The blood was still being cleaned.
Hours had passed since the execution in the Red Hall, yet the scent of iron lingered like smoke trapped in stone. Servants scrubbed the marble with silent desperation, but nothing ever really left this place—not screams, not sins, not stains.
Kaelen stood at the balcony of his chamber, watching them.The moon hung low, soft and ghostly over the palace spires. Below, a line of soldiers escorted the corpse away under a black cloth.
It should've disgusted him.
It didn't.
What disturbed him more was the calm. The normalcy.
No one had cried. No one had spoken out.
The court had returned to wine and laughter before the body had even stopped bleeding.
A knock broke the silence.
Ren entered, eyes darting.
"Milord," he said quietly, "someone left this for you."
He held out a folded letter. No seal this time—just a deep scratch on the edge.
Kaelen took it, opened the paper, and read:
"You watched the first death.Let's see if you can survive the second."
Below the words, a single symbol was drawn in ink—A snake coiled around a velvet dagger.
Kaelen frowned. "What is this?"
Ren hesitated. "The emblem of the Whisper Branch."
"I've never heard of them."
"You're not supposed to."
By morning, Kaelen found himself summoned again—not by the Regency, but by House Vire. Specifically, by Eirell.
He arrived in a drawing chamber lined with red curtains and perfumed roses. But the beauty was too perfect—too arranged.
Like a stage set for betrayal.
Eirell sat near a table of fruit and scrolls, dressed in silver lace and a thin veil.
"So you didn't die," she said, sipping tea. "I'm surprised."
"You sent the letter?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"
He sat across from her without permission. "Don't play dumb."
"I never play dumb," she said. "But I do play."
Kaelen leaned in. "Why the warning? Why the tests? If you want me dead, send a knife. If not, say what you want."
For a moment, her expression softened. Just slightly.
"Because I know what it's like to be hunted in your own palace."
That silence between them wasn't awkward—it was dangerous.
Then she continued. "You think this place runs on blood and names. But it doesn't."
"Oh?" he said. "What does it run on?"
"Debt. Leverage. Secrets."
She handed him a small vial. Inside was something black—almost like tar.
"Poison?" he asked.
"Antidote," she replied. "You'll need it soon."
Later that night, Kaelen couldn't sleep.
Something gnawed at him. Not fear. Not doubt.
Curiosity.
What was the Whisper Branch? Why the threats? Why the silence?
He found himself walking the servant paths again, alone—past the unused wings of the castle. Past old portraits with faces scratched out.
Until he heard voices.
Two of them. Whispering behind a curtain near the old chapel.
He didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"The bastard's still alive?""Eirell's protecting him.""She won't for long. The next poison won't fail."
Kaelen stepped back into shadow, heart pounding.
He returned to his room, locked the door, and sat by the window till morning.
He didn't need allies.
He needed answers.
And if the court wouldn't give them—
He'd start taking them.