Elena returned to her chambers with the weight of Lucien's words still pressing against her spine.
"If you lie to me again—I will know."
He didn't trust her. That much was clear. But he hadn't thrown her out, either. That… was something. She wasn't sure what yet.
The halls were darker now. Candles had burned low, and even the guards seemed scarce. Only the old stones and her own footsteps accompanied her back to the East Wing. Mira was waiting just outside the door.
"You're late," the maid said softly, opening the door for her.
"I was summoned."
Mira gave her a strange look—more curious than suspicious. "By him?"
Elena nodded, stepping inside.
"I'll prepare hot water," Mira said. "You'll sleep better if you wash."
"Thank you."
The door clicked shut behind her, and Elena sank onto the edge of the bed. Her fingers found the edge of the old sword again, still resting on the table. Adrien's blade.
She didn't know him. Never met him. And yet, the weight of this weapon felt familiar in her hands. Like it wanted to be used again.
She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes.
But instead of sleep, memories stirred. Not from this life.
From the last.
Flashes of fire. Chains. Screams echoing through a stone chamber as men she trusted turned their backs. She remembered the cold sting of betrayal. The way her sword was knocked from her grip. The way her heartbeat slowed as the blade pierced her—
Stop.
She opened her eyes.
This was not then. And she was not that woman anymore.
Mira returned quietly with a basin of warm water, setting it on the stand near the bed. Elena nodded her thanks, and the girl turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"Be careful," Mira said.
Elena blinked. "What?"
"There are eyes in this keep that don't blink," the maid murmured. "And ears that don't belong to anyone loyal."
Elena sat up straighter. "You mean spies?"
"I didn't say that," Mira said quickly. Then, more cautiously, "Just… watch what you say. The servants talk. And not all of them serve the Sword King."
She left without another word.
Elena sat still, the warmth of the water forgotten. Something shifted in the pit of her stomach. Not fear. Not yet.
Just the cold awareness that this castle was more than stone and iron.
It was a battlefield.
And she was still unarmed.
She reached once more for Adrien's sword, her fingers brushing its hilt.
It didn't answer. Of course not. But something in her stirred anyway.
Not magic. Not memory.
Purpose.
If she was to survive here, she'd need to be more than a guest. More than a mystery.
She'd need to become something even Lucien couldn't ignore.