The morning of The Clocktower Rendezvous (Attempt #1) dawned with the subtlety of a slap to the face. Sunlight poured into my room, entirely too cheerful for the covert operations I was about to botch.
I stood before my wardrobe, a general surveying her tragically limited troops.
"The gray one says 'I am a modest shadow,'" I mused to Mira, who was holding three gowns with the patience of a saint. "The blue one whispers 'I have a passing acquaintance with melancholy.' But the green one…" I pointed a dramatic finger. "The green one screams 'I am a slightly suspicious shrub, but in a chic way.'"
Mira blinked. "My lady, they are all… gowns."
"You lack vision, Mira. This is psychological warfare. What does my foliage say to his… knight-ness?"
From the vanity, Gerald the unicorn's wooden gaze seemed to say, 'You're overthinking this.'Tick-Tock, the new miniature clocktower, just swung its pendulum in a steady, judgmental rhythm. Tick. Tock. You're going to embarrass yourself. Tock. Tick.
"The green," I decided. "I must become one with the garden. Camouflage is key."
Two hours later, I was regretting every life choice that led me to be crouched behind a giant laurel hedge in the clocktower garden, my chic green gown now collecting moss and existential dread.
Okay, Liriel. Deep breaths. You're not hiding. You're… tactically observing the ecosystem. Very noble. Very natural.
My book, held open to a random page on "The Etiquette of Bowing to Lesser Nobles," was my prop. I was ready. Heart pounding, ears straining for the sound of boots on gravel.
I heard them. Two sets.
Two? Panic, sharp and immediate, shot through me. The reconnaissance said he patrolled alone on Wednesdays! Valeria's intelligence network was clearly staffed by incompetent pigeons!
I peeked through the leaves. Cassian walked beside an older, severe-looking man in Ash Council robes—Lord Orin, if I remembered correctly from the game's boring noble registry. They were speaking in low, urgent tones.
"…the eastern tariffs cannot be¥¢¥£... if the Noctyra shipments are under scrutiny…" Lord Orin's voice was a dry rustle.
Noctyra shipments? Scrutiny? My blood ran cold. I leaned closer, forgetting I was a bush.
"…Darius Noctyra is too clever to leave a trail," Cassian responded, his voice calm but tense. "But the Ivory Court is pushing for an audit of all northern trade routes. It's a pretext."
An audit? Are they targeting Father? My shock was a physical jolt. My foot slipped on a damp stone.
The rustle I made was not the wind. It was the sound of a poorly balanced woman in a giant dress compromising state secrets.
Both men stopped dead. Lord Orin's head snapped toward my hedge. "What was that?"
Time froze.
I could see Cassian's profile, his gaze sharpening as it swept over the greenery. I held my breath, praying to any god who listened to turn me into actual topiary.
A long, terrible second passed.
Then, Cassian's voice, perfectly even. "Just the wind. The topiary here is notoriously overgrown and unstable. The groundskeeper should be reprimanded."
The groundskeeper should be reprimanded.
I was being insulted by my own bias. My heart, which had been hammering in fear, now hammered in indignant fury. Unstable?! I'll show you unstable!
Lord Orin grumbled about wasteful palace spending and moved on. Cassian cast one last, lingering look at my hedge—was that the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth?—before following.
I stayed in my leafy prison until long after their footsteps faded, slumped against the dirt.
"I am a disgrace to spies everywhere," I muttered, picking a twig from my hair. "I am the reason why villains monologue. At least they're competent enough to get caught after the evil plan."
—
Dejected, I slunk back to my chambers, my gown a lost cause. I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Gerald, Tick-Tock, mission failed. I have achieved nothing but a newfound understanding of garden soil composition and a deep-seated hatred for hedges."
Mira entered, took one look at my disheveled, earth-strewn state, and sighed.
"I'll draw a bath, my lady. Lady Valeria wishes to see you for… duet practice. She said to bring your 'least murderous voice.'"
Great. The second humiliation of the day.
Valeria's idea of "practice" was held in the most acoustically cruel room in the manor—the marble-floored echoing gallery.
"Alright, liability," she said, standing poised as a statue. "The song is 'The Knight's Silent Vow.' I will sing the melody. You will provide… atmospheric support."
"You mean the sounds a cat makes when you step on its tail?"
"I mean emotional resonance." She cleared her throat and began to sing.
Her voice was… breathtaking. Cold, clear, and piercingly beautiful, like ice cracking over a deep lake. It was the kind of voice that made you feel personally accused of something. She sang of silent devotion, of watching from afar, of love expressed only through protection and sacrifice.
It's him. She's singing his biography. This is evil genius-level trolling. My eyes actually pricked with tears.
For the character I loved, and for the real, tired man who'd just politely called me a poorly maintained shrub.
"Your turn," Valeria said, cutting off on a perfect, heartbreaking note.
I opened my mouth. What came out was a sound not unlike a door hinge protesting its existence. I tried to follow the tune, but my voice had a mind of its own, sliding off notes and landing with the grace of a dropped pudding.
Valeria listened, her face a mask of pained concentration. "Interesting. You've chosen a… microtonal interpretation. It's avant-garde."
"I'm just bad, Valeria. We can say it."
"Nonsense. It's authentic." A wicked gleam lit her eye. "When we perform, look soulful. Like you're channeling profound, inarticulable grief. They'll eat it up."
At that moment, Kael walked through the gallery on his way to the armory. He stopped, listened to my warbling attempt at the chorus for a solid five seconds.
"I'll arrange for the palace glassware to be reinforced," he stated, his voice flat as a sword blade. Then he continued walking.
"YOUR LACK OF FAITH WOUNDS ME, BROTHER!" I yelled after him, my shout echoing horribly off the marble.
Valeria pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tomorrow, just stand there and mouth the words after the first verse. We'll say you were… overcome by emotion."
—
That evening, as I was miserably attempting to gargle away my vocal shame, Mira burst into my room, her eyes wide.
"My lady! News from the knights' quarters!"
I spat out the lavender water. "What? Did they file a formal complaint about the noise?"
"No! The Captain has reassigned the patrol rotations! Viscount Veldt's Wednesday route has been changed. He won't be at the clocktower garden anymore!"
My heart plummeted to my shoes, taking my last shred of hope with it. He changed his route. Because of me. Because I'm a security risk. A noisy, unstable topiary risk.
"Oh," I said, the sound small and pathetic.
"But!" Mira leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. "His new route… it passes by the palace's western rehearsal hall. During the afternoon practice sessions. Starting tomorrow."
I froze.
The rehearsal hall.
Where Valeria and I would be having our final practice tomorrow.
Where my terrible, microtonal wailing would be on full display.
The pieces clicked together with a nearly audible snap.
He wasn't avoiding me.
He was… changing venues.
A slow, disbelieving grin spread across my face. I looked at the tiny, perfect hedge carving sitting on my shelf—the one that had appeared after my botanical espionage failure.
It wasn't a reprimand. It was a receipt. I saw you. You were bad at it. Here's a souvenir.
And now he'd engineered a way to hear the duet.
I picked up Gerald and Tick-Tock, holding one in each hand. "Gentlemen," I whispered, giddy excitement bubbling up. "The game is afoot. And I think… I think the quiet knight is playing to win."
Tick-Tock's pendulum swung, catching the candlelight. Tick. Tock. He's several steps ahead. Tock. Tick. Try to keep up.
I was still a disaster. A walking, singing, shrub-concealed catastrophe.
But for the first time, I didn't feel like I was running a one-woman rescue mission for a doomed character.
It felt like a dance.
And my partner had just asked for the next song.
~🫶