Chapter 22: The Trap Closes
The morning broke pale and brittle, the snow outside the keep's walls crunching under the boots of soldiers drilling in the courtyard. The storm had passed, but its aftermath was a silence too heavy to be peace.
Elias stood on the balcony outside his quarters, watching their breath rise like smoke into the cold air. He had not slept—not after Isabella's warning, not after the envoy's arrest.
He was thinking of her words—protect her… or kill her—when the knock came.
A boy from the kitchens stood there, cheeks flushed from the climb up the tower stairs. "Sir Elias… the Regent wants you. In the eastern wing."
The eastern wing was nearly abandoned, a place where wind rattled loose shutters and dust lay thick in the corners. Elias frowned. "Did she say why?"
The boy shook his head. "Only that it was urgent. She said to come alone."
That, more than anything, set his teeth on edge.
He took the long way through the keep, his hand never far from his sword hilt. The eastern wing had been part of the old royal apartments, before the Regent claimed the throne-room side for herself.
The door she'd chosen was one of the last—an old council room, if his memory served.
It opened without a creak, revealing a dim chamber lit only by a single brazier in the center. And standing in its glow—
Not the Regent.
Isabella.
She was dressed in travel leathers, her hair tied back, her sword at her hip.
"You took your time," she said, her voice low.
"I wasn't told it was you."
"I know. That was the point."
She stepped closer, and the brazier's light caught the lines of strain in her face. "They'll move against you today, Elias. You've been given too much trust, too quickly, and the Regent's enemies think that makes you dangerous."
He studied her carefully. "And what does the Regent think?"
"That you're either her sharpest blade… or the one most likely to turn on her."
The words hung between them, as sharp as the steel at their sides.
"Then tell me, Isabella—where do you stand?"
Her lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "That depends. Can you keep breathing long enough to find out?"
Before he could answer, the sound of booted feet thundered down the hall. Isabella's hand shot out, pulling him to the side of the door.
A squad of guards burst in—Regent's colors, but their swords were already drawn.
"By order of the Regent," their captain barked, "Elias Harrow, you are under arrest for treason."
The words hit like a hammer. Elias's sword was half drawn before he forced himself to stop.
"On what grounds?" he asked, keeping his voice level.
"Conspiracy with the southern rebels," the captain replied without hesitation. "Evidence was found in your quarters this morning."
It was a lie—too quick, too rehearsed.
Isabella's eyes flicked toward him, sharp with warning. "If you go with them, you won't leave the dungeons alive."
Elias knew she was right. The 'trial' would be a noose.
The captain took a step forward. "Drop your weapon, Harrow. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
Elias moved before they could. The brazier overturned with a crash, spilling coals across the floor. Smoke and shouting filled the room. He cut past the first guard, blade striking the flat of his helmet, and Isabella slipped behind another, driving her hilt into his temple.
They broke through the line and into the corridor, boots pounding over the ancient stone.
"North stairs," Isabella hissed. "They'll seal the main gate."
They ran, turning corners through the disused eastern halls, the cold biting harder here where the walls were thin. Behind them, the guards' shouts echoed closer.
Elias wanted to demand answers—how she knew, why she was there—but this was not the moment.
The north stairs opened into an armory long fallen to dust, but its side door led out onto the battlements. Snow crunched underfoot as they crossed, the wind biting like teeth.
From here, Elias could see the courtyard below—more guards were gathering, some looking up, some spreading out to cut off escape routes.
"We can't just run," he said.
"We're not," Isabella replied. She pulled a small pouch from her belt and tossed it over the wall.
It landed with a faint clink, and moments later, a plume of black smoke erupted from the far side of the yard. Shouts followed, the guards' attention snapping toward the distraction.
They used the opening to reach the far tower, slipping inside.
Only once they were in the narrow stairwell did Elias finally speak. "That arrest—was it her order, or someone else's?"
Isabella's footsteps didn't slow. "If it was hers, she doesn't want you breathing. If it wasn't, then someone in her court has decided they don't need her permission to kill you."
"Which do you believe?"
She glanced back at him. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
They reached the tower's base, where a small servant's door opened into the stables. The smell of hay and horses was a sharp contrast to the stone and smoke above.
A stable boy froze at the sight of them. Isabella tossed him a coin without slowing. "You never saw us."
They mounted quickly—Elias taking a black gelding, Isabella a chestnut mare. As they pushed the gates open, the boy's voice called after them softly: "Be careful. They say the woods aren't safe."
The woods ahead were dark with winter shadow, the snow muffling the sound of their flight.
Only when the keep was hidden behind trees did Elias finally let his guard drop enough to ask, "If you saved me today, was it because you need me alive… or because you don't want someone else killing me first?"
Isabella didn't look at him. "Does it matter? You're alive."
"It matters if the next arrow comes from you."
She smiled faintly at that, but there was no answer—only the cold road stretching ahead, and the knowledge that somewhere behind them, the Regent now believed her most trusted knight had fled into the arms of a woman no one could quite name as friend or foe.