My father's chambers were larger than the entire tavern where I'd grown up, but they felt like a mausoleum. Heavy curtains blocked most of the sunlight, and the air carried the lingering scent of illness and old wine. Dust motes danced in the few shafts of light that managed to penetrate the gloom.
"Lord Marcus preferred privacy," explained James, the elderly servant who'd been assigned to help me settle in. His voice carried the careful neutrality of someone who'd survived decades in court by saying nothing controversial. "He rarely received visitors in his final months."
I nodded, running my fingers along the mahogany desk where my father had spent his last days. Papers were scattered across its surface—mostly bills and formal correspondence that revealed nothing about the man who'd written them. It struck me that I knew almost nothing about Marcus Winters beyond his reputation as a drunk and his habit of ignoring his bastard child.
"Did he suffer?" I asked.
James paused in his dusting. "The physicians said it was his heart, my lord. Very sudden. He was writing letters one evening, and the next morning..." He shrugged helplessly.
"What happened to the letters?"
"His Grace Duke Robert Kane collected them, along with Lord Marcus's other important papers. Standard procedure when a noble dies, to ensure nothing sensitive falls into the wrong hands."
Duke Kane. I'd heard the name whispered in the corridors—the King's younger brother, a man whose political influence was exceeded only by his magical abilities. If he'd personally collected my father's papers, there was more to Marcus Winters' death than a simple heart attack.
After James left, I began a systematic search of the rooms. The obvious places—desk drawers, bookcases, wardrobes—yielded nothing interesting. But years of searching for hidden coins in the tavern had taught me to look beyond the obvious.
I found it behind a loose stone in the fireplace: a leather journal wrapped in oiled cloth, protected from moisture and prying eyes. My hands shook as I opened it, expecting to find my father's drunken ramblings or sentimental letters to lovers he'd abandoned.
Instead, I found something that made my blood run cold.
The entries were written in my father's careful script, but they revealed a man I'd never known. Marcus Winters hadn't been a drunk—he'd been a spy.
Day 127: The Queen's correspondence with Duke Harrison continues. She promises him the Eastern provinces if he supports Ryan's claim over any potential challengers. Her Majesty doesn't realize I've been copying her private letters for three months now.
Day 143: Confirmed—Queen Victoria was behind the grain shortage last winter. She wanted to weaken Duke Kane's support among the Eastern lords. Twenty thousand people died of hunger so she could strengthen her son's position.
Day 156: They're getting suspicious. Someone searched my chambers while I was at dinner. I've hidden the evidence, but if anything happens to me, the truth dies with me unless...
The entry ended abruptly. I flipped through the remaining pages, finding them blank except for one final note written in a shaky hand:
If you're reading this, Alex, then I'm dead and you're the only one left who can expose the truth. The Queen is a monster, and she'll destroy the kingdom to ensure Ryan's succession. The evidence is hidden where only blood can reveal it. Trust no one except yourself.
I stared at the page until the words blurred. My father hadn't been a neglectful drunk—he'd been protecting me by keeping me away from court. And now he was dead, leaving me with knowledge that could either save the kingdom or get me killed.
A soft knock on the door made me jump. I quickly hid the journal in my jacket before calling out, "Enter."
Lady Sarah Blake stepped into the room, carrying a silver tray with tea and small cakes. She'd changed from her formal court dress into something simpler but no less elegant—a green gown that brought out her eyes.
"I thought you might be hungry," she said, setting the tray on a small table near the window. "Court dinners can be... overwhelming for newcomers."
"That's kind of you." I joined her at the table, trying to project calm while my mind raced. How much could I trust Sarah? Her family was wealthy and influential, but that didn't necessarily make them allies of the Queen.
"You handled Prince Ryan well today," she continued, pouring tea with practiced grace. "Most people either grovel or make the mistake of challenging him directly."
"And what should I have done?"
"Exactly what you did. Show strength without issuing a direct threat." She handed me a cup, her fingers brushing mine briefly. "It was... impressive."
There was something in her tone that made me study her more carefully. The afternoon light caught the gold flecks in her green eyes, and I noticed the slight tension in her shoulders despite her casual manner.
"You're nervous," I observed.
Sarah's cup paused halfway to her lips. "Excuse me?"
"Your breathing is slightly elevated, and you keep glancing at the door. Either you're afraid someone will walk in on us, or you have something important to tell me and don't know how to begin."
She set down her cup with deliberate care. "You're very observant."
"I had to be, growing up where I did." The truth was more complicated—those strange flashes of insight from earlier were becoming stronger, more frequent. It was as if someone else's memories were bleeding into my own consciousness. "What's troubling you, Sarah?"
She was quiet for a long moment, weighing her words. Finally, she leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "Your father didn't die of a heart attack."
My blood turned to ice, but I kept my expression neutral. "What makes you say that?"
"Because I was the one who found his body." Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her tea. "I came to deliver a message from my father about grain shipments. Lord Marcus was slumped over his desk, but there was something wrong with the scene."
"Wrong how?"
"The physicians said he died of heart failure, but his lips and fingernails were blue. My grandmother died the same way—from wolfsbane poisoning." Sarah's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Someone murdered your father, Alex. And whoever did it has connections high enough to silence the royal physicians."
The journal felt like it was burning against my chest. My father had been investigating the Queen's crimes, and someone had killed him for it. Now I was the only one who knew the truth, and I was sitting in his rooms like a lamb waiting for slaughter.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Because I think you're in danger too." Sarah's green eyes were intense, worried. "And because my family needs allies we can trust. The kingdom is heading for civil war, Alex. When it comes, we'll need to choose sides carefully."
Before I could respond, the door burst open. Prince Ryan strode in without invitation, flanked by two of his friends from earlier. His golden hair caught the afternoon light, and his smile was all teeth and malice.
"Lord Winters," he said with mock courtesy. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything... intimate."
Sarah stood gracefully, dropping into a perfect curtsy. "Your Highness. I was just welcoming Lord Winters to court."
"How thoughtful." Ryan's gaze moved between us, calculating. "I trust you warned him about the dangers of court life? It can be so easy to have... accidents."
The threat was clear enough to taste. I rose slowly, letting my own smile surface—the one I'd learned in back-alley fights, where showing fear meant showing weakness.
"I appreciate Your Highness's concern for my safety," I said. "Though I've found that accidents usually happen to people who aren't paying attention to their surroundings."
Ryan's friends shifted uncomfortably. The prince himself stepped closer, close enough that I could see the cold fury in his eyes.
"Be very careful, bastard," he said softly. "This isn't some tavern brawl. The people who have accidents here tend to stay dead."
"Noted, Your Highness."
We stared at each other for a moment that stretched like eternity. Then Ryan smiled again, the expression never reaching his eyes.
"Good. Lady Sarah, perhaps you'd like to join me for dinner? I'm sure Lord Winters has... adjusting to do."
It wasn't a request. Sarah glanced at me apologetically before taking the prince's offered arm. "Of course, Your Highness."
They left with Ryan's friends trailing behind like well-dressed vultures. The silence that followed felt oppressive, heavy with unspoken threats and dangerous knowledge.
I pulled out my father's journal and read his final entry again. Trust no one except yourself. Good advice, but it left me completely alone in a nest of vipers who'd already killed once to protect their secrets.
As night fell over the palace, I made my first real decision as Lord Alex Winters. I wouldn't just survive court—I'd master it. But first, I needed to find the evidence my father had died to protect.