an inn, Lord Lucienne sat with Lady Mirren. They'd been forced to delay their return from Belthar due to a sudden storm. The fire crackled between them, and in the quiet, Mirren caught herself studying his face — the shape of it strangely familiar in a way she couldn't name.
Lucienne leaned forward slightly, his voice softer than usual. "When this trip is over, there's something I want you to see. My… home."
Something in the way he said home made her chest tighten, though she forced a light smile. "You make it sound like an invitation I should fear."
He didn't answer — just held her gaze until she looked away.
---