The castle was always watching.
Its stone corridors twisted like veins, pulsing with whispers Kaelen couldn't quite hear. He'd been there for three days, and already he felt its pressure—the way silence had weight, and shadows had ears.
Kaelen wandered the inner halls alone.
No guards. No escorts. Only the distant echo of servants pretending not to see him. He passed rooms filled with velvet and glass, gold statues of kings long buried, and walls lined with portraits of men who had died to keep their secrets intact.
He hated them all.
The only place he felt he could breathe was the old library, hidden two levels beneath the main wing. Ren had shown it to him on the first night.
"No one comes here," the boy had whispered. "Not unless they're hiding something."
Now Kaelen sat in a corner near the unlit hearth, surrounded by books that smelled of damp parchment and smoke. He wasn't reading. He was listening.
He'd learned more by keeping silent than he ever had by speaking.
He'd already memorized the names of the regents. Their fiefdoms. Their rivalries. Who drank too much. Who owed debts. Who had enemies in the room and allies in the crypt.
The court was not a council. It was a theater of knives.
And Kaelen had no armor.
"Milord."
Ren appeared in the doorway, out of breath.
Kaelen looked up. "I told you not to call me that."
"I—I'm sorry. But you should see this."
Kaelen stood.
They moved fast through servant tunnels, hidden behind velvet curtains and hollowed bookshelves. Kaelen had memorized the paths. He was learning to move without being noticed.
Just like his enemies.
Ren pulled him toward a second-story balcony that overlooked the Red Garden, a courtyard famed not for its flowers—but for the blood spilled between them. Executions by tradition took place there, behind walls too tall for screams to escape.
But it wasn't a blade on display today.
It was a letter.
Pinned to a marble wall, pierced by a ceremonial dagger. A crowd of nobles stood below, murmuring.
Kaelen narrowed his eyes.
The seal on the parchment was familiar. Silver wax, broken clean.
The High Regency hereby acknowledges Kaelen, son of the late King Alraic, as a Ward of the Crown.
A pause.
He is not to be considered heir, nor prince, nor noble.He is not entitled to blood rights or succession.But he is to remain under the protection of the Regency Council,until the matter of his existence is no longer… necessary.
Beneath it, a phrase scribbled in black ink. Not official.
Not royal.
Just cruel.
Even the nameless bleed.
Kaelen felt nothing at first. No anger. No fear. Just stillness.
Then he turned away.
"They're not afraid of me," he said quietly.
Ren followed. "Should they be?"
Kaelen stopped.
"I'm not a threat," he muttered. "Not yet."
Back in his chamber, Kaelen sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the pendant his mother gave him. The lion's skull felt heavier in his palm tonight.
The council didn't want him as heir.
But they didn't kill him either.
Why?
Because they were waiting for something. Or someone.
Maybe an opportunity. Maybe a mistake.
Maybe a reason.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
Kaelen opened it slowly. A woman stood there—tall, sharp-featured, with gold pins in her hair and a book in one hand.
"Lord Kaelen," she said with a thin smile. "I am Lady Eirell of House Vire."
"I didn't call for company."
"No," she said, stepping in anyway. "But you've made quite a name for yourself… for someone who doesn't have one."
Kaelen watched her carefully.
She walked the room like she owned it. Her voice was smooth, but laced with venom beneath every word.
"You were born in the mud, raised in shadows, and yet here you are. In the palace of kings."
"Are you here to insult me or interrogate me?"
"Neither," she said. "I'm here to see whether you're stupid… or dangerous."
Kaelen tilted his head. "What's the difference in this court?"
She smiled again. "Stupid men get used. Dangerous men get killed."
A pause.
Then she leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper.
"You should be careful, Kaelen. They're not afraid of what you are now. They're afraid of what you might become."
She dropped a folded slip of paper on his desk and walked out.
Kaelen unfolded it.
A map. Of the castle. Marked with red ink.
"Some doors are locked for a reason.Others are only locked until someone stops asking for permission."
That night, Kaelen returned to the library alone.
He didn't read.
He memorized.