The first week after the accusation, I buried myself in work.
Cases piled on my desk. Reports from border scouts about Rumanth troop movements. Intelligence about noble houses suspected of maintaining Theron's networks. Requests from the Emperor for investigations into ministers he didn't trust. I took all of it. Every case, every lead, every impossible task.
Better to drown in duty than think about Edrin's face when I'd accused him. Better to work until my hands stopped shaking than remember how his father had looked at me with pity and disappointment.
Joss found me in my office three days in, still wearing the same clothes, surrounded by maps and documents.
"You need to sleep," he said.
"I need to finish this."
"Ryn."
"Don't." I didn't look up from the report I was reading. "Don't tell me I'm destroying myself. Don't tell me I need rest. Just let me work."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled up a chair and started organizing the scattered papers. Not arguing. Not lecturing. Just being there.
That was Joss. Always there. Never demanding.
I wondered sometimes if he knew how much I needed that.
The second week, the Emperor summoned me.
His private study, late evening. No council, no advisors. Just him and the weight of expectations I was still learning to carry.
"You're taking too many cases," he said without preamble.
"I can handle them."
"Can you? Or are you running from something?" He gestured to the chair across from his desk. I sat.
"My son has not spoken to you since the accusation."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "No, Your Majesty."
"Does that bother you?"
"It's his right."
"That's not what I asked." He leaned back in his chair, studying me. "Edrin is many things. Political. Calculating. Sometimes ruthless. But he's not petty. If he's withdrawn from you completely, it's because you hurt him."
"I was doing my job."
"You were protecting yourself. There's a difference." He paused. "You thought you could trust him. Started to believe he might be genuine. Then your fear made you strike first before he could betray you."
The words landed like blows. Accurate. Terrible.
"I apologized."
"Apologies don't heal everything, Warden. Some wounds cut too deep." He stood and walked to the window. "My son has decided to focus on his duties. He supports your work publicly. Privately, he's done trying to convince you he's not your enemy."
"I understand."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you've lost the best ally you had in this palace. And you'll need allies, Ryn. The work I'm giving you, the investigations, the threats you'll face. You can't do it alone."
"Then I'll find other allies."
"Will you? Or will you push them away too, the moment they get close enough to matter?"
I had no answer for that.
He turned from the window. "Learn to navigate this court, Warden. Learn its games, its alliances, its dangers. Because you're valuable to me. But value only matters if you survive long enough to use it."
I left his study understanding that I'd been given both warning and opportunity.
The Emperor saw me as useful. A weapon. A tool.
I just had to make sure I became indispensable before someone decided I was expendable.
The third week, I attended my first major court function as Imperial Warden.
A reception for visiting dignitaries from the southern provinces. Nobles in silk and jewels, wine flowing like water, conversations that were three parts performance and one part actual meaning.
I wore my uniform. Let them see the sword at my hip, the insignia on my collar. Let them remember what I was.
"Captain Halvar." A woman approached, middle-aged, expensive clothes, calculating eyes. "Or should I say, Imperial Warden now?"
"Warden is fine."
"Lady Meren. House Talvek." She smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "I've been following your work with great interest. The conspiracy trials. The ministers' executions. Very thorough."
"Thank you."
"Some say too thorough. That you've made powerful enemies." She sipped her wine. "But I think you've simply made it clear that no one is untouchable. That's valuable. To the right people."
"And you're the right people?"
"House Talvek has always supported strong imperial authority. We believe the Crown should have the tools it needs to maintain order." Her smile widened slightly. "We'd like to support your work, Warden. Resources. Information. Connections. All offered freely, of course."
"Of course. And what does House Talvek want in return?"
"Nothing immediate. Just goodwill. The knowledge that when you investigate threats to the realm, you'll remember who your friends are."
I understood perfectly. They wanted insurance. Protection from my investigations in exchange for helping me investigate others.
This was how it worked. How power actually moved in Cerasis.
"I'll consider your offer," I said carefully.
"Please do." She inclined her head and moved away, already approaching another target.
I watched her go and felt something settle in my chest. Not comfort. Recognition.
I was learning the game. Starting to understand the rules Edrin had tried to teach me.
Too late for him to see it. But not too late to use it.
Across the room, I caught sight of Edrin. He stood with a group of ministers, his wife beside him. Lady Cassia said something and he smiled, attentive and charming.
The perfect prince. The dutiful husband.
Our eyes met for a brief moment. His expression didn't change. No warmth. No recognition. Just cold assessment, like I was any other courtier.
Then he turned back to his conversation, and I was dismissed.
It hurt more than I wanted to admit.
I'd thought, after everything, that maybe there could be something real between us. That his care had been genuine. That I could let myself trust one person in this poisonous city.
His withdrawal proved I'd been right to be suspicious. Right to investigate. Right to protect myself.
So why did being right feel so much like loss?
"He's playing a game." Joss appeared at my elbow, following my gaze. "Making you feel the absence. Making you want what you pushed away."
"I don't want anything from him."
"Liar." He handed me a glass of wine. "But it's probably better this way. Princes are dangerous. Especially ones who know how to make you care."
"I don't care."
"Right. That's why you've been watching him for the past ten minutes."
I didn't have an answer for that either.
We stayed at the reception for another hour. I made connections. Learned names. Started building the network I'd need to survive.
And I tried very hard not to notice every time Edrin laughed at something his wife said.
Tried and failed.
The fourth week, I stopped sleeping properly.
Not from overwork this time. From dreams.
I'd close my eyes and see Harven falling. Maer captured. Sael disappearing into the river. Everyone I'd lost or failed, bleeding out while I made the same choice over and over.
The mission. Always the mission.
And then I'd wake up, alone in rooms too large for one person, and wonder if I'd made the right choices.
If choosing duty over people was heroic or just cowardice with better justifications.
Joss found me in the palace training yard one morning before dawn, working through sword forms until my arms shook.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
"Don't want to."
"Dreams?"
"Something like that." I completed the form and started again. "You ever regret following me here?"
"No."
"Why not? I've brought you nothing but danger and investigations that make enemies. You could've stayed in Droupet. Had a normal life."
"Normal is boring. And you're my friend." He picked up a practice sword. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't work yourself to death."
We sparred for an hour. It helped. The physical exhaustion, the focus required, the simple clarity of blade against blade.
When we finished, Joss said, "The dreams will get better. Eventually."
"You have them too?"
"Everyone who's seen what we've seen has them. You just learn to carry them better."
"How?"
"By remembering why you're still fighting. By believing it matters." He paused. "And by letting people help you carry the weight. Not alone. Never alone."
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to think I could let people in without them getting hurt or leaving or betraying me.
But everyone who'd tried had ended up gone.
Except Joss.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For staying."
"Always."
The fifth week, I received my first major solo assignment.
The Emperor summoned me to his war room. Maps of the realm spread across tables, military markers showing troop positions and supply lines.
"Theron is in Toma," he said without preamble. "My spies have confirmed it. She's building something. A new network. New alliances. Planning her return."
"What do you need from me?"
"Intelligence. I want to know who she's meeting with, what she's planning, when she intends to move. You'll coordinate with my spymasters, but you have full authority. This is your operation."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Edrin will assist. He has contacts in Toma through his trade connections. You'll work together."
My stomach twisted. "Your Majesty, perhaps someone else—"
"No." His voice was firm. "You're my Imperial Warden. He's my heir. You will work together. Professionally. Whatever personal issues exist between you, put them aside. The realm's security matters more."
He was right. And I hated that he was right.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good. The first briefing is tomorrow. Edrin will present his intelligence contacts. You'll plan operational strategy. Make it work, Warden. I don't accept excuses."
I left the war room knowing I'd just been handed both opportunity and punishment.
The chance to prove myself on a major investigation.
And the requirement to face Edrin every day, knowing he'd chosen to stop caring.
That night, I stood at my window looking out over Cerasis. The city spread below me, thousands of lights, millions of people, all of them going about their lives while I carried secrets that could shake the realm.
I thought about who I'd been when I arrived. A Warden from Droupet with evidence and hope and the naive belief that justice would be enough.
Five weeks in the capital had taught me differently.
Justice wasn't enough. Truth wasn't enough. Even being right wasn't enough.
What mattered was power. Position. The ability to survive in a place designed to break people like me.
Edrin had tried to tell me that. Had offered to teach me. Had extended his hand.
And I'd bitten it.
Now I'd have to learn on my own. Build my own network. Forge my own alliances. Become dangerous enough that people thought twice before moving against me.
I pressed my palm against the glass, feeling the cold seep into my skin.
"I barely know you anymore," I whispered to my reflection.
But maybe that was good. Maybe the girl from Droupet needed to die so the Imperial Warden could be born.
Maybe losing myself was the price of surviving Cerasis.
I just hoped, when it was over, there'd be enough of me left to remember why I'd started fighting in the first place.
Behind me, Joss knocked softly and entered without waiting for permission.
"First briefing tomorrow," he said. "With Edrin."
"I know."
"You ready?"
"No. But I'll do it anyway."
"That's my captain." He moved to stand beside me at the window. "For what it's worth, I think you're handling this better than you think you are."
"I falsely accused the Crown Prince. I've made enemies of half the court. I can't sleep without dreaming of everyone I've lost. And I'm about to work with a man who hates me. That's handling it well?"
"You're still standing. Still fighting. Still trying to do the right thing even when it costs you." He bumped his shoulder against mine. "That counts for something."
Maybe it did.
Or maybe I was just too stubborn to know when to quit.
Either way, tomorrow I'd face Edrin. Work with him. Pretend his coldness didn't cut.
And I'd do my job. Because that's what I was now.
The Emperor's weapon.
The capital's Warden.
A woman who'd chosen duty over every personal connection and was slowly learning to live with the consequences.
I just had to hope the cost didn't become too high to bear.