🌹 Chapter 44: The Mask Cracks
The air inside Valemont was no longer simply tense—it was suffocating.
The trap had been set, and all Adrian could do was wait for the threads to unravel. False troop orders, deliberately whispered and carefully sealed, had been placed in Marlowe's hands. Whether by betrayal or loyalty, the truth would surface soon. But waiting was the cruelest part of war.
Every corridor carried suspicion. Every torch seemed to burn with a watchful eye.
Adrian stood at the war table in the council chamber, its surface littered with maps marked in charcoal and wax seals. His hands were steady, but his thoughts were restless. If Chloe receives the false orders, she will act on them. If not… then Marlowe is innocent, and we are still blind in the dark.
The door creaked softly behind him. Isabella entered, her steps quiet, her face a portrait of contained fire. She had barely slept since the trap was set. Her instincts pressed heavily on her heart, whispering that something about Marlowe's guilt was too simple, too convenient.
"You're pacing inside your mind," she said softly, breaking the silence.
Adrian's lips curved faintly. "And you are watching me too closely."
"Someone must," Isabella replied, stepping to his side. Her gaze fell on the maps, then on him. "You trust logic. I trust instinct. If we are to survive Chloe's games, we'll need both."
He looked at her then—really looked. In her eyes was the same steel he had seen on the battlefield, but now sharpened with something more dangerous: faith in herself. It unsettled and anchored him in equal measure.
Before Adrian could respond, the heavy doors burst open. A soldier entered, breathing hard, sweat streaking his face.
"My lord, urgent report from the western border," he said, holding out a sealed message.
Adrian broke the wax seal with swift precision. His eyes scanned the page, his jaw tightening as the words sank in.
"What is it?" Isabella asked, her heart already racing.
Adrian set the parchment down on the table. "Chloe's forces moved. Exactly along the path of the false orders."
The chamber fell into silence.
The trap had worked.
---
The Poison of Doubt
Marlowe was summoned immediately.
He entered the council chamber with a calm face, but Isabella's eyes narrowed as she watched him. His posture was measured, his steps precise—as though he had already rehearsed this moment.
"Lord Marlowe," Adrian began, his voice carrying the weight of command. "The western border was struck today. By forces that could only have moved with knowledge of our supposed deployment. Orders that passed through your hands."
Marlowe did not flinch. His gaze remained level, though his knuckles tightened against the hilt of his sword.
"I did as I was commanded," he said evenly. "I carried the seal, and I delivered it where instructed. If the orders were false, then it is not my betrayal, but another's trickery."
His words rang clear—but were they the desperate defense of a cornered man, or the calm of someone who knew exactly how deep Chloe's reach extended?
Isabella's chest tightened. She wanted to believe him. But the castle was already buzzing with whispers. A man accused was already half-condemned, whether guilty or not.
Adrian's voice was firm. "Until the truth is clear, you will remain confined to your chambers. Guards will attend you."
For the first time, Marlowe's composure cracked—a flicker of disbelief, of betrayal, as his eyes met Adrian's. "After all I have done for this House… you doubt me?"
Adrian did not answer. He gave the order, and the guards stepped forward.
As Marlowe was led away, Isabella caught the look he threw her—a look sharp with accusation, as if her silence had betrayed him more than Adrian's words.
And in that glance, her certainty fractured.
---
Threads of Division
By nightfall, the castle was divided.
Some of the soldiers muttered that Adrian had acted wisely—that Marlowe's loyalty had always been too polished, too convenient. Others whispered that their Alpha had grown paranoid, turning against his most faithful adviser when the true enemy lurked outside.
Unity was cracking. Exactly as Chloe intended.
In the privacy of their chambers, Isabella confronted Adrian.
"You've set the castle against itself," she said, her voice low but edged with frustration. "If Marlowe is innocent, then we have done Chloe's work for her."
"And if he is guilty?" Adrian countered, his tone calm but his eyes burning.
"Then we have shown our hand too soon," Isabella pressed. "Either way, Chloe wins."
Adrian turned away, bracing his hands against the window frame, staring into the stormy night. The sky over Valemont was restless, clouds shifting as though mirroring the turmoil inside its walls.
"I cannot allow sentiment to blind me," Adrian said at last. "Not even yours, Isabella. If Marlowe is innocent, then he will endure. If guilty… then this is the only way to root him out."
Isabella stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And what if Chloe has already planned for this? What if Marlowe is only a mask—and the real traitor stands untouched?"
Her words struck deeper than she intended. For a moment, Adrian said nothing, his silence heavier than any denial.
---
The Mask Cracks
The answer came sooner than either expected.
At dawn, another report arrived. Chloe's forces had not only struck the western border—they had withdrawn with uncanny speed, leaving behind little but ash and confusion. It was not a full attack, but a probe, a message.
And the message was clear: I know what you plan before you act.
In the council chamber, Isabella studied the report with clenched fists. "She is playing with us. This wasn't a battle—it was theater. She wanted us to see that she already knew the orders were false."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Which means either Marlowe carried word to her directly, or…"
"Or she has someone else," Isabella finished, her voice sharp. "Someone still free. Someone watching us now."
The realization sank into both of them like ice.
If Marlowe was a traitor, Chloe would have acted differently—striking harder, not simply teasing. Which meant…
Marlowe might be innocent.
But the damage was already done. His confinement was tearing Valemont apart. Chloe's shadow stretched longer with every whispered doubt.
Isabella turned to Adrian, her eyes fierce. "You must release him."
Adrian's stare was unreadable. "And risk letting the real traitor walk beside us?"
"We already are," Isabella snapped. "Only now, the castle is divided too."
Her words echoed in the chamber, undeniable and sharp.
For the first time, Adrian's certainty faltered.
---
The Whisper in the Dark
That night, Isabella could not sleep. Her instincts clawed at her, refusing to let her rest. She moved silently through the dim halls, her footsteps guided more by intuition than reason.
In the shadows near the eastern wing, she paused. A voice—low, urgent—drifted through the stone archway.
She pressed herself against the wall, straining to hear.
"…Adrian suspects… Marlowe is contained… soon."
Her breath caught.
The voice was not Marlowe's. It was another, one she knew. Familiar. Trusted.
The sound faded before she could place it, leaving only the echo of treachery in the dark.
Heart pounding, Isabella turned back toward the royal chambers. She knew, with chilling certainty, that Marlowe was not the only piece in Chloe's game. Perhaps not even the most important.
The true traitor still walked free.
And Valemont was running out of time.