—Crown Prince's War Room, Midnight—
Kaelion stood before a map littered with black pins and red ink.
Each mark was a whisper, a ledger, a merchant's name. He'd stayed up since sunset, cross-referencing old trade routes and council documents. Beside him, Commander Rhun stood silently, waiting.
"This merchant lord," Kaelion murmured, tapping one pin near Velanthia's northern border, "Silven Carrow—he received five shipments marked as silk, but the crates were sealed by House Saelinne's own insignia."
"Arms smuggling?" Rhun asked.
Kaelion's eyes narrowed. "Or poison. That's the timeframe Elira's mother fell ill."
Rhun exhaled sharply. "Should I question Carrow?"
"No," Kaelion said. "Shadow him. I want names before blood."
A pause. Then, lower, "No one touches Elira. Not for this. Not ever."
—Elira's Private Garden, Dawn—
She sat among the frostbitten roses, staring at the seal on her lap. It was Ilonara's—a second letter sent overnight, left under her door with no guards noticing.
Inside were two names.
One was expected: Silven Carrow.
The other made her heart sink.
Lord Varyn Merek.Kaelion's uncle. A respected military advisor—and once, a man rumored to have a claim on the throne.
A soft sound made her turn. Nyra stood near the trellis, holding two cups of tea.
"I thought you might need this."
Elira took one, grateful. "Have you ever thought everything you knew about your world might be a lie?"
Nyra smirked. "I think that every Tuesday."
But when Elira didn't smile, she sobered. "Tell me."
Elira did. Every word.