The palace had fallen into its usual hush, that particular silence which only came after midnight when courtyards darkened, candles guttered, and the corridors seemed alive with whispers of their own. Sophia sat at her desk, quill poised above the neat parchment, though her eyes had blurred long past the point of focusing. The flicker of lamplight pressed long shadows across the polished wood and the pale velvet of her night robe.
She had spent the evening re-checking the lists she compiled from the records. Every number, every notation mattered. If she missed one inconsistency, one careless addition, then someone else's deceit might go unnoticed. She could not allow that. For the sake of the household and for Prince Alexander, whose burdens were heavy enough without serpents eating through the palace coffers, she would shoulder it.
Her concentration broke when she heard the faintest knock. Three measured raps, discreet and deliberate.
Sophia's pulse quickened. She rose, careful not to scrape the chair, and crossed the chamber. When she opened the door, Damien stood there, half-shadowed by the dim torchlight in the hall. His cloak was pulled tightly across his frame, hood up, as though he were nothing more than a shadow passing through the corridors.
"My lady," Damien murmured, his voice pitched low.
"You have them?" Sophia whispered.
He nodded once and slipped inside, closing the door swiftly behind him. From within the folds of his cloak, he produced a small leather satchel bound tightly with cord. The faintest scent of earth and forest air clung to it.
Sophia exhaled, relief loosening the tension in her shoulders. "Thank you. You risked much coming here at this hour."
Damien bowed slightly.
Her concern is misplaced. The prince commanded secrecy and my loyalty is to him, and now to her as well.
His thought brushed against her consciousness unbidden, a ripple of assurance. Sophia lowered her gaze quickly, concealing the faint heat that rose in her cheeks. She had long grown accustomed to the flood of others' thoughts, yet hearing such unguarded loyalty always unsettled her.
"Place them on the table," she instructed.
He obeyed without hesitation, setting the satchel down with care. She untied the cords and unfolded the leather to reveal bundles of herbs, dried roots with a sharp tang, pale-green leaves brittle with preservation, and slender stalks tied together with twine. She touched them reverently, as though each were a secret hope brought to life.
"These must be prepared at once," she said.
Damien hesitated. "Now, my lady? You have not slept—"
"Yes, now," Sophia interrupted firmly. "Time lost is strength lost. I will not allow his condition to linger even a day longer if I can help it."
Damien's thought drifted through the silence,
She is more devoted to him than anyone in this palace. Even the prince himself does not see how fiercely she safeguards him.
Sophia swallowed and turned briskly toward her worktable.
"Bring me water. Boil it."
The hours that followed blurred into ritual. Sophia ground roots with a stone pestle, the rhythmic sound steadying her mind. She measured crushed leaves by weight, careful not to exceed the proportions she had written earlier. Steam rose as she poured hot water over the mixture, releasing a bitter aroma that clung stubbornly to the air.
Damien moved silently at her side, fetching what she required before she asked, though his mind betrayed curiosity, How did she come to know such combinations? She is no healer trained at the academies, and yet… she works as though guided by instinct itself.
By the time the concoction had cooled into a concentrated tincture, the first sliver of dawn bled faintly at the horizon. Sophia's eyes burned with exhaustion, but she forced herself to strain the liquid into a small glass vial, corking it tightly.
Only then did she allow herself to collapse back into the chair. Damien extinguished the remaining lamp and lingered by the door.
"You should rest," he urged softly.
"I will, for a few hours."
His thought brushed against her again: If she collapses, what then?
Sophia turned her face toward the desk, feigning indifference. "Go now, Damien. No one must know of this."
He bowed once more, silent but unwavering, and slipped into the shadows of the corridor.
The sun was already climbing when Sophia stirred from restless slumber. The satchel was gone, but the vial of medicine glimmered faintly on her desk, catching the morning light. She called for Damien without hesitation.
When he entered, she handed him the vial, her tone steady. "This must be given in small measures, twice a day, with warm water. Ensure it is taken discreetly. No one else should know what it is."
Damien accepted it reverently, tucking it beneath his cloak. She trusts me utterly. I cannot fail her—or the prince.
"You understand?" Sophia pressed.
"Yes, my lady."
She studied his expression for a long moment. The loyalty in his thoughts mirrored the sincerity in his gaze. "Then go."
As Damien departed, Sophia turned her mind toward her duties in the East Wing. She had promised herself that medicine alone would not be her contribution. The palace needed order, fairness, and truth.
By midday, Sophia walked the stone corridors of the East Wing, her writing board in hand. Servants trailed behind, whispering nervously, while stewards attempted to anticipate her questions.
She paused at the linen stores, noting the bundles of cloth stacked unevenly. "Why are these soiled linens not laundered? Reports claim regular washing."
The laundress wrung her hands. "Forgive me, my lady, but—"
Sophia cut her short. "Do not give excuses. Show me the records of supplies delivered."
As the woman fumbled with a ledger, Sophia's ability brushed against her frantic mind: If she sees the missing count, she'll know the coins went into my pocket. No, perhaps I can claim the cloth was ruined in wash…
Sophia's lips curved into the faintest smile, cold, precise. "Do not bother to invent lies. I will require restitution, and you will account for every missing yard."
The laundress paled, bowing low.
Further along the wing, Sophia inspected the kitchens, the repair of furniture, the maintenance of guest chambers. Each stop revealed more inconsistencies. One steward thought nervously: If she digs deeper, she'll uncover the bribes I took from suppliers…
Another muttered inwardly: Why does she pry so much? The prince never questioned the accounts—why must she?
By the time she returned to her chambers, paper was filled with notes. She sat heavily at her desk, quill scratching furiously as she composed a comprehensive report in which numbers aligned, names listed, proofs carefully cited. She left no room for evasion.
The following morning dawned crisp and pale. After breakfast, during which Sophia remained silent, she carried the leather-bound ledger and her written report to Prince Alexander's study.
The chamber was quiet when she entered. Alexander sat at his desk, dark tunic neatly pressed, though the faint stiffness in his posture betrayed his lingering weakness. He looked up, surprised by her purposeful entrance.
"Lady Sophia?"
She approached, bowing lightly before setting the ledger and papers before him. "Your Highness, I have discovered embezzlement within the East Wing. Here are the accounts to prove it."
He blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Embezzlement?"
"Yes." Her voice did not waver. "Servants and stewards alike have siphoned coin and supplies for their own gain. I have compiled every inconsistency, noted names, and proposed corrective measures."
She slid the report closer. Alexander reached for it, his brows knitting as he skimmed the first page. His thoughts bled into her mind despite his attempt at composure,
She has done what I neglected… how long has this corruption festered under my nose?
Sophia clasped her hands behind her back, waiting.
Silence stretched, broken only by the faint rustle of parchment. At last Alexander leaned back, exhaling slowly. His eyes lifted to hers...dark, piercing, yet softened by something unspoken.
"You did this yourself?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"You stayed awake… and risked the wrath of those who would hide their thefts." His gaze lingered, as though weighing her not only as a princess by marriage but as an ally.
She works tirelessly, not for her own advantage but for mine. Why does this move me so?
Sophia swallowed, pretending not to have heard the thought. "It was necessary. The palace bleeds coin, and you cannot afford weakness within your own household."