Seraphina didn't sleep. Not that night. Not with the silence in the palace pressing in like a warning. Her room was still, the only sound the crackle of the hearth she had stoked herself. It wasn't for warmth. It was for the light. She didn't want shadows.
The note sat on the table. Three names, three deaths. Caelan and Thalion had seen it too. No one said it aloud, but the truth was clear. This wasn't a coincidence. This was a message.
She got up, crossed the room, and opened her writing desk. Her fingers found the seal she hadn't touched since the day she left the Vessant estate. It bore the D'Lorien crest, hidden behind plain wax. She pressed it between her palms.
There had to be a next step. Not another reaction. A move.
Seraphina called a meeting.
They met in a lesser-used study in the East Wing. The guards outside were handpicked by Thalion. Caelan checked the room before she arrived.
Inside sat Lyria, arms crossed and tense. Amara stood near the door, quiet and alert. Dorian waited at the table, posture straight. Thalion took the seat to Seraphina's right. Caelan remained standing.
"Three witnesses are dead," Seraphina said. "No struggle."
"Suicides," Lyria added. "Same language in every report."
"Too clean," Dorian said.
"This limits our suspects," Thalion said. "Only someone with real reach could manage that."
Seraphina laid out a map. "We find what they missed. There is always something."
Amara spoke. "A courier was seen leaving the southern archive three nights ago. No crest. Disappeared near the old roads."
"Ghost route," Lyria muttered. "Siran's mapped parts of it. I'll have him cross-check what Amara saw."
"Which means someone trained used it," Seraphina said. "Amara, take your best. Dorian, authorize the mission quietly. Lyria, prep false leads."
That evening, just before the court appearance, Seraphina stood alone in her dressing chamber.
Before that, Caelan had found her in the south corridor balcony—the one that overlooked the old training grounds. She had gone there to think, and didn't expect anyone to follow.
"Can't sleep either?" he asked, approaching.
"Didn't try."
He leaned on the stone railing beside her. "You should. Tomorrow's going to be a war zone."
"It already is."
She didn't look at him, but she felt the weight of his gaze.
Caelan turned his head slightly, watching her expression in profile. "You're not just carrying this. You're dragging it uphill while bleeding. You don't need to prove you can take every hit."
"I'm not proving it," she said. "I'm surviving it."
There was a pause.
Then he stepped closer. Not enough to crowd her, but enough that she felt the heat of him. "I would burn down everything that touches you wrong."
She turned her head slowly. Their eyes locked.
He didn't move. Didn't touch her.
But she felt it—the charge between them, like a blade just before the swing.
She broke eye contact first. "Save that fire. We might need it."
"I already gave it to you."
He left her with those words.
She was still standing there when the breeze picked up, whispering through the stone arches.
Later, She adjusted the crimson and gold of her House D'Lorien gown. Her hands were steady, but her eyes were shadowed with thoughts.
Thalion entered without knocking, then paused when he saw her.
"You're early," she said.
"You're wearing war colors," he replied.
She glanced down at her gown, then back at him. "It's time they remembered who I am."
He stepped closer. His gaze flicked over her face, then lingered at her collarbone. A single clasp sat slightly crooked. Without speaking, he reached out and adjusted it. His fingers brushed her skin.
Seraphina didn't move away.
"You don't have to do this alone," he said.
"But I will if I must."
He nodded once. Then softer, "You scare them. Because you don't beg. You don't explain. You don't break."
She met his eyes. "And you?"
"I stand with you. Not because I was told to. Because I choose to."
The moment stretched.
Her breath caught, barely.
Then she turned slightly, breaking the contact. But not before noticing how close he'd stood, how steady his hand had been.
There had been something else in his gaze. Not just loyalty. Something deeper. Dangerous in its quiet intensity. "Then stand beside me in court. Let them see it."
He gave a single nod, then left the room in silence.
That afternoon, Seraphina entered court in crimson and gold. House D'Lorien colors. The reaction was instant. Whispers. Shifts.
She bowed to the Empress. Eleanor watched in silence. Thalion sat beside her.
"You walk with purpose," Eleanor said.
"Because silence has cost lives," Seraphina replied.
"Then speak."
Seraphina faced the court. "Three witnesses gave testimony. They are now dead. The official cause is suicide. I do not accept that. I will find the truth. If this court cannot protect it, it will learn to fear it."
Nobles stirred. One left. Most stayed silent.
"Let the record show," Eleanor said, "that Lady D'Lorien has requested an inquiry."
It wasn't an obvious support. But it opened the door.
That night, a message came.
Left in a hidden wall hollow. A single line:
"The one who never spoke remembers everything."
A faded cloth scrap was enclosed. It bore a servant's identification number. Old. Obsolete.
Seraphina studied it. Folded it. Kept it.
The next morning, Seraphina met with Thalion and Caelan.
"We have a lead," she said, laying the cloth down.
Thalion examined it. "From the early reign."
"Someone survived and stayed silent," Seraphina said.
"Or was silenced," Caelan added.
"We find them," Seraphina said. "One way or another."
Caelan smiled. "Familiar plan."
He had spent part of the afternoon tracing the cloth's stitching, comparing it with old records from the barracks. He'd found a near match in an archived requisition sheet buried in the backlogs—one he only accessed through a favor owed to a senior officer. The connection was weak, but it gave them a possible origin point. It had been his lead that prompted Amara to start watching the old southern route.
Two days later, Amara confirmed movement at an old southern structure. Isolated. Records said condemned, but deliveries still arrived. No guards. One occupant.
Seraphina and Caelan left that night.
The ride was quiet. The road cold. They didn't speak much, but Seraphina noticed the way Caelan checked their rear twice, hand never far from his weapon. She wondered if he slept at all anymore.
Before they reached the bend, he finally asked, "You think she'll talk?"
Seraphina nodded. "If she didn't want to be found, we wouldn't have made it this far."
Caelan said nothing more, but kept his pace even, steady beside her. She felt safer for it.
The building was stone, two floors, and had no lights. Caelan checked the perimeter.
Seraphina knocked. Once.
"You were there," she said. "You saw it. You lived."
A pause. Then the door opened.
A woman stood there. Grey hair, sharp eyes. She stepped aside.
Inside, she said nothing. Just opened a box.
Letters. Logs. Names.
Proof.
Seraphina nodded.
This was the thread they needed.