She turns, the movement surprisingly fluid for a woman in her seventies. “Ah, the shadow emerges.” Her voice carries easily on the still night air. “Come closer, Poe. Let me see you properly.”
I approach with measured steps, stopping at a respectful distance below the balcony. “You’re outside alone at this hour, Your Highness. The security implications?—“
“Who said I was alone?” she interrupts, amusement coloring her tone.
The blade presses against my throat before I register the presence behind me—cold steel kissing my skin with deadly promise. I don’t move, don’t even breathe. Not from fear, but from the professional recognition that whoever holds the knife is exceptionally skilled.
“Your instincts are getting soft,” a female voice murmurs in my ear, close enough that her breath stirs my hair. “You’ll need them sharper if you want to take on the king’s personal guards.”
The knife withdraws, and I turn slowly to face my assailant. The woman standing before me is compact but muscular, her dark hair cropped close to her skull in a style that speaks of practicality over fashion. She wears the Queen Mother’s colors, but her stance is pure military—balanced, ready, dangerous.
“Dani,” the Queen Mother calls from above. “You’ve made your point. Let the poor man breathe.”
With a mocking smile, Dani steps back, twirling her knife with casual expertise before sheathing it at her hip. “Sorry about that. Orders.”
“Testing me?” I ask, my voice deliberately neutral despite the lingering sensation of steel against my skin.
“Obviously,” she replies, not bothering to deny it. “And you failed. If I’d been an assassin, your prince would be short one shadow.”
I could argue that I hadn’t expected Eleanora to be accompanied by an assassin, but it would be a flimsy excuse.
The assessment stings because it’s accurate. I should have detected her presence, should have sensed the threat before she got close enough to place a blade at my throat. The fact that I didn’t speaks to either her exceptional skill or my diminishing edge.
Possibly both.
“Dani is my head of security,” the Queen Mother explains from her balcony perch. “She takes her duties very seriously.”
“As do I,” I reply, meeting Dani’s evaluating gaze without flinching. “Which is why I’m concerned to find Your Highness exposed on a balcony at this hour.”
The Queen Mother laughs, the sound surprisingly warm in the cool night air. “Your concern is noted, if unnecessary. Dani, leave us. I wish to speak with Poe privately.”
Dani hesitates, her expression shifting to one of professional concern. “Your Highness?—“
“That wasn’t a request, dear.”
The security chief bows stiffly, then gives me a look that promises violence if any harm comes to her charge. “I’ll be within earshot,” she says, the warning unmistakable.
Once she’s melted back into the shadows—an impressive feat given the open grounds—the Queen Mother gestures for me tojoin her. “There’s a service staircase to your left. Third door past the rose trellis.”
I find the entrance exactly where she described, a narrow door nearly invisible against the stone facade. The stairs beyond are steep and winding, clearly designed for servants to move quickly between floors without being seen by noble guests. At the top, another door opens onto the balcony where the Queen Mother waits.
She’s seated now in an ornate chair that looks too delicate for practical use, a shawl of midnight blue wrapped around her shoulders despite the mild temperature. Up close, the resemblance to Logan is striking—the same golden eyes, the same proud tilt of the chin, the same air of command that seems bred into the Corellian bloodline.
“Walk with me,” she says, rising with surprising grace. “These old bones need movement to keep from seizing up entirely.”
I offer my arm automatically, royal protocol ingrained despite my general disdain for such formalities. She takes it with a knowing smile, as if she’s read my thoughts and finds them amusing.
“You’re wondering why I insisted on speaking to you at this ungodly hour,” she says as we begin a slow circuit of the balcony. “Why not wait until morning for a proper audience.”
“The thought had crossed my mind, Your Highness.”
“I find that night conversations tend to yield more honesty,” she replies. “Something about the darkness loosens tongues that remain carefully guarded in daylight.”
I say nothing, recognizing the technique for what it is. The Queen Mother is fishing, creating space for me to fill with nervous chatter that might reveal more than intended. It’s a tactic I’ve used myself, though usually with a blade involved to expedite the process.
She smiles at my silence, apparently approving of my restraint. “You’ve served my grandson for many years now,” she observes.
“I’ve been loyal to Prince Logan since the Outlands campaign,” I say carefully. “As have all members of his personal guard.”
