The sun struck down mercilessly, its heat pooling in the ring until the stones themselves seemed to burn. Seraphina pressed her palms against her dress, the silks clinging damp to her skin. A bead of sweat traced the curve of her jaw, catching the noon light before falling.
Children darted between skirts, chasing one another with shrieks of laughter. Women bent low, hands trembling as they laid flowers at Seraphina's feet. Men pushed forward, their voices rough with praise, their arms outstretched with baskets of grain and cloth.
She smiled, but her chest rose too quickly, as though the air itself had thickened. Her gaze slid past the throng, toward the palace.
In the shadow of a crumbling house , an old man shifted his weight, his shoulders bent like the ruins behind him. A youth shoved a clay cup into his hand. The wine sloshed, catching the sun.
The old man's spit landed dark against the dust. His hand jerked toward the crowd, toward the girl draped in sweat and silk. His lips moved, words hidden beneath the roar of cheer. His eyes, though, sharpened with a hatred that cut through the din.
Seraphina's smile faltered. Her head turned slightly, as if following some sound only she could hear.
Far beyond the noise of the ring, where the city's breath faded into stone and silence, the palace watched , its walls keeping secrets the crowd could never hear.
Inside the palace walls, the noise fell away.
The throne room glowed in sunlight passing through the glasses above, shadows stretching high against the field. The air was thick, too heavy for words, until the sound of the person lifting himself from the chair broke it.
Lord Vessan stood, his golden tooth shining under the light.
He unrolled a scroll, the parchment crackling. "Majesty," his voice dripped honey, "the harvest this year is abundant beyond expectation. The storehouses strain with plenty. If we were to take merely half of what the commoners keep, the coffers of the crown would gleam brighter than ever."
The light above him dimmed as a cloud passed, casting him into shadow.
"Spoken like vermin." The Queen's words cut through the hall, steady yet cold.
From the side, Valey shifted forward, his throat working. His eyes met hers, then dropped. "Your Grace, I would be careful. The commoners' ring is already restless. People vanish in the night, and we have not yet caught the culprit. If, in such a time, we strip away half their harvest, there will be more than whispers. There will be an uproar."
The hall stilled again, every sound swallowed.
Her gaze flickered to the high ceiling, her chest rising with a quiet breath. The silence stretched, until at last her voice returned, slower, heavier. "You are right. Let them keep their crop. For now, we grant them a free hand."
"But,Your Grace..." Vessan's protest died in his throat. The moment her eyes locked on his, his mouth closed, dry. His shoulders dropped back into silence.
The Queen's hand tightened on the arm of the throne. Her heartbeat quickened, though no one could hear it but her. She rose, silk whispering against stone, hips carrying her past the three lords.
Terrow moved quickly to follow, head bowed. "Forgive me, Your Grace,are you leaving the court in a time such as this?"
Her step did not falter. "What is the point in ruling a court, if my own heart rots within it?"
Valey's smile hid behind his palm. "My lady, the way you leave the court with problems unresolved, it is clear your mind is elsewhere."
"That has nothing to do with you." Her footfalls rang harder, carrying her toward the archway.
Valey's tone slithered after her, smooth, deliberate. "Sometimes a game played forcefully destroys its own player. Better, Your Grace, to pass the move without backlash,without the crowd's blame."
His voice trembled, but the words themselves slid too easily, too measured.
The Queen's head turned just enough for her golden eyes to catch him, their light slicing through his smile. "I am not Queen because of the people's grace," she said, her voice a low blade. "I am Queen because the people are under mine."
Her robes swept through the archway,
the echo of her steps lingered long after she was gone, carried through the marble corridors until even the court seemed to hush beneath it.
"I will remember it, Lord Valey." Lord vessan's voice lingered as he swept through the archway, following the queen.
The chamber quieted.
Valey adjusted his rings, the metal clinking softly. "Quite the restraint we witnessed, Lord Terrow. Greed may sit on the throne, but even greed fears backlash."
Terrow's lips curled. "You are right, Lord Valey. But yours shines no less brightly. In fact, I would say it burns hotter."
Valey's brow lifted. "I don't follow. Please
clarify."
Terrow's eyes flickered with amusement. "Loyalty is a poisoned coin. One face shown to the crown, the other pledged elsewhere. A curse to the one who holds it."
Valey's chuckle was low, sharp. "You are still young in politics, Terrow. Too eager to imagine shadows where there are none. And yet,too old to be chasing the little flowers paraded about the court."
Terrow did not reply. His smile lingered as he turned, cloak whispering against grass.
At the threshold, his hand slipped into his coat. He drew out a broken butterfly hairpin, the sunlight catching on its fractured edge. For a moment, he held it close, breathing in faintly.
"It carries her scent still," he murmured, and tucked it back into his coat as he vanished into the corridor.
Beyond the walls of the palace, the garden stilled. Grass shone slick, unmoving. Shadows stretched long across stone.
The trees stirred. Their faces twisted, mouths pulling open with a groan. Sap slid like tears. Voices slipped through their cracks, too low for the untrained, too sharp for those who knew war.
"Mana…"
Another voice. Then a third.
The garden breathed, every leaf awake.
High in the towers, a shadow moved. The assassin's steps folded into the air, his breath pressed flat. His body slipped beneath the tall windows, where light cut the floor into hard rectangles. The black drapes stirred against his arm, disguising the faint scrape of his boots.
He stopped.
Leather on stone. Two sets. One heavy, one deliberate. Knights.
He slid behind a tall vase, its shadow long and sharp against the floor. Through the window, beyond the curve of the glass, the giant wall of the kingdom loomed, beautiful against the noon sky.
The footsteps drew near. One halted.
"The vase casts a strange shadow."
The knight's hand touched steel. Leather creaked.
The assassin did not breathe.
And waited.