Mikhailis pressed a palm to the cold stone and eased the secret panel shut, the mechanism sliding into place with a kiss-soft click. A thin ribbon of dust fluttered down, erased almost instantly by the humid draft that forever lingered in the servant passages. Good. If even a fastidious maid poked her head here tonight, she would see nothing but an unbroken wall and an unremarkable tapestry depicting a boar hunt.
The prince exhaled a breath he felt he had been holding since the ant tunnels. In the hush he could hear his own pulse, quick but controlled, like a drummer testing a new beat. He rolled his shoulders, letting tension seep into the stones. Beside him, Rodion's plush form gave a gentle wobble—almost an encouraging nudge—before the AI orb's serene voice sounded in a polite murmur only he could hear.
