CHAPTER FOUR
Kol 9102 - Fourth Day of the Second turn of Oathmarch
By dawn the palace had changed.
Servants walked faster and spoke less. Guards checked wrists and seals twice. Corridors that had once been open to anyone with the right clothes now held men with hard eyes and harder orders. Arthur's wall was rising stone by stone, rule by rule and Christina Oscar woke up understanding something most people never learned until it was too late, walls protected the one who built them, but they also trapped everyone else inside.
Christina
Christina stood before her mirror while Julie adjusted the mourning pins in her hair.
Her reflection looked perfect. That was the point. Perfection was Armor in court.
Julie's hands trembled slightly servants always trembled around royals, but Christina had learned to tell the difference between fear of status and fear of atmosphere.
"This palace feels…" Julie began.
"Different?" Christina finished, voice calm.
Julie nodded quickly.
Christina held her own gaze in the mirror. "War came home," she said.
Julie didn't understand the words, but she nodded anyway, desperate to agree.
Christina stood and walked out without rushing.
She moved like she owned the halls because she did, in the only way a princess ever truly owned anything by being watched.
Two guards bowed as she passed.
They weren't her guards.
They were Arthur's.
That was new.
Christina filed the detail away with a quiet satisfaction and a quiet warning.
He's not waiting for permission.She found Robert Newgold where she expected him., near the inner corridor junctions, where information passed like breath.
He bowed immediately.
"Your highness."
"Robert," Christina said softly. "Walk with me."
The butler fell into step beside her without hesitation.
Christina didn't speak until they reached a corridor where the walls were thick and the guards were far enough away that only whispers could survive.
"I want a truth," Christina said.
Robert's face remained neutral. "I will answer if I can."
Christina's eyes stayed forward. "Was the Empress's sickness sudden… or convenient?"
Robert's gloves tightened slightly barely visible.
"The Empress has been unwell for months," Robert said carefully. "Worse in the last season."
Christina's lips curved faintly. "So, the court knew."
Robert did not deny it.
Christina's voice stayed sweet. "Who controlled her healers?"
Robert's gaze flicked once toward the Trident corridor.
Answer enough.
Christina nodded as if discussing weather. "Thank you. Another question."
"Yes, your highness."
"Arthur has tightened palace security. Has he requested keys and ledgers?"
Robert's mouth twitched. "Yes."
"And did you give them to him?"
"I serve the crown," Robert said evenly.
Christina's eyes sharpened. "And right now, who is the crown?"
Robert didn't answer.
Christina smiled like she was being polite.
But her voice hardened.
"Robert," she said, "I need you to understand something. Arthur is not returning to us as a husband. He is returning as a blade. If you feed him information, he will cut. If you starve him, he will hunt blind. Either way, people will bleed."
Robert's jaw tightened.
Christina tilted her head. "Including you."
Robert stopped walking.
Christina stopped too.
The butler's voice dropped low. "Your highness, with respect… what do you want from me?"
Christina met his gaze, calm and honest.
"I want to live," she said. "And I want the Empire to remain intact enough that survival is possible."
Robert stared at her.
Then, quietly, he nodded once.
"I will watch," Robert said. "And I will report what I can."
Christina smiled.
Not warmth.
Victory.
Arthur
Arthur was already awake.
He stood in the records room with medical ledgers open like battlefield maps. Obsidian Knights guarded the door, motionless, faceless loyal only to the Royal line…
That alone made Christina's stomach tighten.
Arthur looked up as she entered.
His eyes lingered on her for a heartbeat just long enough to acknowledge her existence
"Christina," he said.
Not "my love."
Not even "wife."
Just her name, like she was another document.
Christina stepped closer, voice gentle. "Arthur. You didn't sleep."
"I don't need it," Arthur replied.
Christina glanced down at the ledger. "You're reading the Empress's medical records."
Arthur's finger tapped a line. "I'm reading lies."
Christina let silence sit between them like a weapon.
Then she chose her entry point carefully.
"You're moving quickly," she said. "The Trident will call it instability."
Arthur's mouth curved slightly. "Let them."
Christina softened her tone further, "If they remove you, you lose the ability to investigate."
Arthur finally looked up fully.
His gaze was sharp enough to slice silk.
"You came here to warn me," Arthur said.
Christina held his eyes without blinking. "I came here to keep you alive."
Arthur gave a quiet, almost amused exhale.
"Alive," he echoed. "In this palace?"
Christina stepped closer. "Arthur, if you strike too early, Jack Corvus will offer your uncle his seat back and call it 'restoring order.' If you embarrass the emperor, they'll call you traitor. If you touch the Highkin envoy, they'll call you racist and reckless and blame the war on you."
Arthur stared at her.
Christina continued smoothly.
"But if you let them believe you are controlled… they will relax."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "And you want me to pretend."
Christina nodded once. "Yes."
Arthur looked back down at the ledger.
For a moment Christina thought he would dismiss her.
Then he spoke, voice low.
"You're smarter than your father."
Christina's lips curved faintly. "I had to be."
Arthur turned a page.
"You care about this Empire," he said, almost accusing.
Christina answered honestly. "I care about surviving it."
Arthur gave a quiet laugh..
"Fine," Arthur said. "Tell me what you know."
Christina's heart didn't race. She didn't smile too wide. Court taught restraint.
"I know the healers changed twice," she said. "I know the Trident restricted access. And I know only a select few knew how bad the Empress was."
Arthur's finger stopped on a name.
He didn't show it.
But Christina saw the stillness in his hand.
"Who," Arthur said.
Christina tilted her head. "You already found a name."
Arthur's eyes lifted slowly.
"You want to be useful," he said.
Christina's voice stayed soft. "I want to be necessary."
Arthur held her gaze for a long moment.
Then he closed the ledger gently, like sealing a coffin.
"Good," Arthur said. "Because necessity is the only thing that keeps people alive in this palace."
The First Tug on the Web
Christina left Arthur and moved exactly where the palace never expected a grieving wife to go:
The servants' wing.
Quietly like a spider stepping onto thread.
Julie followed behind her, nervous.
"Your highness," Julie whispered, "you shouldn't"
Christina cut her off. "You will do what I say."
Julie nodded quickly.
Christina stopped outside the laundress corridor.
A cluster of women bowed low, eyes down.
Christina looked at them like they were people, not furniture.
"Which healer prepared the Empress's tea?" Christina asked.
The women froze.
Silence.
Then one older maid's lips trembled.
"I... I don't know, your highness."
Christina stepped closer, voice still gentle.
"You do know," she said. "You're just afraid."
The maid swallowed. "They'll punish us."
Christina's eyes hardened slightly.
"They already punish you," Christina said. "I'm offering you a different master."
That line broke something.
Another maid whispered, barely audible:
"Healer Mera… used to send a boy to the kitchens. Always at night."
Christina nodded as if this was casual information.
"Good," she said. "You will forget you spoke to me."
She turned to Julie.
"Go to Robert," Christina said. "Tell him I want a list of healer transfers for the last six months. Names. Dates. Who signed."
Julie's eyes widened. "But..."
Christina's voice sharpened. "Now."
Julie ran.
Christina walked away with her hands folded, mourning dress swaying softly, looking like a woman grieving.
And behind her, the web tightened.
Sam
Sam found Christina leaving the servants' wing.
That alone shocked him.
Princesses didn't go there unless they were punishing someone.
Sam stepped in front of her.
"Princess Christina," he said carefully.
Christina looked at him with calm curiosity. "Sam Metaforger."
Sam's jaw tightened. "You're moving."
Christina smiled faintly. "So are you."
Sam leaned closer. "Arthur is not stable."
Christina's eyes didn't flinch. "No. He is focused."
Sam's voice dropped. "Focused men do terrible things and call it duty."
Christina stepped closer until they were speaking in breath.
"And unfocused men die," she whispered. "Pick your poison, Metaforger."
Sam stared at her.
For the first time, he understood Christina wasn't naïve.
She was dangerous.
Sam asked the real question.
"Are you on his side?"
Christina's smile softened slightly, almost human.
"I am on the side of whoever controls the outcome," she said.
Then she walked past Sam, leaving him with the bitter taste of truth.
The Spark Underneath
That night, Arthur issued his first official decree as Warden-Marshal of the Legions not publicly.
Not announced with trumpets.
A sealed order delivered to captains and captains alone all palace guard posts doubled, healer movements tracked, kitchens under audit, and the most dangerous line of all no member of the Trident may enter the royal wing without ministerial approval
Sam read the copy delivered to Sebastian's household later through a servant's whisper.
His blood ran cold.
Arthur wasn't just hunting for the killer.
He was shifting power.
Like Caelum once had before he burned the world into unity.
Sam looked out across the city lights from the Metaforger balcony.
The wedding was coming.
The Highkin envoy sat at the Trident.
The Church watched with Lightbringer's in the corridors.
And Arthur was building a wall around the palace.
A wall that might keep enemies out…
Or keep the Empire trapped inside with him.
Sam whispered into the night:
"Arthur… don't make me choose."
Far away, inside the palace, Arthur stood alone in the records room with a name circled on parchment. A healer. A signature. A date. And beneath it all, a pattern.
Arthur's lips curled into something like a smile.
Not because he was happy.
Because he was finally getting direction.