[Emerald Castle, Prince Alden's Bedchamber]
Outside, the sky was the color of dark slate. Thunder grumbled low in the distance, a vibration felt deep in the stone walls.
Elara pressed the door inward. The smell of sandalwood sat heavy in her nose, mingled now with the sharp, cold bite of the storm.
She looked to the bed—silk covers pulled tight, pillows square and undisturbed.
The room was empty.
Elara's lips twitched upward. She shook her head and set the tray down on the side table. She smoothed the bedspread, though there wasn't a wrinkle to be found. Her hand stayed on the fabric. She looked at the armor stand, remembering a time when the boy's head barely cleared the breastplate.
Her fingers trailed over the embroidered sash on the table, flattening it just as she had when he was a child learning the ways of court dress—guiding small fingers through the weave, folding cloth over and under until he could manage the task alone.
She set the ceremonial ornaments with care upon the low table by the window.
Her vision blurred as she thought of the time when her mistress still drew breath. A memory from eighteen years past.
She was combing Empress Cassandra's dark hair—a deep shade unlike anything else in this land. Suddenly, the Empress spoke.
"Elara, won't you promise me something?"
Elara did not stop the comb. "Promise what, Empress?"
"When my child is born... he will need someone," the Empress's voice was soft. "To take care of him..."
"You can do that yourself, dear Empress."
"You know I can't..."
Elara froze. Her hand trembled. She swallowed and nodded. "Yes. I promise. I will watch over him until he comes of age. Then I will join you."
"Don't be in such a hurry. You never know, he might be demanding. He may not let you go..." Empress Cassandra's dark eyes crinkled.
"Can't be needier than you..." Elara forced a smile.
"Whose son do you think he is?" Empress Cassandra lifted her chin, the way she always did when she was certain of a thing. "Just wait and watch. He might even surpass me."
They had both laughed then. But now she was alone.
"My lady, you were right enough..." Elara whispered to the hollow room as thunder snarled outside. "He still makes this old woman do everything... won't even let a single servant near him."
She stared at the door. Beyond it, the halls carried whispers and sneers. Half-brothers watched from the shadows. Consorts hid behind painted fans, eyes tracking the Crown Prince like wolves tracking a hamstrung deer.
Elara's jaw set hard. She planted her feet on the stone. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Now, I have much to do."
She moved to the window. Even with the gale blowing, she fixed the curtains, making sure the heavy cloth wouldn't topple the jade ring sitting there.
But she left the window standing open.
The sandalwood scent hung in the air. She stepped back from the window, casting one last look around the room.
Everything in order.
Finally closing the door with quiet respect, she started down the hall.
"Oh!" Elara stopped short.
Turning a corner near the servants' entrance, she nearly ran into someone coming the other way.
Limon's hand shot out, steadying her by the elbow. His brows went up. "Elara. Is His Highness awake?"
"No. He is still sleeping." Elara shook her head, patting Limon's arm. "Please handle the court today. In case the boy is tired and needs rest. The last two days were quite hard on him."
Limon nodded, his face relaxing. "Don't worry. His Highness does not need to attend court yet; he just does so out of... habit. I will let them know."
"You care for him a great deal, Lord Limon."
He winced. "Just Limon, Miss. I'd feel better that way."
Elara laughed, a quiet, short sound. "What a kind man you are. His Highness is lucky to have a friend like you."
She reached out, resting her hands on Limon's forearm. "Please keep looking after him… even when I am not here to do it."
"Don't say things like that." Limon gripped her hands. "You must live a hundred years. And I'll definitely take care of him."
"Of course," Elara smiled, her eyes soft. "What a relief..."
In the quiet corridor, shadowed by the storm, they stood together.
"Let me be on my way, Limon. I must make breakfast before His Highness wakes."
Limon nodded and turned back toward the Administrative Wing.
Elara went on toward the kitchens. She would make his breakfast herself today. The herbal tonic. Fresh fruit. Warm bread with honey. Maybe the smoked fish he loved as a boy.
[Silver Star Tower – Upper Laboratory]
Tower Master Geralt shoved open the heavy door of his laboratory. Sulfur and ozone tasted faint in the air.
Today was the day. The alignment was right to mix the two volatile reagents in the stasis chamber—the last piece needed to finish the equation he had spent years hunting.
He walked toward his table. A splash of white against the dark wood caught his eye.
A letter.
Geralt stopped. His brow creased. "What is this? Didn't I tell Rhodri not to clutter my table with letters? That fool."
He snatched the envelope, fingers brushing the wax seal.
He paused. Not the seal of the Academy or the Alchemy Guild. Red wax, stamped with two silver crossed swords.
The Crown Prince's seal.
His stomach dropped. Again?
He tore the envelope open, brows furrowing deeper. No greeting. No signature. Just one line in sharp, elegant script:
[Did you really think you could hide from me?]
Geralt froze, color draining from his face. "Rhodri!" he roared.
Another disciple, Feroz, rushed in, stopping at the threshold. "Master, senior Rhodri hasn't returned. He went to check on Bofur."
"What? Then who brought this letter..." Geralt shouted.
"I have no idea..." Feroz bowed apologetically.
"Bring Rhodri to me..." Before Geralt could finish, a shout rang out.
"Master! Master... Urgent problem." Rhodri stumbled in, gasping for air.
"You are finally here... What are you shouting for?"
Rhodri gasped, clutching his knees. "Master... Bo... Bofur is dead."
"What do you mean dead?" Geralt's voice whipped out.
"He... he picked a fight with a cloaked stranger while drunk. The man killed him in a rage." Rhodri stammered.
"Where is the delivery? Did you bring it back?"
"The... the Bavarium supply... it's gone. And the Poppy pods. We found no trace."
"What? Could it just vanish?" Geralt snorted.
Rhodri replied helplessly. "It happened in a slum tavern. Items without owners disappear fast there."
"Never mind. When did this letter come?" Geralt shoved the paper into his disciple's face. It fell to the ground.
Rhodri blinked. "Letter? What letter, Master? I haven't brought anything up today." He bent to pick the letter from the floor.
"Only you and I have keys to this level. How did this letter get in?"
Then Geralt's own face went white, eyes going wide.
"The wards..."
'If the Prince could bypass the wards to leave a note, he could bypass them for anything.'
"Go." His voice was a whisper. Then he screamed, "Immediately! Check the South Archives. Check every document on the forbidden research. Now!"
Rhodri scrambled back, tripping on his robes before sprinting out.
Geralt sank onto a stool. Sweat pricked his forehead as he stared at the door, counting the seconds.
Half an hour later, Rhodri returned, clutching his chest.
Geralt stood so fast his chair clattered down. "Anything missing?"
"Nothing." Rhodri shook his head. "I checked the logs and the shelves. Everything is exactly where it belongs. Besides, wouldn't the alarm ring if the seals were broken?"
Geralt let out a long breath and slumped back into his chair. "Safe. It's safe."
He looked at the letter. The two swords seemed to mock him.
"Master," Rhodri ventured. "If the Crown Prince's men trespassed... shouldn't we complain to the Emperor? It's a violation of Tower sovereignty."
Geralt's head snapped up. "You moron."
"Master?"
"Do you still not see what this letter means?" Geralt slammed his hand on the table. "He already knows everything..."
Rhodri's face paled.
"And now... he's taunting us. He walked in here, past our best defenses, just to prove he could." Geralt's lips peeled back. His face went from white to red.
"The... the pawn. Right... we had one," Geralt mumbled. He shook Rhodri's shoulders hard. "Wh... what about the pawn in the palace?"
Rhodri's eyes widened. He took a hasty step back. "The... the pawn is ready, Master. Whenever you order, we can—"
"In two days." Geralt cut himself off. His jaw tightened. "No. Right now. Send the signal." He stared Rhodri down. "Tell him to finish it tonight if he wants his family safe."
"Bu—But Master!" Rhodri's voice dropped to a strangled whisper. "If we're caught, it's treaso—"
"Shut up!" Geralt turned to stare into the furnace fire. "It's nothing if there is no proof."
He took the letter from Rhodri's fidgeting hands and tossed it into the flames. The Crown Prince's seal melted into nothing.
"It will just be a tragedy. A devoted son, dying of heartbreak. What does that have to do with us?"
[Emerald Castle, Prince Alden's Bedchamber]
The velvet curtains, soaked heavy at the hems, whipped and snapped in the gale.
A shadow jumped through the window, wrapped in black cloth from head to boot, only eyes visible.
The man took one step toward the massive four-poster bed, making no sound.
Another step. A flash of lightning bleached the room white.
On the bed, a form lay deep beneath a heavy indigo quilt. Only the back of the head showed—a tangle of dark hair resting against the white pillow, still as stone.
Lightning flared again, followed by a crack of thunder. The figure stood right beside the mattress. A long, thin dagger raised high.
With terrible force, it plunged down, sinking to the hilt in the center of the sleeper's back. The quilt shook with the impact. No cry was heard. Just a wet thud, barely audible beneath the storm.
The assassin wrenched the blade free. A dark stain bloomed on the quilt, soaking the silk. Just to be sure, he struck again. And again.
No response. No sign of life.
The shadow melted back toward the window just as the heavy oak door creaked.
Elara bustled in, balancing a wooden tray. "I know you need rest, my Prince, but you must eat something warm on a day like—"
The smell hit her first. Not the herbal tonic and bread she carried, but something copper-sharp and warm.
Then, lightning flickered. Again.
She saw the bed. The bloody quilt. The dark hair on the pillow matted in red.
The tray slipped from numb fingers. Bowls crashed to the floor, scattering shards.
A moment passed.
Elara stared, frozen.
Finally, a scream tore from her throat—a sound of horror that cut through the howling wind.
The assassin, already at the sill, didn't look back. He vaulted into the storm and vanished.
Minutes stretched like hours. Elara was on her knees in the spilled breakfast, hands over her mouth, sobbing.
Heavy, armored boots hammered down the hall.
"Make way!"
Captain Lut burst through the door, sword drawn, chest heaving. "Your Highness! Is everything alright?"
Torchlight flooded in.
Behind him, four guards crowded in, halberds raised. Their eyes went to Elara, then to the bed.
A collective gasp.
Lut froze, lowering his sword slowly. The amount of blood soaking the bedding was catastrophic.
"Secure the exits!" Lut barked, the order sharp enough to cut the air. "Search the grounds! Now!"
He caught the eye of the nearest guard, tone dropping dangerously. "And not a word of what you saw. Out. Every one of you."
The four guards scrambled back into the hall.
Lut holstered his sword with a shaking hand and approached the bed. Rain hammered the open window, plastering curtains to the wet stone.
He stopped by the bedside, looking down at the ruin.
Lut reached out, gauntleted hand hovering, then pressing two fingers against the neck, just beneath the dark hair. The skin was cold. There was no life.
He pulled his hand back and looked at the sobbing maid, face grim in the stormy light.
"He has no pulse," Lut said, voice flat. "He's dead."
[Imperial Palace, The Grand Courtroom]
The Grand Courtroom was insulated from the storm, though thunder vibrated through the floorboards now and then.
The Emperor sat on the Golden Throne, a statue of apathy in heavy robes. Below him, the court murmured.
Duke Helbart stepped up, brow furrowed in concern. He looked pointedly at the empty spot to the Emperor's right.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Helbart began, voice echoing in the hall. "Forgive the intrusion, but I notice… why is His Highness, the Crown Prince, not here?"
Duke Ashvale and Duke Varik exchanged a look across the aisle. Neither had an answer.
Viremont stood. "His Highness is not required to join the court," he stated bluntly. "His attendance yesterday was voluntary. His absence today is his prerogative."
Ashvale nodded. "Duke Viremont is right. The Prince has no duties until his Coming of Age."
"Technically true," Helbart countered, face twisting into a mask of worry. "But his mother... the late Empress... has only just passed. He was here yesterday, showing strength. Now, this absence? It troubles me."
Duke Viremont sneered. "What are you suggesting, My Lord?"
Helbart placed a hand over his heart, voice dropping to a whisper. "Grief can drive a young man to terrible things. Perhaps we should send someone to check on him. Just to ensure he hasn't... harmed himself."
The murmurs grew louder. Duke Viremont opened his mouth to speak before the herald cried out.
"Announcing Consort Rosa!"
The heavy doors swung. Consort Rosa walked in, a woman of thirty-seven with deep rose hair and eyes. Dressed in somber silk, she bowed before the Emperor.
"Your Majesty," she said, voice trembling. "I heard the concerns while passing through the hallway. His Highness is young, and having just lost his mother... I worry about his mind." Letting her voice carry the plea, she lowered her head. "I ask permission to visit him personally."
She looked up, eyes wide. "My servants will accompany me, of course, so propriety will be maintained. He is like my own son, Jeremy, to me. I simply wish to bring him comfort."
"As his uncle," Helbart added, stepping next to her, "I should visit as well. We must ensure the boy is safe."
Viremont stared at them, then turned to Marquis Ashford, Rosa's father. The Marquis was nodding in agreement.
"Your Imperial Majesty!"
The voice cut the tension. Limon hurried to the center, bowing low. He looked composed, though sweat glistened on his brow.
"There is no need for alarm," Limon announced, voice steady. "Last night, His Highness mourned until late. The grief... it exhausted him. He slept late, missing the start."
He straightened, facing the Dukes and Consort with a polite, hard smile. "However, he expected this. He told me to act as proxy. Please do not mind his absence. I beg you allow him rest. He prefers to mourn alone."
Helbart's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak.
The Emperor finally moved. He nodded slowly at Limon.
"Very well," the Emperor's voice boomed, ending it. "Since the Prince's aide says he is fine, there is no need to worry. We will respect his mourning." He waved a hand at Rosa and Helbart. "Let us focus on proceedings. Consort Rosa, take your leave."
Rosa pressed her lips together but bowed. "As you wish, Your Majesty." She retreated, shooting a sharp look at Helbart, then at Marquis Ashford.
The Chamberlain stepped forward, unrolling a scroll. "The proceedings shall begin. First: reports from the western border. Remnants of Vaelthorne are forming a rebel group. According to Intelligence..."
Gradually the court descended into talk of rebels, trade routes, housing, and taxes.
In the back of the room, Limon let out a long, silent sigh.