Rain lashed the crystalline windows of the Vermillion Palace as the sky wept with a sorrow that seemed to echo the turmoil in Aravelle's heart. The capital was abuzz with celebration for the upcoming royal wedding, but within the walls of the palace, tension brewed thicker than the mist over the northern peaks. The Empress's condition had taken a sudden, sharp turn. Rumors whispered of poison—an ancient toxin that left no trace but drained the soul slowly.
Seraphina sat at the Empress's bedside, her hand tightly clenching the woman's frail fingers. The Empress was her last living connection to a mother's love. Though not of blood, the bond between them was as powerful as fate itself. Her breathing was shallow, and her skin, normally like warm porcelain, had taken on an ashen hue.
"She doesn't have long," murmured the palace physician, bowing his head respectfully. "Whatever this poison is, it has no antidote we know of."
A slow rage began to simmer beneath Seraphina's calm expression. She had spent years perfecting the art of hiding her emotions, but this betrayal—this attack on the woman who had raised her—cut deep.
"Who had access to her meals?" Seraphina asked, her voice like a blade wrapped in silk.
The physician hesitated. "Only the kitchen steward, Lady Yung, and... Lord Eldric."
Seraphina's brows furrowed. Lord Eldric—the man who had once tried to arrange her downfall during the academy trials—was now a rising noble with considerable influence in court. He had returned from the northern territories just a fortnight ago.
That night, she summoned Azrael to her chambers.
He stepped through the shadows, his cloak soaked from the storm outside, his mismatched eyes glinting with an unreadable expression.
"You summoned me, Your Highness?" he said, half-mocking, half-concerned.
"The Empress is dying. Poisoned," she said without preamble. "I need you to find who did it. Quietly. I can't trust anyone else."
Azrael's face turned serious. "Then I'll start with the kitchen and Lord Eldric. If he's responsible..."
"He won't see the next dawn," she finished for him. "But I need proof. If I strike without it, it could spark civil unrest."
He gave a nod and disappeared into the night like smoke caught in the wind.
The next morning, chaos reigned in the court. A noblewoman had been found dead in her quarters, her throat slit. Lady Myra—one of Seraphina's few remaining allies in the inner circle.
Lord Eldric was quick to seize the moment. In the throne room, his voice thundered through the marble halls.
"This cannot be coincidence!" he bellowed. "Within a span of days, the Empress falls ill, and now Lady Myra is murdered in her own quarters! I demand an investigation. No one, not even the Crown Princess, is above suspicion."
Gasps rippled through the court. All eyes turned to Seraphina.
She stepped forward, her golden gown glowing like fire beneath the stained-glass skylight.
"Are you accusing me, Lord Eldric?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with steel.
"I accuse no one," he said, bowing mockingly. "But transparency is vital if we are to protect the realm."
Seraphina met his eyes without flinching. "Then let us begin by examining your travel records and your interactions with the royal kitchen since your return."
A flicker of panic crossed his face. The crowd murmured.
It was a checkmate.
But before any action could be taken, a scream echoed from the western wing.
"The Empress—she's gone!" a maid cried.
Seraphina rushed from the throne room, her gown trailing behind her like a comet. She burst into the Empress's chamber only to find it empty. No signs of struggle. No blood. Just an open window and a single white feather on the floor.
"A feather from the Shadow Flock," whispered Azrael, who had appeared behind her.
"The what?" she asked.
"They're mercenaries, assassins for hire. But they only work for high-stakes contracts—contracts that affect the fate of empires."
"Someone's trying to destabilize the empire from within," Seraphina whispered. "And they're doing it from the shadows."
She turned to him, fire in her eyes. "Find her. Alive. Or the entire palace will burn."
Azrael bowed. "As you command."
That night, as Seraphina stood atop the palace tower, watching the lightning arc across the sky, her thoughts spun like a cyclone. The game had changed. The enemy was no longer within reach—it was hidden, wearing masks and shifting the board beneath her feet.
But Seraphina was no ordinary princess. She was born from betrayal, forged through hardship, and destined for power.
And now, she would begin to uncover the royal web of schemes that threatened to consume her empire.
One thread at a time.