There has been no word from Keres since that night. With no bride announced and no additional events planned, the court remains shrouded in an uneasy suspense. The king and queen remain absent, and the prince is more withdrawn than ever. Lydia stalks the halls like an angry spirit, and the courtiers whisper in hushed tones, their glances sharp and suspicious. The air is thick with tension, as though the palace itself is holding its breath.
Rumors swirl like a gathering storm. Myna says Keres has been questioning everyone—servants, guards, even courtiers. Fear clings to the walls, and every whispered word feels like a potential noose.
But I know the truth. Keres knows the weapon has been stolen.
I’ve been praying to every god that will listen that the others have gotten as far away as possible. I know the prince was at the ball until the early hours of the morning, so Raven and the others should have had a decent head start. And if they covered their tracks, Keres and the king wouldn’t have been able to follow.
Despite my rationalizing, a seed of doubt still lingers in my heart.
It buds and blooms—
Glass shatters behind me, and my hand flies to where my heart is now beating in my throat, my breath coming in sharp pants.
“Notos’s balls, Nyssa!” I hiss, turning to find her with a sheepish grimace on her face.
“It was an accident.” She eyes the vase where it lies in broken shards on the floor. “Besides, it was ugly.”
Her words shock a laugh out of me, easing some of the tension I’m holding in my body. It’s just the two of us here—Myna is out to see if she can gain any information on the royals—and I’m grateful to not need to keep up any pretenses.
Nyssa crouches to pick up the shards, her movements quick and precise. “You’re too tense,” she says, glancing up at me. “You’ll crack before Keres does if you keep this up.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She straightens, holding a particularly jagged piece of terra-cotta between her fingers. “You know,” she says, her tone light but eyes sharp, “this could make a decent weapon in a pinch.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Planning to stab someone?”
“Only if they deserve it.” She tosses the shard onto the pile she gathered and gives me a pointed look. “Don’t forget, Aella. You’re not alone in this.”
I take a moment to breathe, closing my eyes and letting her words and presence wash over me. Her quiet strength bolsters my resolve, and I find a sliver of calm amid the chaos.
The relief doesn’t last.
A loud knock sounds on the door.
My shoulders stiffen, and my mouth goes dry. Nyssa and I lock eyes across the room, and I see the same apprehension coursing through me reflected in her hazel gaze.
Nothing good, my sweet anemone. Nothing good.
“Hide,” I tell Nyssa, my voice barely a whisper.
Her lips press into a hard line, but she does as I ask, darting into her adjoining room on silent feet.
I walk toward the door, schooling my expression as I pull it open. Jorah, Keres’s guard, is standing on the other side. His black, bottomless eyes make me shiver as they track over my face.
“Jorah,” I say with a tone of pleasant surprise, in stark contrast to the bitter taste in my mouth. “Do you need something?”
“Your presence is required, Princess.” His voice is a raspy hiss—one I’ve heard before, whispering through the hidden passages of the palace. Ice floods my veins as recognition slams into me, my body locked in place, breath tight and shallow. Every instinct screams to run, but I force my features to remain still, smooth, composed. The pieces click into place.
Jorah isn’t just a guard—he’s the shadowed accomplice woven into Keres’s schemes.
“By whom?” I ask.
“Prince Keres, of course.”
I offer him a sad smile. “Let me change into something more suitable.” I turn to close the door, but he slams a palm on the golden surface.
“That won’t be necessary, Princess. He asked for me to bring you to him at once.”
