The sound of rain whispered against the tall windows of the Alderian Palace, but Queen Isabella barely noticed.
She sat alone in her private study, a single candle flickering beside the stack of reports spread before her — transcripts, guard rotations, messenger logs. None of it made sense. None of it explained how her son's private moments had become the ruin of their kingdom.
Isabella had always trusted her instincts.
And right now, those instincts were screaming.
"Someone inside this palace is lying," she murmured under her breath.
The room was silent except for the steady ticking of the clock. The Queen of Alderia was known for her composure — the elegant monarch, the diplomat who never lost her poise. But tonight, the lines of fatigue around her eyes betrayed the weight of what she carried.
The King thought it best to wait, to let things "settle."
Isabella knew better.
Scandals didn't settle. They festered.
She rose from her chair, smoothing her silk robe, and crossed to the wall where a portrait of her younger self hung — smiling beside her husband and their son. Behind the painting, hidden by years of habit, was a narrow compartment.
She pressed a latch.
The panel clicked open.
Inside lay an old ivory box — her personal archive, untouched for years. Inside it were the records of every staff member who had ever served in the royal wing. She drew out a small leather-bound notebook, flipping through it slowly. Names. Positions. Transfer dates.
Her fingers stopped on one entry.
"Lord Rowan Vale — Chief Advisor to His Majesty."
Isabella's lips thinned. Her brother-in-law. The king's most trusted confidant. He'd been quiet since the scandal — too quiet.
But accusing him without proof would only tear the crown apart faster.
She needed evidence — or at least a sign.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Enter," she said quickly, tucking the notebook away.
Her handmaiden, Alina, slipped in, curtsying low. "Your Majesty, the council awaits your presence. They're discussing Prince Adrian's… next appearance."
Isabella sighed. "Another interrogation disguised as diplomacy."
Alina hesitated. "Forgive me, my queen, but… people are starting to whisper. They think His Highness might have truly—"
"Enough," Isabella said sharply. Then, softer, "He is my son."
But even as she said it, doubt flickered inside her — cold and cruel.
What if he wasn't telling her everything?
⸻
Across the city, rain lashed against the cracked windows of a modest cottage.
Liana Monroe sat curled in a blanket, the faint light of her old laptop glowing in the dark. Every news outlet replayed the same story — Princess Elara missing, Alderia accused, Prince Adrian silent.
Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed with guilt.
She hadn't left the cottage in days — not since the leak.
Not since she realized what she'd done.
Her grandmother, frail and half-asleep in the next room, thought she was working remotely. The poor woman had no idea that her granddaughter was the ghost behind the kingdom's biggest scandal.
But Liana hadn't meant for any of this.
She thought she was helping the palace. She thought—
She swallowed the thought before it could finish.
Her phone buzzed again.
Messages. Dozens of them. Anonymous threats. Reporters. Rumors.
She deleted them all and opened her encrypted email instead.
If she couldn't fix what she'd broken, she could at least warn Adrian.
Her fingers trembled as she typed:
Subject: You're being framed.
Message: There was another camera. Someone planted it. Check the archives under your security team. You were never meant to be exposed. Trust no one inside your palace.
She hovered over send. Her throat tightened.
It could expose her. It could ruin her completely.
But she pressed the button anyway.
The message blinked — Sending… Sent.
She exhaled shakily, a tiny glimmer of relief piercing through the fear.
But halfway across the city, before that message reached its royal destination, a red light flickered on a secure console deep inside Alderian Palace.
Incoming transmission detected — intercepted.
A gloved hand hovered over the screen, scrolling through the message. The figure's face was hidden beneath shadow, their voice calm and measured as they whispered:
"Sweet little Liana. Always trying to do the right thing… far too late for that."
The message was deleted.
The system wiped clean.
And by dawn, a royal announcement echoed through both kingdoms —
"All external communications are to be restricted until further notice."
Somewhere in the palace, Queen Mirabel stood by her window, watching the storm gather. Her son's kingdom was slipping from her fingers, and she could feel it.
But what she didn't know — what no one yet knew — was that the truth had just been erased by the same hands pulling every string.
And outside the palace walls, in the cold rain, Liana's screen went black — her laptop frozen, her warning gone.
She didn't know who had found her.
Only that someone had.
⸻
In the dim reflection of her darkened screen, a shadow moved behind her — and a voice whispered, "You shouldn't have sent that, Liana."