I didn't like silence. Not the heavy kind—the kind that pressed against your ears and waited for something bad to happen.
Two days.
Two days since the meeting at the inn. Two days of careful steps, quiet lessons, boring talk about magic and mana, whispers threaded through the Mage Tower like veins under skin. And then—Prince Segundo vanished. Seven hours. Okay it was not that long but I panicked. The palace panicked.
That was what Alias said, standing stiffly at the edge of his secret chamber, silver brows drawn together so tightly they nearly met. "Seven hours," he repeated, as if saying it again might change the number. "No guards saw him leave. No carriage was logged. No teleportation signature registered in the Tower."
The King had ordered discretion. Which meant panic—polished, suffocating panic. I paced. Stone floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. My boots echoed too loudly in my head. Missing princes were becoming a pattern I deeply resented.
