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The truth unfurls like a blossom peeling back its petals. Only this one is rotten at its core. Keres isn’t just corresponding with our king. He is a king.

“What does this mean?” My words fall from numb lips.

“That is what I want you to figure out,” Prince Kallias says.

My gaze snaps to his, and I see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. My anger kindles, slow and smoldering, and I lean forward.

“Kallias,” I say, letting the name roll off my tongue, fully aware I’m probably signing my own death warrant—or at least earning myself a one-way trip to the dungeons. But something about this man gets under my skin in a way I can’t resist. “May I call you Kallias?”

His gaze darkens. “I think I prefer the sound of ‘my prince’ dripping from your poisonous tongue.”

Maxim’s voice cuts through the tension. “Are we done with the verbal sparring, or should I take a seat?”

I shoot him a glare, and with an exaggerated sigh, he seats himself in the armchair to my left. He pulls a whittling knife from his holster and a lump of wood from his pocket, then begins to carve away, letting the shavings fall to the floor.

“Well, Kallias,” I say slowly. “Let me make sure I understand you. You want me to do exactly what you were accusing me of last week?”

“You found me at a…less than ideal time. Besides, I wouldn’t call it the exact same thing. This time, you’d be doing it for a purpose. Consider it killing two birds with one stone—you hide within my palace, and you spy for me.”

I stiffen. “Let me guess, if I don’t accept, you’ll force me out?”

His gaze doesn’t waver as a tense silence stretches between us.

“No,” he says finally. “You will be able to remain here.”

The admission catches me off guard, and I blink, momentarily disarmed. I glance down at the note again, the charred edges curling against my fingers. My attention lingers on the mention of the Games, the proposal, and the hunt. The words twist in my mind, tangling with the fragments of the conversation I overheard between the Eagle and the king.

Progress. Other options. The Games.

The pieces refuse to fit together, the picture they form blurred and incomplete. My thoughts churn, teetering on the edge of clarity, but the answers remain out of reach. The weight of the charm against my chest reminds me of the stakes—of Aella, of the Eagle, of the danger that looms over us both. And this scrap of parchment in my hands only hints at more to come.

“What can I offer to sway you?” Kallias says.

I lift my gaze to meet his, the question hanging in the air between us. I let it linger, turning it over in my mind. What would he be willing to offer me? The thought is dangerous, a slippery slope I probably shouldn’t tread, but it’s there all the same.

“Safe passage to Arkhadia,” I say finally. “When the search for me settles, or if I suspect someone has discovered me. And whatever resources I need to make the journey.”

Kallias’s lips part, but I press on before he can interrupt.

“And, when the Eagle is no longer a threat, if I decide to return to the Sorrows, you’ll buy me the most luxurious villa in the kingdom.”

Maxim chuckles, but the prince doesn’t so much as blink.

“Done,” he says.

I purse my lips at the ease of his agreement, crossing my arms as my gaze flicks between the two of them. A ruinous prince with a temper and a flair for theatrics and a steadfast guard who probably sleeps with one eye open and a sword under his pillow. Gods help me—I might actually be able to trust them.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Kallias reaches into the desk drawer again. This time, when his hand emerges, he’s holding a heavy bronze key. The intricate goiteía marks carved into its surface catch the light, tiny threads of magic woven into the metal.

“This will help you avoid the guards at the entrance to the royal wing.” With a deliberate slowness, he extends it toward me, his gaze locking onto mine. “But do try to resist the temptation to sneak into my chambers at night.”

I scoff, snatching the key from his hand. “Is there any other relevant information I should know?”

“My father has been keeping me out of most matters, and without the rest of the letter, I don’t know what arrangement he has made with Keres. But I don’t like that the Games appear to be a deadline. And I know Malis is tied up in this. I suspect he’s been pulling my father’s strings for years.”

“Then we’re going to need someone on the inside.” I glance down at the note once more, the words blurring as I consider everything he’s said tonight. “The Eagle’s scheming starts inside the Aviary. If we want answers, then we’re more likely to find them there. But you’d need someone embedded deep enough to go unnoticed.”