The old steward said six words.
> "The Crown bought silence. Not justice."
I left before he could explain more. I'd heard enough.
And the second I stepped into the street, I stopped being angry.
I started being focused.
---
Back in my chambers, I tore through everything Gareth and I had collected — old court orders, death certificates, inheritance freezes, war tax pardons — every scrap of paper they tried to bury beneath royal ink.
And there it was.
> A single royal seal.
Signed two days after the fire that killed my family.
Not from the King.
From Thorian.
Not as prince.
As a witness.
---
He signed a land transfer. Quiet. Uncontested.
Property that once belonged to House Vellaryn — my family's strongest ally.
And it went not to the Crown…
But to House Elbrandt.
---
Gareth stood beside me, arms crossed, his face like stone.
"He was just a boy then," he said. "Maybe he didn't know."
I looked at the seal again. The name. The clean ink.
"No," I whispered. "He knew exactly what he was doing."
Because even then — young or not — Thorian was calculating.
And if he was willing to take land from the ashes of my bloodline…
> What else did he gain from my family's death?
---
I stood slowly.
I didn't feel like fire anymore.
I felt like glass being sharpened.
"Gareth," I said, calm but low. "Get me a dress."
He blinked. "What?"
"A beautiful one. Noble. Silent. Black."
He hesitated. "Are we going somewhere?"
> "No," I said. "He is."
---