Cedric frowned at the bouquet and instinctively moved toward the blooms. “Let me inspect them first.”
The servant hesitated but handed the bouquet over. It was unlikely that Prince Rodrigue would conspire against his fiancée, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility or the odds that someone else might have tampered with them beforehand.
Cedric rifled through the blossoms, searching for hidden weapons or traces of powder or poison. He examined a peony closely before finally handing the bouquet back. A few flowers had wilted during his inspection, their petals fluttering over his boots, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Here,” Cedric said. “You can deliver them now.”
The servant grimaced at the disheveled bouquet before nodding. He knocked on Nin’s door and disappeared inside when he was allowed entry.
Cedric lingered in the hall, his thoughts tearing through all possible suspects behind the attacks. Who here would want to sabotage the alliance with Castaviel? Who would benefit most from the union failing?
He considered every neighboring kingdom—but some were too small to dare attempt such a plot. If they were found out, they would start a war they couldn’t win. So, who among them had the resources to act and be certain they wouldn’t be caught?
Although his men had reported capturing the head of the Silver Flame this morning, Cedric doubted they had the right man.
They should focus their energy on figuring out who theirbenefactor was.
Determined to do just that, he made his way through the halls and slipped through one of the servant doors. Servants flattened themselves against the wall as he passed, and he ducked through a concealed door leading toward the barracks. A set of steps plunged into the earth, and he followed the dark path.
The narrow hallway reeked of mildew, the air thick and damp. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and the dim flicker of sconces cast jagged shadows along the walls.
At last, the passage opened into iron-barred cells. Beneath the palace’s chandeliers and glittering splendor, this was where its true brutality festered.
One of his men saluted. “He’s right this way, sir.”
As soon as they reached the cell, Cedric’s gut turned. The cloaked man was lying motionless on the floor.
He unlocked the cell, rushing inside to check for a pulse.
Nothing. The prisoner was dead.
Half-eaten food on a crude wooden plate lay discarded beside the would-be assassin. Someone had snuck in and killed him—poison, most likely. There was no suicide capsule between the man’s teeth.
This was deliberate.
Cedric whirled on his heel. “When was the last time you checked on him?” he demanded.
“Just t-two hours ago,” the guard said, his shoulders hunching, gripping his baton against his chest. He was right to be afraid.
“And in that time, someone managed to slip in here unnoticed?” Cedric snapped, closing the distance between them. “Who’s been down here?”
“No one of importance, Captain. A servant came to bring his meal an hour ago.”
Flames burned beneath his skin. “There were no orders to bring the prisoner anything,” he seethed.
“B-but—”
Cedric refused to listen to his excuses. How had he failed to train the incompetence out of this man?
“What was the servant’s name?” he asked.
The guard faltered. “I—I didn’t catch it.”
Cedric swore under his breath. Someone didn’t want them to know who this assassin—or their master—truly was. He searched the body, but there was nothing. No insignia, no papers, no hidden blade. Nothing to identify him.
He straightened, jaw tight. “You,” he rounded on the guard, pointing a finger in his face. “Ten lashes. Tonight.”
Cedric turned on his heel and ascended the stairs two steps at a time. An hour had most likely given the spy plenty of time to escape or integrate themselves within the palace walls. It could be any unsuspecting face he had previously overlooked.
