My world contracted to a narrow, well-monitored corridor. The terms of my probation were precise and suffocating. I was permitted to attend my scheduled classes, take meals in the main hall at designated times, and visit the library for academic purposes only. All other required movement had to be logged with the proctor's office, stating time, destination, and reason. A weekly "spiritual guidance" session with Inquisitor Arcturus Greyford was mandatory.
My first session was that afternoon. His office was a stark, stone-walled room in the clergy's wing, smelling of incense and old parchment. Inquisitor Greyford was a man in his fifties with a face like a hatchet and eyes the colour of flint. He did not smile.
"Sit, Lady Thorne." He gestured to a hard wooden chair opposite his desk. "Our purpose is to examine the moral lapse that led you into proximity with sin and to fortify your spirit against future… stumbles."
I sat, folding my hands in my lap, the picture of contrite nobility. "I am eager for guidance, Inquisitor."
He studied me, his gaze uncomfortably penetrating. "Your academic record shows a recent, marked shift. From mediocre performance in social arts to exceptional focus on history, law, and magical theory. A sudden awakening of intellect. Or a calculated change of mask."
The threat was veiled but clear. He was not here to save my soul; he was here to dissect my behaviour for Cassian. The Church and the Crown were intertwined, and Greyford was likely the Prince's eyes inside my mind.
"A brush with mortality can focus one's priorities, Inquisitor," I said softly. "I realised I knew nothing about the world I was meant to inherit. Ignorance is its own sin, is it not?"
A flicker of surprise in his flinty eyes. He hadn't expected a theological counter. "A prudent observation. But knowledge without wisdom is a sword without a hilt. It cuts the wielder. Your recent pursuits have led you into a viper's nest."
"I sought only to understand trade routes and border treaties, to be a more dutiful heir. I did not seek the vipers. They found me." I let a hint of genuine bitterness colour my tone—the bitterness of Rosalind, the pawn.
He made a note in a ledger. "We shall focus on wisdom, then. On discernment. You will read from the Canticles of Humility and provide a written reflection for our next meeting. You will also attend the dawn service in the academy chapel each day. Faith is the foundation of proper judgement."
It was a leash. The readings were tedious propaganda on obedience to higher authority. The dawn services would eat into my precious, secret training time. But to refuse was to invite deeper suspicion.
"As you wish, Inquisitor."
Leaving his office, I felt the walls of my new cage solidify. Every move would be analysed. My only freedom was in the library, and even that came with conditions.
I went there directly. The librarian, now aware of my probation, gave me a sympathetic nod but pointedly recorded my time of entry. I headed for the history section, pulling texts on early imperial Church law—a subject fitting both my cover and my real need to understand the systems controlling me.
As I reached for a heavy volume, a hand brushed against mine on the shelf. Prince Lucian stood beside me, pulling a book on economic philosophy. He didn't look at me.
"Inquisitor Greyford is a veteran of doctrinal purges in the eastern provinces," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "He believes sin is a stain to be scrubbed raw. He reports directly to the Archbishop, who plays chess with my brother. Your reflections will be dissected for heresy or rebellion. Write boringly."
"I intended to," I whispered back, turning a page in my book.
"Good. The dungeon is less comfortable than the library." He slid his book out. "Your confinement creates opportunities. Seraphina is gone. Her network here is leaderless and afraid. Now is the time to map it. Look for who is suddenly nervous, who is avoiding you too pointedly, and who is trying too hard to be your friend."
"And how do I do that while being watched?"
"You are a project of spiritual reform. What better way to reform than to show charity to those you may have wronged? Seek out those you've 'offended' with your past behaviour. Apologise. Be meek. Listen." He finally glanced at me, a spark of cunning in his stormy eyes. "A penitent hears many confessions."
It was brilliant. Use the expectation of my repentance as a cover for investigation.
I spent the next days enacting Lucian's strategy. I approached Lady Clara, a gentle girl I'd once snubbed for being too bookish. "I behaved terribly. I am trying to be better. Can you forgive me?" She blinked, then beamed, launching into a detailed review of her latest research on water-magic purification—a subject that made my Saint's soul ache with familiarity.
I apologised to a junior lord for laughing at his stumble in equestrian class. He blushed, then admitted that his distraction stemmed from Vale affiliates pressuring his father to vote against a northern border subsidy.
Slowly, a map of Seraphina's influence emerged. It wasn't just her inner circle. It was a web of favours, blackmail, and financial pressure that extended to faculty appointments and even the kitchen staff. She hadn't just been aiming for the crown; she'd been building a small, private empire within the academy.
And now, with her gone, the web was trembling. Notes were being misplaced. Whispers were more frantic. I saw a professor of alchemy—the one who had overseen Gavin's exam—jump when I entered a room.
The most telling reaction, however, came from the last person I expected.
During a mandated walk in the courtyard (logged: "contemplation of divine creation"), I passed a figure huddled on a bench near the frost-bitten rose bushes. Lady Elara Frost, swathed in a heavy cloak, was sketching with furious intensity. She looked up as I passed, her usual cheer absent.
"Rosalind. Come sit. The watchdog over there," she nodded subtly toward a proctor standing by the archway, "can't fault you for consorting with a Northern ally. It's practically diplomatic."
I sat. "You're still here? I thought your brother's delegation would have left."
Her expression tightened. "He left. I stayed. Officially, I stayed to 'continue cultural exchange'. Unofficially, because he's worried." She lowered her voice. "After the inquiry, he received a report from the border. Monster activity is spiking in a specific sector—the one directly east of the Thorne March. It's not a wave; it's a directed push. Something is testing the wards there."
The Thorne March. My family's lands. A cold knot formed in my stomach. "Why tell me?"
"Because he told me to. He said, 'Tell her to watch the eastern books.' I think he meant library books. Also, he said you'd understand." She looked at me, her grey eyes searching. "I don't understand. But I trust him. And I'm starting to trust you. So. Watch the eastern books."
Kaelen was passing me intelligence. He knew I was locked down, so he was using his sister and coded messages. Eastern books. The eastern wing of the library? Or books about the East?
The proctor coughed pointedly. My allotted "contemplation" time was ending.
"Thank you, Elara," I said, standing.
"Be careful, Rosalind. My brother isn't the only one getting reports. Cassian has eyes everywhere, and not all of them are human." She went back to her sketching, her face grim.
I returned to my room, my mind churning. Eastern books. Monster surge near my homeland. The pieces were not separate. The political game at the academy and the military threat at the border were connected. Seraphina's plot, the system, Cassian's ambition—they were all threads of the same decaying tapestry.
That night, as I penned my insufferably bland reflection on humility for Inquisitor Greyford, I felt the holy power stir restlessly within me, a caged bird beating against its ribs. It reacted to the corruption I was uncovering, to the looming threat. The pressure was building.
I was in a gilded cage, yes. But I was using its bars to take the measure of my enemies. And with every passing day, the lock felt a little more fragile, and the power within me glowed a little brighter, waiting for the moment it would demand to be free