That draws my attention from the ceiling back to his face. I turn my head slightly, ignoring the pain screaming through my ribs and the way my muscles protest the movement. “Gone silent?”
“Yes.”
Arkady, my father’s strategist and one of the old guard. Not a man prone to impulsive disappearance. I close my eyes, letting the information settle as much as my current state allows.
“We believe the order on you came first,” Mikel continues. “Your father was killed less than an hour after you were attacked.”
A test, then. Remove the heir. Remove the king. Let the board fracture while everyone scrambles to fill the void.
I inhale slowly, forcing my body to obey even as every breath tears at stitched flesh and sends fresh waves of pain radiating through my torso. “Secure Elya.”
“She’s already moved and guarded.” Mikel's response is immediate, his tone brooking no argument. “It’s a safe location. No one knows where.”
“Good.” The relief is brief, a small mercy in the chaos. My sister is the one piece of my father's world I will protect at any cost.
Silence stretches between us, heavy but not awkward. Mikel has never filled space with words that don’t serve a purpose. He stands like a sentinel, back straight and shoulders squared, his presence reassuring.
“My orders stand,” I tell him finally. “No retaliation until I am vertical.”
He nods once, the gesture curt. “They’ll test that.”
“They can try.” I let the words carry the promise of what will come when I’m whole again.
His gaze sharpens, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “There’s another matter.”
I open my eyes fully, ignoring the way the light stabs at my vision. “Speak.”
“The woman in the alley.”
There it is, a subtle tightening in my chest that has nothing to do with injuries, blood loss, or the fact that I nearly died on cold concrete.
“She ran,” Mikel continues, his tone neutral but watchful. “No identification or security footage clear enough to trace.”
I nod slowly, aware of the resentment that lingers despite the fact that I told her to leave. “She saved my life.”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t go immediately,” I add quietly, my voice rough. “Even though I told her to leave.”
Mikel studies me for a long moment. “She didn’t disobey you.”
I glance at him, confusion flickering through the pain.
“She hesitated,” he clarifies. “Then she chose survival. That isn’t disobedience. It’s intelligence.”
A corner of my mouth twitches despite myself, the pain, and the knowledge that my father's body is cooling somewhere. “Find her.”
He doesn’t ask why, question the order, or push for clarification. “We’re already trying.”
“Discreetly.” The word comes out edged with urgency I can’t quite mask.
“Always.”
He turns to leave but pauses at the door. His hand rests on the frame, his fingers curling slightly. “You’ll need to be moved soon. This place is temporary.”
“I know.”
The door closes behind him with a loud click. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the truth of my father's death sink into mybones without ceremony or grief. There’s no room for mourning when survival demands every ounce of focus I possess.
