Elara's POV
I was still standing in the hallway, staring at nothing, when the dagger nearly took my head off.
I ducked on pure instinct, feeling the blade whistle past my ear. It thunked into the wooden wall behind me, vibrating from the impact.
"Excellent reflexes." An older woman stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed. "Most people don't survive that test."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "You threw a knife at me!"
"I throw knives at everyone." She walked over and yanked the blade from the wall like it was nothing. "I'm Isla Nightshade, head librarian. And you're either the spy the Council sent, or you're actually a scholar. Your reaction just told me which one."
The blood drained from my face. She knew. How did she know?
"I see." Isla's sharp eyes studied me. "Not going to deny it? Good. I hate liars who waste my time with bad denials." She started walking down the corridor. "Come on. We have work to do."
I didn't move. Couldn't move. My training screamed at me to run, to fight, to eliminate the threat. But something about the way Isla had said it—like she was annoyed, not afraid or angry—made me hesitate.
"Well?" She looked back. "Are you coming or not? The library doesn't catalog itself."
"You're not going to tell anyone?" I asked carefully.
"Tell them what? That the Council sent another spy?" She snorted. "They already know. His Majesty figured it out the moment you arrived. He's not stupid."
The floor seemed to drop out from under me. "He knows?"
"Of course he knows. You think you're the first one they've sent?" Isla started walking again. "Now come on. Whether you're here to kill him or not, you're still going to do your job. I won't have my library disorganized."
I followed her in a daze. He knew. The Dark Lord knew I was here to kill him, and he'd... what? Smiled at me? Talked to me about books? Let me wander his castle freely?
None of this made any sense.
Isla led me to the library and immediately started pulling books off shelves, stacking them in my arms. "Pre-war texts go in the east wing, organized by date. Post-war texts in the west wing, organized by subject. Magical theory on the third floor. Historical records in the basement. Questions?"
"Why would he let me stay if he knows I'm a spy?"
"Because he's hoping you'll actually look." She grabbed another stack of books. "Really look. Not at what you were told to see, but at what's actually here." She paused, her expression softening slightly. "Every spy they send eventually has a choice—believe the lies they were fed, or believe their own eyes. Most choose the lies. They're too scared to question."
"And the ones who choose differently?"
"They're still here." Isla smiled. "Working. Living. Free. Now stop asking questions and start cataloging. I'll be testing you on the organizational system this afternoon."
The morning passed in a blur of ancient texts and careful note-taking. I worked mechanically, my mind elsewhere. The Dark Lord knew I was here to kill him. He'd known from the beginning. And he'd been... kind to me anyway.
Why?
As I shelved books in the east wing, I searched for evidence. Secret documents about planned attacks. Records of prisoners. Anything that proved the Council's stories were true.
I found research notes on agricultural improvements. Letters to border villages offering aid. Medical texts with careful annotations in the margins. A journal about trying to breed night-blooming flowers that could survive in daylight.
Nothing evil. Nothing cruel. Just... scholarship. Careful, thorough scholarship.
"Finding what you expected?" Isla appeared beside me, making me jump.
"No." The word came out before I could stop it.
"Good." She handed me another stack of books. "Keep looking. The truth is usually in the places we're afraid to search."
By lunchtime, my head was spinning. I'd cataloged over a hundred texts. I'd seen the Dark Lord's personal notes in dozens of them—thoughtful observations, questions for further research, corrections to historical inaccuracies. The handwriting of someone who cared deeply about getting things right.
Not the handwriting of a monster.
I needed to report to Mira. Needed to tell her what I'd found—or hadn't found. But what would I say?
That night, alone in my room, I pulled out the magical communication device hidden in my trunk. It looked like a simple mirror, but when I touched it and whispered Mira's name, her face appeared in the glass.
"Elara." She smiled, but it looked strained. "Report."
"I've been here twenty-four hours. I've started cataloging the library. I've explored most of the public areas of the castle." I chose my words carefully. "No sign of criminal activity yet."
Mira's smile tightened. "Nothing? No prisoners? No evidence of his crimes?"
"Nothing. The servants seem happy. The people seem well-cared-for. The library is exactly what it's supposed to be—a library." I paused. "Mira, what if the reports were wrong?"
"They're not wrong." Her voice went hard. "He's manipulating you, El. Making you see what he wants you to see. Don't fall for it."
"But I've been looking—"
"Not hard enough." She leaned closer to her mirror, her eyes intense. "He killed our families. He destroyed our village. That's a fact, not a story. Remember that."
"I remember." But did I? My memories of that night were still so blurry, so unclear.
"Get close to him," Mira continued. "Make him trust you. Find his weaknesses. That's your mission."
"I know."
"Do you?" She studied my face. "Because you sound different. You sound like you're forgetting who he really is."
"I'm not forgetting anything." The lie tasted bitter.
"Good. Report again in three days." Her face vanished from the mirror.
I sat there in the darkness, staring at my own reflection. Was Mira right? Was I being manipulated? The kindness, the books, the comfortable room—was it all an elaborate trap?
He knows you're a spy, Isla had said. He's hoping you'll actually look.
I pulled out the burned journal from under my pillow. The pages I hadn't destroyed yet. My eight-year-old handwriting staring back at me.
The man in the white mask is lying.
A soft knock made me shove the journal back into hiding.
"Dr. Ashton?" Mari's voice. "His Majesty requests your presence in the garden. He says he has something to show you."
My blood went cold. A private meeting. In a garden. At night.
This was it. He was going to confront me. Or kill me. Or—
"Tell him I'll be right there," I called back.
I strapped the knife to my thigh under my skirt and headed for the door. My heart pounded with every step.
The garden was on the castle roof, Mari had said. I climbed the stairs slowly, preparing myself for anything.
When I pushed open the final door, I stopped dead.
The garden was filled with flowers that glowed silver in the moonlight. Hundreds of them, carefully tended, impossibly beautiful. And standing among them was the Dark Lord himself, holding a single bloom.
"Dr. Ashton." He turned, and his face was different than it had been in the library. More open. More vulnerable. "Thank you for coming. I wanted to show you something."
He held out the flower. "This is a lunar rose. They only bloom once every ten years. This one opened tonight." His voice was soft, almost wondering. "I thought you might like to see it. Since you appreciate rare things."
I stared at him. At the flower. At the garden full of impossible beauty that this supposed monster had grown with his own hands.
"Why?" The word burst out. "Why are you being kind to me when you know what I am?"
His smile was sad. "Because I'm hoping you'll see what I am too. Before it's too late."
"Too late for what?"
He turned back to the flowers, his shoulders tense. "I'm dying, Dr. Ashton. I have maybe a year left. And before I die, I need someone to know the truth. I'm hoping that someone is you."
The world tilted. "What truth?"
"About the war. About your village. About everything the Council told you." He looked at me over his shoulder, and his eyes held such desperate hope it made my chest ache. "Will you let me show you?"
Behind me, footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Multiple people.
The Dark Lord's face went pale. "That's not—"
The door burst open. Five guards in Council white uniforms flooded onto the roof, weapons drawn.
And leading them was Mira.
"Step away from her, monster," Mira commanded, pointing her blade at the Dark Lord. She looked at me, her expression fierce. "It's okay, El. I'm here to help you complete the mission. Together, just like we planned."
My mind went blank. Mira wasn't supposed to be here. The Council wasn't supposed to send backup. Unless—
"You were never going to let me do this alone," I whispered.
"Of course not." Mira smiled. "Now kill him, El. Kill him, and we can finally go home."