Alaric’s jaw tightened. “The attack at the parade,” he murmured. “It never made sense. They knew the castle would be full of soldiers. They couldn’t have believed they’d capture her. Not in that chaos.”
“No,” Vesena replied, arms crossed tightly. “That wasn’t their aim.”
“They played us,” Alaric muttered bitterly. “Everyone thought if something were to happen, it would be during the wedding. The moment passed, and we all relaxed.” His voice went hard. “And that was exactly what they wanted. We walked straight into the aftermath.”
No one replied. There was nothing left to say. Only the faint echo of Ysara’s sobs threading through the stone hall like a curse fulfilled.
Then the doors slammed open with a heavy, echoing thud, and a soldier strode into the chamber without waiting to be announced.
“Your Majesty,” he began with a shallow bow. “A new report.”
Everyone stilled, words half-formed, thoughts suspended mid-breath.
“All priests of Rhyssa within the city,” the soldier continued, “have disappeared. None reported back to their quarters after last rites. Their rooms are empty. No signs of struggle.”
A beat of silence followed. Then a cascade of voices:
A chair scraped harshly against the stone as king shot to his feet. “What?”
“Impossible,” muttered another.
“The entire clergy?” demanded a third, face blanched.
The soldier nodded once. “We’ve checked three shrines. Same result.”
Alaric stepped forward, voice sharp. “No sign of departure? No horses taken, no witnesses?”
“None, Your Highness.”
A tense murmur spread across the table. Fingers clenched scrolls. Footsteps echoed as another advisor crossed to the window as if answers might be hiding in the sky.
Alaric stepped forward, both palms pressing flat to the war table’s worn surface. “So what’s next, Your Majesty?” His voice was low, sharp. “We wait? We hope someone stumbles onto a trail while your daughter and her brother are gods know where?”
Rhaedor’s expression darkened. “Watch your tone.”
“No.” Alaric’s voice cut across the room. “You pride yourself on strength, on order, on Edrathen’s walls holding firm—and yet your heir is gone, and your daughter along with him. Assassins and zealots walk freely through your gates and you still think fury is beneath you? You dared to warn me that if I ever misstepped, you would not let it go—and that is fine. But what’s disgusting is that you have letherdown. Her whole life. And now.”
Silence snapped into place like a trap.
Alaric’s gaze swept the table. “Inform every outpost. The ones at the border, the river, the northern pass. Lock down the roads, check every departing caravan, every shrine that’s been emptied.”
King Rhaedor stared at him, unreadable.
“I’m not asking for permission,” Alaric added. “You made this union a matter of state. She is not just your daughter now.”
The Master of Coin swallowed hard, shifting in his seat.
“She is mywife,” Alaric said, voice rising. “A future Empress. And a woman who was never taught to defend herself because you chose to raise her in silence. You warned her the world was cruel, but you never showed her how to fight it. And now she’s gone.”
He slammed a palm down on the table. “She is not helpless. Stars, I know she’ll find a way to buy herself time. But this should never have happened. And it wouldn’t have—if you had just fucking listened to her.”
For a moment, Rhaedor just stared at him. The tension in the chamber pulled tight as a wire. The king’s jaw shifted, and he looked like a man considering whether to strike a traitor or hand him to the Assembly for execution.
Then, without a word, Rhaedor turned and gave a sharp nod to the messenger. The man bowed and vanished through the door.
When the door burst inward again, and Ravik staggered into the chamber. Cedric half-drew his blade before recognizing him. He resembled a man dragged back from the brink—ashen, unsteady—but his jaw was locked, and there was fire behind his stare.
“If you intend to find them, Your Highness,” he rasped, clutching the edge of the doorway for balance, “you’ll need me.”
