“And you’ve held this for all this time?” Evelyne cut in.
Alaric rested his hands on the back of a nearby chair. “Tell the truth plainly. Start with Calveran.”
Ravik’s gaze flicked between them, then toward the king. Rhaedor gave a single nod.
“Everyone. Leave,” he bellowed.
The command cracked through the chamber. Healers froze, servants stilled, then all at once the room emptied, the sweep of footsteps and the slam of the doors leaving only silence.
Ravik took a slow inhale and adjusted himself on the pillows.
“When the Dvorenic family died,” he began, “if magic wasn’t used, what was the Celestial Assembly doing there?”
He paused like it cost him.
“The same thing happened during the fire five years ago.” His voice dipped lower. “I was involved because… my wife died there.”
The words landed hard. Evelyne blinked, her spine taut. Alaric gazed at her, biting inside of his cheek.
Rhaedor’s head snapped toward him. “Your wife died in a ritual murder?”
Ravik nodded once. For an instant—just an instant—the iron mask cracked, and hurt flickered in his eyes.
Evelyne’s chest tightened. She remembered her: a quiet, kind woman who always had a gentle word for the servants, a softness that had seemed impossible beside Ravik’s hard edges. Her heart hurt with the memory.
Ravik shifted, one hand pressing lightly to his side. “It looked like fire,” he said. “At first. But one of the victims had a symbol burned onto his lips.” His voice dropped lower. “I didn’t know what it meant. Not then. But when I read about the massacre in Zharesh years later, and saw the same mark… I began looking into it.”
He paused, gaze sharp now, as if weighing each word. “And after what happened last year… I stopped doubting.”
Her father looked pale—more than she had ever seen him.
“Why was I never told of this?” he demanded, his tone edged and raw. “I was aware of your independent inquiry—but no one informed me of the other killings.”
Ravik gave a faint, almost apologetic smile. “Because, sometimes, Your Majesty… the crown is safer in ignorance.”
That silence again. This time heavier.
Alaric broke it. “Why did you pull the guard from Kelvar’s Cross?”
Ravik shook his head, grimacing. “That’s what the report said. I knew someone would intercept it and exploit the gap. I left the trail deliberately. Today’s attempt was my plan to catch them before the wedding.”
Rhaedor’s eyes narrowed. “You let the enemy think they can slip into the castle, so they’d take the bait and walk straight into your trap.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Evelyne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The man she had known for twenty-six years—her father—barely flinched at the revelation of how close she had come to death.
She stepped closer. “Then explain the letter. The one from the Celestial Assembly. Dated one week after Dasmon’s death. It was in your possession. It spoke about permission for executing some kind of purification.”
Ravik’s eyes met hers. “They granted me permission to investigate the site after the massacre. I tracked down a gang of men armed with daggers and tattoos. We interrogated each of them. Then we carried out their executions.”
“How did you find them?” she pressed.
“I have spies, Princess.”
Alaric propped one elbow against his hand, fingers drifting to his chin. “And the woman? The one you met. Who took a message into the hidden crypt beneath Orvath’s chapel.”
“She’s mine,” Ravik replied. “A courier. That message was one I intercepted earlier in the week. It was about today’s attack.”
