"Not all assassins use daggers. Some use applause."
Through the arched windows of the king's private quarters, long, silver shadows were cast by the moon's heavy weight over the palace. King Theron sat alone, back straight, eyes locked on the map stretched before him. The kingdoms were shifting, some silently, some with noise. But none mattered to him more than the one change within his walls.
A knock broke the silence.
"Enter."
Captain Roran looked older, wearier, his jaw tense.
"You took longer than expected," the king said.
"Because what I found, Your Majesty, wasn't simple. And it wasn't complete."
Roran handed him a folded piece of parchment, its edges charred. The king opened it slowly, and the ink had faded. The corner of a sigil was long erased, but the name at the top was self-explanatory.
"Seraphina."
"This was recovered from the vault of an old scribe loyal to the Flame Court," Roran said. "It confirms she survived long after her life was claimed by whoever."
The king reclined, his breath taken aback.
"Where is the rest?"
"Destroyed. Intentionally. But there were whispers… of a child hidden, a servant bribed. It wasn't clear."
"But clear enough," the King murmured.
He folded the paper carefully, not looking at Roran. "Say nothing. Not to the council or anyone who inquired about your whereabouts."
"Understood."
Roran bowed and left.
The flames in the hearth crackled louder now, as if Seraphina herself had heard them.
Elara stood in the centre of the Grand Hall, surrounded by eyes that never blinked.
The court had gathered again for a special session, called without explanation. With their faces sculpted in practised neutrality, nobles occupied the benches. The Empress sat above, her hands folded like she had been praying for a long time.
Lord Gerran stepped forward. "Before the court begins its session, Lady Vera has requested an audience."
Elara felt the shift in the air before the woman stepped into view.
Lady Vera walked with slow, deliberate grace.
"Your Majesties," she said, bowing. "And Flamebearer."
Elara inclined her head slightly.
Lady Vera's voice was coated with poison. "In light of recent events, the trial, and the revelations, I suggest that this court grant a formal test of legitimacy. Just to be sure, not to be disrespectful, but for the sake of peace.
Whispers rippled.
Elara didn't flinch. "And if I pass?"
"Then we celebrate you," Lady Vera smiled. "And if you fail… well, then the realm is spared of further unrest."
The Empress said nothing. Neither confirming nor denying.
Elara looked up at the dais at the nobles and the guards.
Then she spoke.
"Let it be done."
Later, M cornered her outside the chamber. His cloak fluttered in the wind.
"That woman wants you exposed. Not tested."
"Then let her look," Elara replied.
"Not all assassins use daggers," M warned, eyes narrowed. "Some use applause. And they cheer louder when you fall."
Elara leaned in. "Then I won't fall."
Behind her, Ana emerged with a fresh bandage on her wrist.
"She's got fire in her veins," Ana smirked. "But M's not wrong. That hall is a wolf den."
"Good," Elara whispered. "I've never been afraid of wolves."
In the shadows of the Empress's private wing, a servant approached with a sealed scroll.
"From House Virelle."
The Empress unrolled it. Read it.
Smiled faintly.
Then burned it in the candle's flame.