The royal palace slept under a blanket of midnight silence, but within its gilded walls, unrest simmered like a storm trapped in glass.
Ayla's fingers grazed the cold marble railing as she descended the grand staircase, her gown whispering against the steps. The official dinner had ended hours ago, yet her pulse was still erratic, every echo of her heels a reminder of the confrontation with Prince Lucien earlier.
His warning lingered in her head: "You're not as untouchable as you think."
She wasn't. And that terrified her.
The shadows of the palace were different at night — thicker, almost alive. Every flicker of torchlight carved sinister shapes along the golden walls. Ayla's eyes scanned the hall as she reached the base of the stairs. Her instincts screamed danger, but there was nothing in sight. Nothing, except the faintest scent of smoke and steel.
"You shouldn't be walking alone, Princess."
The voice came from behind — smooth, controlled, with an edge of quiet menace. Ayla turned sharply to find Prince Rael leaning against a pillar, his ceremonial jacket undone, dark hair falling into his eyes.
"I could say the same for you," she replied, her tone steady though her heart skipped. "It's late. Shouldn't you be in your chambers?"
He smiled faintly. "Sleep is for those who don't have enemies sharpening knives behind their backs."
Her gaze narrowed. "That sounds like a confession."
"Or a warning," he countered. He stepped closer, his boots silent on the marble. "You've made yourself a target, Ayla. There are people in this palace who would rather see your crown on the floor than on your head."
She didn't flinch. "And you? Which side are you on?"
Rael tilted his head, studying her. "That depends on whether you intend to survive what's coming."
A faint sound echoed from the far corridor — the rhythmic clank of armored boots. Ayla stiffened. Royal guards were supposed to be stationed outside the throne room at this hour, not patrolling inside.
Rael's eyes flicked in the direction of the sound. "You need to come with me. Now."
She hesitated. Following him meant stepping into uncertainty, but staying meant possibly walking into a trap. Her mind flashed with the memory of her mother's words before her death — Trust is a blade. Know who holds the hilt.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To find answers," Rael replied.
They moved swiftly through the dim hallways, avoiding the main corridors. Rael led her to an unmarked side door, pushing it open to reveal a spiraling staircase descending into darkness. The air grew colder as they went down, the sound of the palace fading into nothing.
At the base, an underground corridor stretched into shadow. Flickering oil lamps lit the way toward a carved stone door bearing the crest of the royal family.
"This is the Old Throne Room," Rael said quietly. "It's been sealed for decades. Only those with royal blood can open it."
Ayla's breath caught. "Why are we here?"
"Because the people you're up against aren't just enemies of the crown," Rael said, his gaze steady on hers. "They're enemies of your bloodline. And I think you've been lied to about who you really are."
The words hit her like a blade to the ribs. "What do you mean?"
Rael didn't answer immediately. Instead, he placed his palm against the carved crest. The stone vibrated faintly, then groaned open, revealing a chamber bathed in silver moonlight filtering through a high, narrow window.
Inside, the throne was unlike any Ayla had seen — black stone veined with crimson, as though it had been carved from cooled lava. At its base, an intricate mural depicted a war she didn't recognize, with a crowned woman at its center… a woman who looked disturbingly like her.
Her steps faltered. "That's—"
"Your grandmother," Rael finished. "The last queen to rule before the royal pact fractured. She wasn't just a monarch — she was the key to the Blood Oath. And you… are her only living heir."
Ayla's pulse thundered in her ears. "Why hasn't anyone told me this?"
Rael's jaw tightened. "Because if the court knew what you were, they'd see you as a threat. And threats don't last long here."
Before she could respond, the sound of boots echoed again — closer this time. The heavy clank of steel on stone. Rael's eyes hardened.
"They've found us."
In that moment, Ayla realized two things: first, that the truth about her identity was far darker than she'd imagined, and second, that surviving the palace's politics was no longer about alliances or etiquette.
It was war.