Three days after the Conclave, someone tried to kill Ken.
He didn't see it coming.
One moment he was walking through the Darkwood manor gardens, trying to clear his head. The next, a figure dropped from the trees—blade aimed at his throat.
Ken's body moved.
He caught the assassin's wrist, twisted, and threw them both to the ground. The knife skittered away. They rolled, grappling, until Ken ended up on top with his forearm pressed against—
"Wait wait wait—it's me!"
Ken froze.
Brown hair. Green eyes. A familiar smirk beneath the assassin's mask.
"You," Ken breathed.
The woman beneath him grinned. "Miss me?"
---
Seraphina burst into the garden five seconds later, dagger drawn and murder in her eyes. She stopped dead at the scene: Ken straddling a giggling assassin, both of them covered in grass and dirt.
"What," Seraphina said flatly, "is going on?"
The assassin pushed her mask up. "Testing him. Obviously."
"Raya." Seraphina's voice could have frozen fire. "You what?"
"Relax, Sera. He passed." The woman—Raya—patted Ken's cheek. "Nice reflexes, your highness. The old you would've broken my wrist though. Gotta work on that."
Ken climbed off her, utterly confused. "Someone want to explain?"
Seraphina sheathed her dagger with enough force to suggest she wanted to stab something. "This is Raya. Your spymaster. And apparently still an idiot."
"Spymaster?" Ken looked at the grinning woman. "I have a spymaster?"
"Had. Have. Whatever." Raya stood, brushing herself off. "I've been running Darkwood intelligence for sixty years. When you disappeared, I kept working. Someone had to make sure our enemies didn't get too comfortable."
"And your first move upon my return is to try to kill me?"
"Please, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." Raya winked. "I needed to see if you still had the instincts. Good news—you do. Bad news—they're rusty. We'll need to fix that."
Seraphina stepped between them. "Raya, why are you really here?"
The playfulness vanished.
Raya's face went serious—genuinely serious, like a mask slipping to reveal steel beneath.
"Because I found out who took his memories. And why."
---
They gathered in Ken's room—him, Seraphina, Raya, and Valerius, who'd been summoned and looked thoroughly unhappy about it.
"Three years ago," Raya began, "Kaelen didn't just wander off. He was taken. Targeted. Hit with a memory wipe so powerful it should have killed him."
"It almost did," Seraphina said quietly.
"Right. Question is—who has that kind of power?" Raya pulled a rolled parchment from her belt and spread it on the table. "Memory magic is forbidden. The Conclave banned it five centuries ago. Using it on a house head is automatic declaration of war. So whoever did this was either desperate or stupid."
"Or both," Valerius muttered.
"Or both," Raya agreed. "I traced the magic residue back to its source. Took three years, but I finally found a match." She tapped the parchment.
It was a crest. Purple and black.
House Nightshade.
Seraphina went still. "Vesper?"
"Not Vesper. Someone in her house. Someone with access to old magic." Raya's jaw tightened. "The trail leads to Nightshade's ancestral library. They have texts there that predate the ban. If anyone could pull off a memory wipe, it's them."
Ken stared at the crest. The wildcard house. The unpredictable one.
"Why?" he asked. "Why would they take my memories and dump me in the human realm instead of just killing me?"
"That's the question." Raya met his eyes. "And it's the reason you're still alive. They wanted you gone, not dead. Which means you knew something. Something they couldn't risk you revealing, but couldn't kill you for without consequences."
"Like what?"
Nobody answered.
Then Valerius spoke, his voice heavy: "Like the truth about what happened the night Lyra died."
The room went cold.
Seraphina's face drained of color. "Valerius—"
"I've served this house for eighty years, my lady. I kept silent because you asked. But if someone in Nightshade went this far to silence Kaelen, then whatever he knew must be connected." The elf's storm-gray eyes fixed on Ken. "You never believed Lyra's death was natural. You investigated. For months. And then you stopped talking about it. A week later, you disappeared."
Ken looked at Seraphina. She wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Seraphina?"
"I..." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I thought you'd let it go. Accepted the healers' explanation. I didn't know you kept investigating."
"Neither did I," Ken said gently. "I don't remember any of this."
"But someone in Nightshade thought you might." Raya rolled up the parchment. "Which means they're worried. Worried enough to act. And now that you're back, they'll try again."
"Then we confront them." Valerius straightened. "March on Nightshade manor. Demand answers."
"With what proof?" Raya shot back. "A magical trail that could be explained away? Vesper will laugh in our faces and we'll have started a war for nothing."
"Then what do you suggest?"
Everyone looked at Ken.
He blinked. "Me?"
"You're the head of this house." Raya crossed her arms. "What's your move?"
Ken thought. Actually thought, not panicked. The man in the portrait—Kaelen—would have had an answer. A strategy. Three moves ahead.
What would he do?
"I need to see the library," Ken said slowly. "The Nightshade library. If the proof is there, I need to find it."
"Impossible." Valerius shook his head. "Their library is sealed. No outsider has entered in centuries."
"Then I need someone on the inside."
Raya's eyes lit up. "You're thinking—"
"Vesper." Ken nodded. "She found me entertaining at the Conclave. She's unpredictable, but that means she might help just to see what happens. I need to meet with her. Alone."
"Absolutely not." Seraphina's voice was ice. "You're not walking into Nightshade territory without me."
"I'm not walking anywhere. I'm inviting her here." Ken met her gaze. "You said she's a wildcard. Wildcards need to be played carefully. But if she's the key to finding out who stole my life..." He touched the ring on his finger. "I have to try."
Silence.
Then Raya grinned. "He's definitely Kaelen. Crazy plans and all."
Seraphina looked at Ken for a long moment. Finally, reluctantly, she nodded.
"One wrong move, and I kill her myself."
"Fair enough."
---
The invitation went out that night.
Three days later, Lady Vesper Nightshade arrived at Darkwood manor.
She swept into the parlor like a storm given human form—purple-black hair flowing, dark eyes glittering with amusement, lips curved in a smile that promised nothing good.
"Kaelen darling." She kissed the air near both his cheeks. "An invitation from the man who's been ignoring me for decades? I simply had to come."
"Vesper." Ken kept his expression neutral. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"Agreeing?" She laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a hurricane. "My dear, I've been dying to get a closer look at you since the Conclave. You're different." Her eyes sharpened. "Softer. What happened in the mortal realm? Find religion? Find a lover?"
"I found peace." Ken gestured to a chair. "Sit. Please."
Vesper sat, crossing one leg over the other, watching him like a cat watches a bird. Seraphina stood by the door, arms crossed, radiating barely controlled hostility.
"So formal." Vesper pouted. "What do you want, Kaelen? You never invite me anywhere unless you want something."
Ken sat across from her.
"I want to know what your house did to me three years ago."
The smile didn't leave Vesper's face, but something behind her eyes shifted.
"Elaborate."
"Someone in Nightshade used forbidden magic to wipe my memories and dump me in the mortal realm. I want to know who. And I want to know why."
Vesper was quiet for a long moment. Then she laughed—genuinely laughed, head tilted back, shoulders shaking.
"Oh, that's delicious." She wiped an imaginary tear. "You think I had something to do with your little vacation?"
"Not necessarily you. Someone in your house. With access to your library."
Vesper's laughter died. Her eyes went flat.
"My library is sealed. No one enters without my permission."
"Then someone has it."
"I would know."
"Would you?" Ken leaned forward. "Vesper, I'm not accusing you. I'm asking for your help. Someone in your house did this. I need to know who. And I need to know why."
She studied him. Long and hard.
"You're different," she finally said. "The old Kaelen would have threatened me. Demanded. Probably drawn a weapon." A smile curved her lips—genuine this time, almost warm. "I like this version better."
"Does that mean you'll help?"
"It means I'm intrigued." She stood. "I'll look into my library. See if anyone's been sneaking where they shouldn't. If I find something..." She shrugged. "I'll let you know."
"When?"
"When I feel like it." She swept toward the door, then paused. "Kaelen?"
"Yes?"
"The night your daughter died... I was there."
Ken's blood turned to ice.
Vesper didn't turn around. "I was visiting the healers' quarter. Checking on a sick servant. I heard screams. By the time I arrived, it was too late." She glanced back, just enough to show her profile. "But I saw someone leaving. Running. Dressed in black."
"Who?"
"I don't know. It was dark. But they moved like a soldier, not a healer." She faced forward again. "I never told anyone. Didn't think it mattered. But if someone in my house wiped your memories... maybe it does."
She left.
The room was silent.
Seraphina's face was white as bone.
"She saw someone," Ken whispered. "There was someone there. Someone who shouldn't have been."
"Kaelen—"
"This wasn't just about me." His mind raced, connections forming. "If someone killed Lyra and I got too close to the truth, they'd need to stop me. But killing a house head starts a war. So they wiped me instead. Sent me somewhere I couldn't cause trouble."
"Who would go that far?" Valerius asked.
Ken looked at the Nightshade crest on the table—purple and black.
"I don't know yet. But we're going to find out."
---
That night, Ken dreamed again.
Not of battle this time.
Of a nursery.
Soft lights. A crib. A tiny bundle in Seraphina's arms, both of them crying—her from joy, him from overwhelming love.
"She's perfect," he heard himself say.
"She has your nose." Seraphina laughed through tears. "Poor thing."
"Hey, my nose is distinguished."
"Your nose is large."
"It's distinguished."
They laughed together, and Ken felt something he hadn't felt in—years? Decades?—pure, unfiltered happiness.
Then the dream shifted.
Darkness. Screaming. He was running, running, but the nursery was too far, the halls too long, and by the time he burst through the door—
Seraphina on her knees. Healers rushing. A tiny form too still.
"No. No no no—"
Hands reaching. Voices murmuring. And in the corner of his vision, just for a moment, a shadow moving away. A figure in black, slipping out a side door.
Ken woke screaming.
Seraphina was there instantly, holding him, her own face wet with tears.
"I saw her," he choked. "Lyra. I saw her. And I saw—"
"I know." Seraphina's voice broke. "I know."
"There was someone there. Someone running away. Vesper was right."
"I believe you."
Ken gripped her arms. "If I was investigating this before I disappeared, I must have left something. Notes. Evidence. Something that pointed to who did this."
Seraphina's eyes widened. "Your study. You spent weeks locked in there before you vanished. After you disappeared, I... I couldn't go in. I sealed it."
"Where?"
"East wing. Third door." She stood, pulling him up. "If there's answers anywhere, they're in there."
They ran.
---
The study was exactly as Kaelen had left it—dusty, cluttered, frozen in time. Books piled everywhere. Papers scattered across the desk. A half-empty cup of tea long since turned to mold.
Ken went straight for the desk.
Drawers full of correspondence. Maps of Eldoria. A locked box that Seraphina shattered with a single punch.
Inside: a journal.
Ken opened it to the last page.
I know who killed my daughter.
I know why.
And I know they'll come for me next.
If you're reading this, Sera, I'm sorry. I should have told you. I should have let you help.
The killer is—
The sentence stopped mid-word.
Below it, written in different ink, a single line:
Nice try, Darkwood. But you'll never finish this sentence. And soon, you won't remember why you started.
Ken stared at the page.
"They knew," he whispered. "They knew I was close. They were watching."
Seraphina read over his shoulder. When she finished, her hands were shaking.
"The journal ends there. No name."
"No. But look." Ken flipped back through the pages. Dates. Observations. Meetings. "He was thorough. He documented everything. The killer's movements. Suspicious figures near the healers' quarter. And here—" He pointed. "A mention of someone from Nightshade visiting the healers too often. Asking too many questions."
"Who?"
Ken scanned. "The name's smudged. But the date..." He calculated. "Three days before Lyra was born."
Silence.
Then Seraphina whispered: "They weren't there for a sick servant. They were there for her."
Ken closed the journal.
"Vesper said she saw someone running. She didn't know who. But if that someone was from her own house..." He looked at Seraphina. "Either she's lying, or someone in Nightshade is a traitor."
"Or both."
"Or both."
Ken tucked the journal into his jacket. Dawn was breaking outside—purple sky turning gold.
"We need to talk to Vesper again. But this time, we need proof she can't ignore."
"And if she's the one behind it?"
Ken thought of the woman who'd laughed at his accusation. Who'd offered help. Who'd shared a memory she didn't have to share.
"Then we deal with that too."