Evelina Palace was a place where there was always something happening.Servants hurried through its halls, nobles wandered through its gardens, and ministers came and went beneath the watchful eyes of the royal guard. Despite the constant movement, the palace had always maintained an air of peace and serenity, as though nothing truly terrible could happen within its walls.
Today, however, it felt colder than the winter wind.
Soldiers lined the corridors in greater numbers than usual, additional guards patrolled the gardens, and every entrance had been placed under heavier security. Even servants were questioned before being permitted to pass between certain wings.
Unexpected visitors had arrived, and the king was far from pleased.
Fatima had sent a delegation to Evelina with barely any warning. The palace had learned of their arrival only the previous day, when a letter was delivered announcing their intention to request a private audience with the royal family.
The palace staff had spent the hours since scrambling to prepare for their reception.
Now, that meeting was underway.
Eitan, royal ambassador and head of the Fatiman delegation, sat at one end of the long council table with two guards positioned behind him.
His skin was dark, nearly midnight beneath the golden light of the chamber, and his black hair had been carefully smoothed away from his face. Most striking were his eyes, a deep, vivid violet that had barely left the royal family since the meeting began.
King Richard sat opposite him.
Queen Celeste occupied the chair to his left, her hands folded neatly before her despite the tension hanging over the room. Richard’s most trusted adviser sat to his right with several documents arranged before him, along with two senior ministers who had been permitted to attend.
Seraphina did not sit at all.
She stood behind Richard’s chair, her left hand resting lightly upon the hilt of her sword as her icy gaze moved around the chamber, taking note of the Fatiman guards, the ambassador, the doors, and the windows.
Every movement.
Every breath that lingered a second too long.
The meeting had barely begun, yet the tension was already thick enough to make the air uncomfortable.
Eitan leaned forward slightly, one finger brushing the teacup sitting to his left before resting against the smooth porcelain. The tea had long since gone cold.
“I believe it is in both our best interests to establish a stronger alliance,” he said. “A marriage between our nations would bring prosperity not only to Fatima, but to Evelina as well. Our borders could reopen. Trade could flourish. There are goods and resources from our lands that have not reached your markets in years.”
Richard’s expression barely changed. He sat as still as a statue, one hand resting against the arm of his chair.
“I have many questions,” he said at last, “but one continues to trouble me.”
Eitan’s violet eyes settled upon him.
“Your borders have been closed for years.”
The room grew noticeably quieter, and even Eitan’s fingers stilled against the porcelain.
“So tell me,” Richard continued, his voice remarkably calm, “how did Fatima know my daughter was coming of age?”
For the first time since entering the chamber, Eitan hesitated. Only for a moment, before his expression softened into something resembling amusement.
“Your Majesty, a closed border does not mean a blind kingdom.”
Seraphina’s fingers tightened slightly around the hilt of her sword.
“No,” Richard said. “But it does make me wonder where Fatima has been looking.”
Eitan withdrew his hand from the teacup.
“Princess Serena is the only child of Evelina’s reigning king,” he replied. “Surely you did not expect her existence to remain unknown beyond your borders.”
“Her existence? No.” Richard paused, studying the ambassador. “Her birthday, her debut, and the precise moment my court would begin discussing potential marriages?”
Celeste’s attention sharpened.
That was different.
Seraphina had wondered the same thing from the moment the proposal first reached them.
Eitan’s smile did not disappear, but something behind it changed.
“We maintain diplomatic channels, Your Majesty.”
“Which channels?”
The question came immediately.
Eitan paused, and Richard leaned back in his chair.
“That,” he said, “is what concerns me.”
No one spoke.
Beyond the tall windows, the palace gardens remained perfectly still beneath the afternoon light. From this height, the fountains and flowering paths looked as peaceful as they always did.
Inside the council chamber, Seraphina continued watching the ambassador. His shoulders remained relaxed, his breathing even, and neither of his guards had moved beyond the occasional shift of weight.
Yet Eitan had stopped touching his tea.
Richard continued.
“You arrive at my palace with one day’s notice. You propose marriage to my fifteen-year-old daughter despite years of isolation between our countries, and you speak as though this arrangement has already been considered long enough for Fatima to determine exactly what Evelina stands to gain from it.”
His eyes narrowed.
“So before we discuss prosperity, trade, or alliances, Ambassador Eitan, I would like to know how long your country has been planning to marry my daughter.”
“I do not see how that is of importance,” Eitan replied. “Marriage to our king would guarantee the princess’s safety and establish a permanent bond between our nations. The length of time the possibility has been discussed is, therefore, of little consequence.”
Richard’s fingers tightened against the arm of his chair.
There was something particularly insulting about the ease with which Eitan dismissed a question concerning Richard’s own child, as though Serena were merely another condition to be negotiated.
Before Richard could answer, Celeste reached across the narrow space between them and rested her hand over his.
The gesture was small, gentle, and familiar.
Richard glanced down at her fingers, and his shoulders eased slightly.
Celeste knew him too well. She recognized the particular stillness that settled over her husband when his anger was beginning to outweigh his judgment, and she had touched him before that anger could turn a difficult meeting into something far worse.
Richard drew a slow breath.
“My daughter’s safety is not yours to guarantee. And whether or not you consider my question important has very little bearing on whether I expect it answered.”
Across the table, Eitan watched them for a moment before folding his hands before him.
“Your Majesty, I hope you understand that Fatima did not come here merely to discuss the princess’s birthday.”
“No,” Richard said. “You came here to discuss marrying her to your king.”
“To discuss an alliance.”
“Through marriage.”
“A marriage that would benefit both nations.”
Richard said nothing.
Eitan continued.
“Fatima has remained isolated for many years. That isolation has protected our people, but it has also limited opportunities that could benefit us both. Trade. Agricultural exchange. Military cooperation. Access to goods neither country currently possesses in abundance.”
His voice remained smooth, but some of the careful politeness from the beginning of the meeting had begun to thin.
“Our king is willing to reopen those doors.”
“And in exchange,” Richard said, “you want my daughter.”
Eitan tilted his head.
“We ask for a union between our nations.”
“You keep changing the name of it.”
A silence passed across the table.
One of the Fatiman guards shifted behind Eitan, and Seraphina’s thumb brushed once across the guard of her sword.
“Surely you understand the significance of rejecting such an offer,” Eitan said.
“I understand that you have made one.”
“I am not certain you understand the full consequences of refusing it.”
Something in the chamber changed.
No one raised their voice, no weapon was drawn, and no threat had been spoken plainly. Still, Seraphina felt the shift as clearly as if someone had unsheathed a blade.
“Fatima has made considerable efforts to extend its hand toward Evelina,” Eitan continued. “Our king has offered peace, trade, and a permanent bond between our nations. Should that offer be rejected, there are those within Fatima who may interpret such a decision as hostility.”
Celeste’s hand stilled over Richard’s, and one of the ministers looked up sharply.
“Hostility?” Richard repeated.
“I am speaking of perception, Your Majesty.”
“You are speaking very carefully.”
Eitan’s mouth curved faintly.
“As one must in matters such as these.”
Seraphina studied him.
There it was.
Not a proposal.
Not anymore.
Perhaps it never had been.
“You came here expecting us to agree.”
Every eye in the room turned toward her.
Eitan looked past Richard for the first time, his violet eyes settling upon the duchess.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
“You did not come to negotiate terms.” Her voice was level. “You came to receive an answer you had already decided would be favorable.”
Eitan’s gaze narrowed slightly.
“That is an unfair interpretation.”
“Is it?”
Seraphina stepped forward until she stood beside Richard rather than behind him.
“You speak of peace as though it is something Fatima is offering in exchange for Princess Serena. You speak of consequences if we decline, and now you suggest that refusing a marriage could be interpreted as an act of hostility.”
Her icy eyes settled upon him.
“That sounds less like diplomacy and more like an ultimatum.”
One of the Fatiman guards stiffened.
Eitan remained seated.
“You are assigning hostility to words where none was intended.”
“Then clarify them.”
For the first time, Eitan did not answer immediately.
Seraphina waited.
So did Richard.
The ambassador finally leaned back in his chair.
“My meaning is simply that peace between nations requires cooperation. Fatima cannot be expected to extend friendship indefinitely toward a kingdom unwilling to meet it halfway.”
That was enough.
Richard slid his hand from beneath Celeste’s and rose. The movement was slow, but every person in the chamber went still.
“I think that concludes our discussion.”
Eitan’s expression changed.
“Your Majesty—”
“No.”
Richard looked down the length of the table.
“You came into my palace with almost no warning. You asked for my daughter’s hand on behalf of a man she has never met. When I questioned how your country knew enough about her to make such a request, you dismissed the question.”
His voice remained quiet.
That somehow made it more severe.
“And now you tell me that refusing this arrangement may have consequences for the peace between our nations.”
Eitan stood as well.
“I would advise you not to misunderstand what has been said here.”
“I understand perfectly.”
Richard’s gaze hardened.
“My daughter is not a treaty.”
The chamber fell completely silent.
“She is not a trade route. She is not an offering to be placed between two nations so that grown men may promise not to send soldiers across a border.”
Eitan’s jaw tightened.
“If Fatima wishes to reopen trade, we will discuss trade. If Fatima wishes to establish formal relations with Evelina, we will discuss diplomacy,” Richard continued. “And if your king wishes, under proper circumstances, to one day be introduced to my daughter, then perhaps such a meeting may be discussed.”
His expression went cold.
“But Evelina will not be threatened into marriage.”
Eitan stared at him.
“You understand what you are refusing?”
“Yes.”
Richard’s answer came without hesitation.
“The marriage will not happen.”
A long silence followed.
Then Eitan slowly inclined his head.
Not quite a bow.
“I hope, Your Majesty, that you remain as certain of that decision when its consequences become clear.”
Seraphina’s grip tightened around her sword, but Richard did not look away.
“I have considered the consequences. My answer remains unchanged.”
Eitan held his gaze for another moment before turning away, his guards following closely behind.
The ministers remained silent as the Fatiman delegation crossed the chamber, their footsteps echoing against the polished floor.
Only when the heavy doors shut behind them did the room seem to breathe again.
Richard remained standing at the end of the table, staring at the closed doors.
The ambassador’s final words lingered in the chamber.
When its consequences become clear.
One of Richard’s advisers finally released the breath he had apparently been holding.
“Well,” he murmured, “that could have gone better.”
Richard slowly turned his head.
The adviser straightened.
“Your Majesty.”
Celeste lowered her gaze, the faintest movement at the corner of her mouth suggesting she had very nearly smiled.
Richard was not amused.
“Have the ministers review every agreement currently in place between Evelina and Fatima,” he ordered. “Trade restrictions. Border agreements. Diplomatic protections. I want everything we have.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And increase security around Serena.”
Celeste looked at him immediately.
Richard caught the concern in her expression.
“Not because I believe they will act against her,” he said, his voice softening. “Because I have no intention of discovering I was wrong after something happens.”
Celeste studied him for a moment, then nodded.
The adviser gathered the documents spread across the table.
“I will see to it.”
Richard dismissed the remaining ministers soon afterward. Chairs shifted against the floor, papers were gathered, and quiet voices disappeared into the corridor until only Richard, Celeste, and Seraphina remained.
Once the doors closed, Seraphina spoke.
“They will not accept your refusal quietly.”
Richard turned toward her.
“That much was obvious.”
“No.” Seraphina stepped away from the table, her hand finally leaving the hilt of her sword. “I do not mean another letter or another delegation.”
Celeste’s attention settled upon her sister.
Seraphina glanced toward the chair Eitan had occupied only moments ago.
“They came prepared for your refusal.”
Richard’s brow furrowed.
“You believe so?”
“I do.”
“He spent the better part of the meeting trying to convince me.”
“He presented benefits,” Seraphina corrected. “There is a difference. He offered trade, goods, an alliance. But the moment you questioned the arrangement itself, he stopped trying to persuade you and began speaking about consequences.”
She looked toward the closed doors.
“He was not surprised when you refused.”
Celeste’s fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table.
“You believe he expected it?”
“I believe he considered it a likely enough possibility before he ever entered this palace.”
Richard slowly returned to his chair. The anger he had shown during the meeting had faded, and something colder had taken its place.
“What are you suggesting?”
“That Fatima wanted an answer.”
“They received one.”
“Yes.” Seraphina looked at him. “And now they have reason to claim Evelina rejected their attempt at peace.”
Richard went still.
“Think about the words he chose. He repeatedly described the marriage as an offer of peace. Fatima was extending its hand. Fatima wanted cooperation. Evelina was expected to meet them halfway.”
Her voice lowered.
“If relations deteriorate now, they can return home and say they attempted diplomacy.”
Richard’s expression darkened.
“And that I rejected it.”
“Yes.”
Celeste frowned.
“That does not mean they intend war.”
“No,” Seraphina agreed. “It does not.”
There was a difference between suspicion and certainty, and Seraphina had spent too many years commanding soldiers to confuse the two.
“But I would begin preparing for the possibility.”
Richard leaned back, his expression troubled.
Beyond the windows, sunlight still covered the palace gardens. Fountains continued to flow, and servants crossed distant paths carrying baskets of flowers, folded linens, and trays meant for rooms whose occupants knew nothing of what had just been discussed.
Everything outside appeared perfectly ordinary.
“Fatima has kept its borders closed for years,” Richard said at last. “To emerge from isolation only to begin a war would be madness.”
“Countries have committed greater acts of madness for less.”
His gaze returned to hers.
“And if you are correct?”
Seraphina did not hesitate.
“Then Vaelmont will be among the first places affected.”
Celeste’s expression tightened.
The north.
Evelina’s northern territories stood between much of the empire and any army attempting to advance from that direction. Vaelmont had defended those roads for generations, and Seraphina knew every fortress along them, every mountain pass, and every village close enough to the border to be vulnerable.
She knew which roads became nearly impassable once winter settled over the mountains, and which settlements would struggle to receive supplies if those routes were cut off.
If war came from the north, it would reach her people first.
Richard knew that as well.
“I can send additional soldiers,” he said.
“Not yet.”
His brows lifted.
“If you move troops immediately after refusing the marriage, Fatima may interpret it as preparation for war.”
“Or preparation against one.”
“They may not care about the difference.”
Richard exhaled through his nose.
“So we wait.”
“We watch,” Seraphina corrected. “Increase patrols quietly. Have the border posts report anything unusual. Changes in merchant traffic, travelers taking unfamiliar routes, movement from Fatima. Anything that does not belong.”
Richard considered it.
“And you?”
“I return north when my duties here are finished.”
Celeste glanced toward her.
“You were planning to return soon regardless.”
“Yes.”
Seraphina had already spent longer in the capital than she preferred. Vaelmont required her attention, as did her soldiers and the responsibilities she had left in the hands of her officers.
And there were other matters waiting for her there that had nothing to do with Fatima.
Aurelian crossed her thoughts unexpectedly.
Golden hair against white snow.
Ruby eyes watching her with far too much concern.
His insistence on asking whether she had eaten, slept, or spent too many hours working.
A ridiculous man.
The thought brought an almost imperceptible softness to her expression before she pushed it aside.
This was hardly the time for it.
Richard rose from his chair once more.
“You understand that I am not changing my answer.”
“I did not ask you to.”
“You are warning me that refusing them may lead to war, and knowing that, you still believe I should have refused?”
Seraphina was silent for a moment.
Then her gaze shifted toward Celeste.
The queen met her eyes, and for an instant, Seraphina thought of the little girl her sister had raised. Serena was growing into a young woman, certainly, but she was still a child who deserved the freedom to discover what she wanted from life.
She should not have to carry the weight of an empire's peace upon her shoulders.
“I believe peace purchased by handing a fifteen-year-old girl to a stranger is not peace.”
Richard’s expression softened by the smallest degree.
Celeste reached across the table and took his hand.
“But,” Seraphina continued, “I also believe we would be fools to pretend there may not be a price for refusing.”
Richard looked down at his wife’s fingers intertwined with his.
“I know.”
His thumb brushed slowly across the back of Celeste’s hand.
“I knew when I gave them my answer.”
For a moment, he looked more tired than angry. He was a king responsible for the lives of countless people, but he was also a father who had just been asked to surrender his daughter for the promise of peace.
“If Fatima wishes for friendship, Evelina will answer with friendship. If they wish for trade, we will negotiate trade,” Richard said, his gaze returning to Seraphina. “But my daughter will not become payment for their restraint.”
“And if they decide restraint is no longer worthwhile?”
Richard was silent.
When he finally answered, there was no anger left in his voice.
Only certainty.
“Then we prepare for what follows.”
· · ─ ·☽𖤓☾· ─ · ·
The palace did not settle after the meeting.
If anything, it became quieter.
Not peaceful, but watchful.
By evening, additional guards had been stationed throughout the royal wing. Servants moved in smaller groups, doors that were normally left open had been closed, and every unfamiliar face was questioned before being allowed farther into the palace.
The Fatiman delegation had already departed.
Officially, they were returning to their accommodations elsewhere in the capital before beginning their journey home.
Seraphina did not like that.
She liked even less that there was nothing she could legally do about it.
Suspicion was not evidence, and a veiled threat was not a declaration of war. Whatever Seraphina personally believed about Eitan’s intentions, Evelina could not imprison foreign diplomats because she disliked the way they spoke.
So she waited and watched.
Hours after the meeting ended, Richard had summoned a smaller council to his private study.
Seraphina attended, not because Richard required her advice on diplomacy, but because she had refused to leave him alone.
Richard noticed, of course.
He had said nothing.
Celeste had.
“You have been following him for three hours.”
“I have not.”
“You stood outside his office while he signed correspondence.”
“That corridor required supervision.”
Celeste had smiled at her.
Seraphina had not.
Now, the three of them stood around a large table near the center of Richard’s study while two advisers reviewed reports gathered from the northern border.
Oil lamps burned along the walls, casting warm pools of light over shelves filled with books, maps, and royal records.
Richard leaned over the table.
“If we increase patrols here—”
“No.”
Seraphina pointed farther east.
“Here.”
One of the advisers frowned.
“That road is rarely used during winter.”
“Exactly.”
Seraphina moved one finger along the map.
“If someone intends to cross unnoticed, they will avoid the roads we already expect them to use. Increase the patrols near the lesser mountain routes. Not enough to attract attention. Two additional rotations.”
The adviser nodded and made a note.
Richard studied the map.
“And the southern approach?”
“Leave it unchanged for now.”
“You are certain?”
“No.”
Richard glanced up.
Seraphina met his eyes.
“I am cautious. There is a difference.”
That earned the faintest smile from Celeste.
Seraphina ignored it.
Her attention shifted toward the study doors.
Footsteps.
Three people.
One heavier than the others.
The first two stopped outside, while the third continued.
A moment later, there was a knock.
“Enter,” Richard called.
The door opened, and a palace servant stepped inside carrying a silver tray with wine and several crystal glasses.
Seraphina’s gaze settled upon him.
Young. Perhaps twenty.
Brown hair, standard palace uniform, nothing immediately remarkable.
Yet she could not remember seeing him before.
The royal household employed hundreds of servants, so that alone meant nothing. Still, something about his manner kept her attention.
The servant bowed.
“Your Majesty. Her Majesty.”
His hands were steady.
Too steady.
Most young servants brought before the king became at least slightly nervous, particularly on a day when the entire palace was under heightened security.
This one did not.
Seraphina watched his eyes.
He looked around the room, first at Richard, then Celeste. His gaze briefly wandered toward the windows and the guards outside.
When he looked at Seraphina, he quickly looked away.
There.
Seraphina straightened.
The servant approached the table.
“Wine from the western cellar, Your Majesty.”
Richard barely looked up.
“Leave it there.”
The servant stepped closer.
Seraphina’s attention dropped to the tray.
A bottle and glasses.
A silver pitcher.
A folded cloth.
Nothing else appeared unusual.
Then the servant’s right shoulder moved.
Barely.
Most people would not have noticed, but Seraphina did.
The movement was wrong.
His elbow angled inward, his weight shifted onto his rear foot, and his free hand disappeared beneath the cloth.
Seraphina moved.
“Down!”
The command cracked through the room.
Richard had enough experience with Seraphina to obey before asking why.
She seized the back of his coat and dragged him sideways.
The servant ripped his hand free.
Metal flashed.
A compact crossbow.
The bolt released.
It struck the carved chair behind Richard with enough force to bury itself halfway into the wood.
Celeste gasped, stumbling backward as one adviser froze in place.
Seraphina was already moving.
The tray crashed to the floor, wine spilling across the carpet as crystal shattered beneath her boots.
The assassin dropped the crossbow and reached beneath his coat.
Seraphina crossed the distance between them before he finished drawing his blade.
Her sword cleared its sheath.
One clean movement.
She struck his wrist with the flat of the blade.
Bone cracked.
The dagger dropped, and he recoiled, biting back a scream.
Seraphina stepped into him rather than away, driving her shoulder into his chest.
He hit the wall hard enough to knock a framed painting crooked.
He recovered quickly.
Faster than an ordinary servant should have.
His uninjured hand reached for something at his waist.
Seraphina saw the motion and kicked his knee sideways.
He collapsed.
Before he could fall fully, she twisted behind him, caught his arm, and drove him face-first into the floor.
Her blade settled against the side of his throat.
The entire exchange had taken only seconds.
The study doors burst open, and royal guards rushed inside.
Seraphina did not look at them. Her eyes remained narrowed on the man writhing beneath her.
“Do not kill him.”
The nearest guard stopped mid-stride.
Seraphina applied slightly more pressure to the assassin’s arm.
He hissed.
“Move again,” she said, “and you lose the shoulder.”
He stopped struggling.
Her voice had not risen, and that seemed to frighten him more than anything else.
“Commander?”
“Secure the room.”
The guards obeyed instantly. Two moved to Richard and Celeste, one shut the doors while another checked the windows, and the remaining soldiers approached the assassin.
Seraphina maintained her hold.
“Search him before you lift him.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
One guard knelt.
Seraphina watched every movement as he searched the man's clothing. She knew where soldiers concealed weapons because she had taught enough of them how to do it.
“Left boot,” she said.
The guard checked.
A narrow blade slid free.
“Inside his sleeve.”
Another weapon.
“Behind his belt.”
A thin wire.
Richard stared.
“How many weapons does one man need?”
“As many as he believes necessary to get the job done.”
Seraphina finally removed her sword from the assassin’s throat once both his arms had been bound.
Then she looked at Richard.
“Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Celeste?”
“I’m fine.”
Seraphina’s gaze moved over her sister anyway, checking her hands and upper body.
No blood.
Celeste's face had gone pale, and one of her hands trembled slightly as she gathered the fabric of her dress. She was trying to maintain her composure, but her eyes kept returning to the bolt embedded in her husband's chair.
Richard noticed as well.
He reached for her hand, and she took it immediately.
Only after confirming neither had been injured did some of the tension leave Seraphina’s posture.
Then the assassin convulsed.
Seraphina turned sharply.
“Hold him.”
The guards tightened their grip.
The man’s face twisted, his jaw moving strangely, and Seraphina’s stomach dropped.
“Open his mouth.”
One guard hesitated.
“Now!”
They forced his jaw open.
It was too late.
Foam had already begun collecting at the corners of his lips.
Seraphina crouched beside him.
“What did you take?”
The assassin's smile was barely visible.
His violet-tinged lips moved, but no answer came.
Then his body went limp.
One guard checked his pulse.
“Commander…”
“I know.”
Seraphina stared at the dead man.
Poison.
He had concealed it somewhere in his mouth, most likely a capsule tucked behind a tooth. Small enough to escape an ordinary search and prepared in advance for precisely this possibility.
He had never intended to be taken alive.
Seraphina slowly rose, her expression hardening as she examined the corpse.
The room had gone completely silent.
Everyone was looking at her.
Waiting.
That was when Seraphina became less a duchess and more entirely the Commander of the Royal Knights.
“Lock the palace.”
Richard looked at her.
“Seraphina—”
“No one enters or leaves.”
Her voice carried across the room with absolute authority.
“Seal every gate. Close the servants’ entrances. Double the guard at the royal apartments and Princess Serena’s rooms.”
The soldiers moved immediately.
“You,” she said, pointing toward one.
The knight straightened.
“Find Captain Ulrich. Tell him I want every guard who served in this wing today accounted for. Names, posts, and relief times.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“You.”
Another knight stepped forward.
“Bring the head of the royal household. I want every servant assigned to this floor identified.”
“Yes, Commander.”
She looked toward the adviser who remained frozen, his face drained of color as he struggled to comprehend how quickly an ordinary evening meeting had become an assassination attempt.
“Send word to the city watch. Quietly. The Fatiman delegation is not to be confronted yet.”
Richard frowned.
“Why not?”
“Because if this was ordered by Fatima and they learn the assassin failed, they may destroy whatever evidence remains.”
“And if they leave the capital?”
“They are already being watched.”
Richard looked at her.
Seraphina’s expression did not change.
“I assigned riders to follow them after the meeting.”
A pause.
Celeste looked almost impressed.
Richard looked less surprised.
“Of course you did.”
Seraphina turned back toward the body.
“Search him completely.”
The guards began removing items from the dead man’s clothing.
A small key.
A length of cord.
A folded scrap of paper covered in seemingly meaningless numbers.
Then one of them stopped.
“Commander.”
He held up a coin.
Seraphina took it.
It was unfamiliar to most people in the room, but not to her. She had spent enough years studying foreign currencies, supply lines, and military trade to recognize it.
Fatiman.
Richard saw her expression.
“What is it?”
She placed the coin on the table.
“Fatiman currency.”
The atmosphere shifted.
One adviser swore beneath his breath.
Celeste stared at the body while Richard’s expression hardened.
“So they send an assassin into my palace on the same day they threaten us.”
“We do not know that.”
Richard looked at her sharply.
“He has their coin.”
“He has a coin.”
“Seraphina.”
“I believe it is connected,” she replied calmly. “But belief is not proof. Anyone can carry foreign currency, and anyone can plant it on a corpse.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“You think someone is trying to make us believe Fatima did this?”
“I think we should consider every possibility until we know more.”
That was why she commanded armies.
Not merely because she was one of the strongest knights in Evelina, though very few could match her. Nor because of her title or her relationship to the queen.
She commanded because, when everyone else saw an enemy, Seraphina saw a battlefield.
She considered where the attack had come from, what the enemy wanted her to notice, and what they might be trying to hide. She understood the danger of allowing anger to dictate decisions before the truth was known.
Her gaze returned to the bolt embedded in Richard’s chair.
The assassin had entered the royal wing disguised as a servant. He had known where Richard would be, that a council was being held that evening, and enough about palace security to reach the study carrying multiple weapons.
That concerned her far more than the coin.
Someone had given him information.
And until she discovered who, she had no reason to believe the danger had passed.
Seraphina turned toward the guards.
“No one discusses Fatima outside this room.”
One adviser frowned.
“But if they ordered this—”
“If they ordered it, I will know.”
Her icy gaze moved across every face.
“And if they did not, then someone wants us angry enough to act before we know who our enemy is.”
No one argued.
Seraphina looked toward Richard.
“We need to move you.”
“I am not hiding in my bedchamber.”
Celeste touched his arm.
“Richard.”
He looked at his wife.
She raised one brow.
Richard sighed in defeat.
“Fine.”
Seraphina continued without acknowledging the victory.
“The inner royal apartments are easier to defend. Serena joins you there tonight.”
“And you?” Celeste asked.
“I am staying here until I know how he entered.”
Her sister frowned.
“Seraphina, you have been awake since before sunrise.”
“Yes.”
“You need rest.”
“No.”
There was no irritation in her answer.
Just fact.
Celeste knew that tone.
There would be no convincing her.
The dead assassin was carried away under armed guard while Seraphina remained in the study to examine the scene.
Broken glass littered the carpet near the overturned tray. The discarded crossbow lay where the assassin had dropped it, its small size suggesting it had been designed to be concealed rather than used in open combat.
She examined it briefly before turning toward the wine service.
One of the surviving glasses had rolled beneath the edge of the table.
Seraphina retrieved it.
Her eyes narrowed.
“The wine.”
A guard turned.
“Commander?”
“Do not let anyone drink it.”
Richard stared at her.
“You think it is poisoned?”
“I think a man willing to enter the king’s study with multiple weapons probably did not rely upon only those.”
The guard secured the bottle and removed it from the room for examination.
Seraphina stood, considering the evidence they had collected.
Everything about the attack bothered her.
The timing. The disguise. The weapons.
The coin.
Too much preparation had gone into this for it to have been an angry man acting alone.
Someone had planned the assassination, someone had provided information, and the poison suggested they had expected the assassin to die before he could answer questions.
But the most troubling detail was how easily he had reached the king.
Seraphina looked toward the guards stationed near the door.
Until the palace staff had been questioned and every security assignment examined, she would have to assume someone within the royal household had assisted him.
Her gaze drifted toward the northern map still spread across the table.
The border between Vaelmont and Fatima.
Negotiations were over.
Whether Richard wished to call it war yet or not, someone had brought violence into the palace.
Behind her, Richard approached.
“You believe this changes things.”
Seraphina did not look away from the map.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
He was silent.
She traced one finger along the northern border.
“If this attack is connected to Fatima, then they were willing to target you inside your own palace within hours of your refusal.”
“And if it is not?”
“Then someone wants us to believe they were.”
Richard frowned.
“Neither answer is comforting.”
“No.”
Seraphina finally looked at him.
“I need to return to Vaelmont.”
Richard studied her.
“You said earlier that moving soldiers could be interpreted as preparation for war.”
“It could.”
“What changed?”
Seraphina glanced toward the chair where the bolt still protruded from the wood.
“That.”
Richard followed her gaze.
For several moments, he said nothing.
He had escaped death by little more than a heartbeat. Had Seraphina reacted a moment later, Celeste might have been standing in this room beside her husband's corpse instead of listening to him argue about military preparations.
Richard was a difficult man to frighten, but the reality of what had nearly happened was not lost on him.
He looked toward the shattered glass still scattered across the carpet, then back at his sister-in-law.
No further explanation was necessary.
The north could no longer be left to routine patrols and optimistic assumptions.
Seraphina knew what war did to border territories.
The capital would hear rumors and debate declarations and treaties.
Vaelmont would see soldiers and bury people.
Her people would be the first asked to bleed if Richard and Fatima could no longer find their way back to diplomacy.
And Aurelian—
He was still there in her castle.
Far from Bellafonte.
Surrounded by mountains that could soon become a battlefield.
For the first time that night, something almost resembling fear slipped beneath Seraphina’s control.
She thought of his gentle smile, of the way he had spoken so earnestly about helping the northern villages, and how easily he had made himself at home among people who had initially regarded him as an outsider.
Aurelian had chosen to remain beside her, even knowing the dangers that came with her responsibilities.
And now those dangers threatened to become something far greater than either of them had anticipated.
The thought of him caught in the middle of a war made something tighten painfully in her chest.
She crushed the feeling immediately.
Fear could wait.
Planning could not.
Richard looked at her for a long moment.
Then the king straightened.
When he spoke again, his voice had changed.
He was no longer speaking to his sister-in-law.
“Commander Vaelmont.”
Seraphina turned fully toward him.
Her posture straightened.
“Your Majesty.”
“Return north.”
Celeste went still as Richard continued.
“Take whatever knights you require. Reinforce the border without provoking unnecessary conflict. Review every fortress, road, supply route, and village that could be threatened if Fatima moves against us.”
Seraphina listened without interruption.
“I want Vaelmont prepared.”
Richard’s gaze moved toward the bolt embedded in his chair.
When he looked at her again, there was no uncertainty left in his expression.
“For war.”
Seraphina bowed her head.
“As you command.”
Outside the study, bells began sounding across Evelina Palace.
Not celebration.
Not ceremony.
Lockdown.
Throughout the royal grounds, gates closed one after another as soldiers hurried to their assigned positions. The once-peaceful palace had become a fortress, its halls filled with the hurried footsteps of armed guards.
And far to the north, unaware of everything that had happened in the capital, Aurelian Bellafonte slept beneath Seraphina’s roof.
Directly in the path of whatever came next.
Chapter discussion