Kaelen moved through the halls like a shadow stretched long by candlelight, every step measured, every glance sharp, because he had learned now that trust was a weapon and names were its ammunition. He did not speak aloud, except when necessary; his thoughts alone were enough to cut, to judge, to measure. Every servant, every attendant, every whispering courtier could be the one who had dared to reveal what was meant to be sacred, what had been given to so few and carried carefully, like a knife in the dark.
He stopped outside the kitchens first. The cook, a stout woman who smelled of rosemary and smoke, looked up, eyes wary. "Your Highness," she said, bowing slightly, though he did not ask her name.
"Did anyone speak of me today?" Kaelen asked. His voice was even, careful, like a blade honed to cut without sound.
"Speak of you?" she repeated, frowning. "I… I do not know what you mean, my Prince. Only that the Princess was in the courtyard."
"Which Princess?" His question hung in the air, sharp, because there were many, and he did not want confusion, he wanted truth.
"Princess Elenya, my Prince." She said it lightly, as if naming her would have no consequence, as if it were a simple statement of fact.
Kaelen did not flinch. He only noted the casual ease of her voice, a dangerous ease. She would be watched.
He moved next to the hall where the scholars studied. Books lined every wall, thick with dust and wisdom, and Kaelen stepped inside, eyes scanning every face, looking for the twitch of recognition, the flush of guilt, the nervous avoidance of eye contact.
A young scribe looked up nervously. "My Prince," he stammered, "you—"
Kaelen cut him off. "Did you speak my true name?"
The scribe's eyes widened, panic rising as if it had already begun to climb his throat. "N-no, Your Highness! I swear! I would never—"
Kaelen let the words hang in the air, weighing them. He noted the tremor in the boy's hand as it rested on the table. He noted the quick glance toward the door, toward the hall, toward the unknown. He filed it away. Observation first. Truth later.
By the time he reached the gallery, his steps were quieter but heavier in his mind. The child who had spoken his name—Elenya—was there, quietly watching the shadows, unaware that her every move, every curious tilt of her head, was being measured, cataloged, remembered. She held her ribbon tightly, the uneven knot pressed to her palm like an anchor, like a talisman, but he noticed how it trembled.
"You move too freely," he said. His voice was calm, almost neutral, though his heart beat like war drums. "You should be more cautious, Princess."
She tilted her head. "I… I wasn't doing anything wrong," she said, soft, hesitant. "I only wanted—"
"You wanted what?" His voice sharpened, low and dangerous. "To speak my name again?"
Her lips pressed together. She wanted to say no, she wanted to say I didn't mean it, but she could not, because the truth had always been the truth of her curiosity, and curiosity had a price.
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. He took a step closer, studying her, the way she breathed, the way she clutched the ribbon, the way innocence and audacity collided on her small frame. "Who told you?" he demanded.
She shook her head quickly. "I… I don't know! I just… I heard it! I remembered it! It was… somewhere!"
Kaelen's fingers flexed, tightening slightly at his sides. Her words were useless. Truth rarely arrived wrapped neatly in syllables, he had learned. He would have to test, to probe, to force the answer out of the walls themselves.
"You lie," he said quietly. Not accusing anyone directly, not yet. But the accusation hung in the gallery like smoke.
From behind, a soft voice rang out—Eldric again. "Kaelen." Calm, firm. "Do not push her further. You are not questioning a traitor. You are questioning a child."
Kaelen ignored him, but he did not move away either. His eyes remained fixed on Elenya, calculating, measuring, cataloging. She was nothing more than a child, yes, but she was a reminder, and reminders demanded recognition.
He moved silently to the door, turned back, and said, almost under his breath, "If anyone else spoke, if anyone else dared…" His voice trailed, dangerous, unfinished.
Elenya swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to," she whispered, the smallest words, trembling.
Kaelen looked at her, long, assessing, counting each heartbeat between them. "Do you understand the weight of what you just said?" he asked.
She nodded. "I… I think so."
"Think?" He paused. "Think is not enough. You will remember."
Eldric stepped forward, hand on Kaelen's shoulder again, guiding, restraining, a reminder of what reason remained. "Kaelen, she is a child. You are testing loyalty and trust. Do not mistake the question for an answer. This is not her fault. It is ours for letting her even hear the word."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. He did not speak again. He let the silence grow, long and suffocating, letting it settle on her, on the room, on the gallery itself. And in that silence, the game began.
Every servant, every attendant, every scholar would be watched. Every corner, every whisper, every glance would be examined.
Somewhere in the palace, someone had betrayed him. And Kaelen would find them.
But first… he had to ensure Elenya understood exactly what her words carried, exactly who they had touched, and exactly how much danger the truth of a name could summon.