Evelyne opened her mouth, ready to apologize, but Isildeth gave a shallow nod, eyes fixed somewhere above Evelyne’s shoulder.
“If Your Highness will excuse me,” she said, her voice formal. “I must report to Footman George regarding the retirement.”
And with that, she pivoted and left.
The words she’d meant to speak dissolved before they left her mouth. She didn’t move. She couldn’t explain why it landed the way it did. Only that the silence no longer felt like armor.
It felt like shame.
Chapter 53
It was, without a doubt, the worst idea Alaric had ever had.
The Rite of Shar'Deren, typically a perfect distraction, had been cancelled thanks to the investigation of Orvath’s chapel and its tunnels. Which meant no sermon. Just a kingdom’s worth of Silverwards standing around with too little to do and too much armor to feel subtle.
And so, naturally, it fell to Cedric—loyal, perpetually underpaid Cedric—to follow the brilliant plan of “breaking into the Lord’s Justiciar Office” to retrieve and replace the list of names. Yes,thatlist. The one ending with Princess's name. Now securely logged and filed away in the archive vault. Behind men with swords who did not appreciate surprise visitors anymore.
Especially now that Cedric—along with the prince, the princess, and Vesena—had been reported to the guard registry as individuals requiring constant observation.
The pristine wing of the castle complex was elegant and utterly humorless. Vaulted ceilings, polished stone, guards stationed at every marble archway. Cedric, dressed in the neutral livery of an off-duty steward, walked like he belonged, heart thudding like a guilty drum. He was good at this. Still, that didn’t stop him from muttering curses and imagining the worst-case scenarios.
All this, because Alaric decided the original list had “high historical value” and wanted to swap it with a version redacted just enough to avoid open war.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
Cedric exhaled and tucked the replacement list into his vest. He was going to die today. Probably stabbed by a man named Branor who ate too much salted boar. What a legacy.
It was, of course, a flawless plan. Flawless, meaning doomed. Alaric—His Royal Depth of Bad Ideas—was in charge of the “confusion.” Cedric, as ever, was in charge ofeverything else. Including forging the revised ledger of names instead of sleeping like a reasonable person.
He took his place near the designated column, watching the way the guards glanced toward the growing crowd around Alaric as he recalled some made-up story.
Cedric stared, unimpressed and already imagining which shrub to bury him under.
Then, on cue, Alaric paused mid-sentence, squinting theatrically toward a decorative suit of armor near the far end of the corridor.
“Stop! You there—what are you doing by the Archives?”
That got everyone's attention.
Alaric bolted toward the armor, cloak billowing, calling over his shoulder that the intruder had run around the corner. The Silverwards took the bait, breaking formation as Alaric disappeared down the corridor. Two lingered, then moved a few paces forward, hand drifting to his weapon, leaving just enough space.
Cedric ducked past the guards and into the Justicar Office door, and made for the back shelves where sealed documents were categorized by event. His heart pounded, each step a silent curse toward Alaric, fate and all things princely.
The list was where Vesena told him it should be—neatly stored in a leather-bound folio marked “Inquiries – Royal Oversight.”
He was elbow-deep in treason when the handle rattled.
Cedric went still—mid-swap, one scroll in each hand, like some idiot street magician caught halfway through a trick no one asked for. The real death sentence was the sound that followed: footsteps. Multiple. Approaching fast.
Fuck.
His back dampened instantly. Where the hell was Alaric?
Think. Think. Think.His eyes darted to the nearest window—too high. Maybe he could hide behind the—
And then, miraculously, salvation arrived. In the shape of a very small, very serious grunt.
“Excuse me!” Royal Menace’s voice rang out just outside the door. “I saw someone sneaking with a dagger. At the end of the corridor! He looked like the one who attacked the Grand Marshal.”
