They say true danger comes in silence.
I never understood the weight of that saying until this morning—when the sun poured through the stained glass of my chambers, warm and golden, and still my skin crawled as if ice had kissed my spine.
Nothing felt right. Not the way the guards outside my door shifted too often. Not the way breakfast was delivered—cold and late, as though forgotten. Not the way a letter from the General of the Eastern Watch had vanished overnight from my writing desk, leaving no trace of its existence. It had contained reports on rogue battalions. Only two people knew of its contents—myself and the scribe who had penned it under my command. That scribe is now missing.
I had woken before the bells, my dreams heavy with fire and blood. I've had nightmares since childhood, but this one clung like oil to water, refusing to be shaken. In it, my mother was calling out to me—but her lips were sewn shut.
I dress quickly. Not in armor. Not yet. Today, I wear dark velvet and a dagger beneath my sash. My eyes catch themselves in the mirror. Tired. Older than seventeen. Far older.
Keal meets me outside the war room.
"The report you wanted," he says, handing me a rolled parchment.
I scan it with cold eyes. Three more missing servants. One attempted poisoning—foil'd by a maid who had grown suspicious of the cook's sudden kindness. A soldier in my personal guard found dead in his quarters—his death made to look like suicide. But I know what suicide looks like. This was murder.
"They're getting bolder," I mutter.
Keal nods. "Desperate, maybe."
Desperate is dangerous.
We head to the western corridors of the palace—sections unused for decades. I'd ordered a covert search of the sealed rooms last week. A spy I planted among the maintenance staff reported voices behind walls. Whispered meetings. Doors that open and shut without a sound.
One of my spies—young, sharp-eyed, and loyal—was waiting in the shadow of a collapsed archway.
"Mistress," she said, bowing slightly, her voice low. "They met last night. The nobles, or what's left of their secret ring. But more concerning…"
She handed me a sketch. It wasn't perfect, but it showed a carriage. Not marked with the royal crest. Not even bearing the sigil of any Delyrian house. I narrowed my eyes.
"I saw this," I said. "Two nights ago."
"Yes," she nodded. "It comes and goes without passing the gates. I followed it once. Through the service tunnels."
A chill settles deep in my stomach. "Where do the tunnels end?"
She hesitated. "At the infirmary, Commander."
My mother.
Panic rises like bile in my throat, but I mask it. I always do. "Did it leave anything behind?"
"No. But we found a trace of darkroot powder. Enough to knock out an army, if mixed right."
I dismiss her with a nod and a whispered commendation.
I make for the infirmary.
I run this time.
Not like a princess. Not like a commander. I run like a daughter whose world is collapsing.
The guards stationed at the door flinch at my approach. I shoulder past them, slamming into the familiar scent of lavender and the slow, rhythmic breath of my mother.
She's untouched. Still slumbering.
But her medicine…
I search the vials lined neatly on the table. I've memorized each label. The dosages. The colors.
Two of them are wrong.
"Bring me the apothecary. Now!" I bark to the nearest maid. She flees like fire's at her heels.
I take one of the tainted vials and hold it up to the light. The liquid inside is a fraction darker. Just enough to go unnoticed—unless you're looking.
Just enough to kill her.
I grit my teeth. Whoever had tampered with these knew exactly what they were doing.
I replace the tainted vials with the real ones from the hidden pouch I carry with me at all times now. No one touches her medicines anymore. Not even the healers. Only me.
Keal finds me an hour later in the inner garden, blades of grass still damp beneath my boots. He doesn't speak. Just hands me another report. This one in red ink.
The same carriage was seen leaving through the eastern ruins of the palace. Our agents lost it in the forest beyond.
"Send four spies," I say, my voice flat. "No uniforms. Track the carriage. If it's stopped, seize it. If it runs, mark it. And if you find the driver…"
"Yes, Commander?"
"Bring them to me alive. I want them to speak before they die."
That night, I send my youngest spy—Inari—on her first major mission.
She's to infiltrate the servant quarters where the king's unnamed wife's maids reside. They're the only ones who come and go from her chambers freely.
If this woman is behind the corruption—as the whispers claim—then the cracks will show in her help.
Inari vanishes into the servant ranks like mist into morning.
Hours later, she returns with a scrap of silk embroidered with a raven in silver thread—a symbol I'd seen once, long ago, on a noble's cuff. A noble who'd been executed for treason.
Why is his crest in the quarters of the king's wife?
The walls are speaking now. The palace hums with secrets. And I… I am the knife in the dark.
But tonight, I don't sleep.
I sit by my mother's bedside, a blade in my lap, and eyes that will not close. Because they may come again. Through the tunnels. Through the walls. Through the very blood that runs in these marble halls.
And when they do—
I will be waiting.