Marcus shifted his stance, hand drifting toward the mace at his belt. Linus didn’t move, his posture still but watchful, eyes fixed on the heavy oak door. The scent of beeswax and old stone hung thick in the air, a strangely comforting contrast to the tightening knot in Linus’s gut. Neither of them spoke. The footsteps were getting closer, deliberately paced, measured. Like a predator evaluating its entrance. Then the door swung inward with a swiftness that belied the princess’s delicate frame.

  Princess Mara entered, not with the solicitous grace expected of royalty, but with the focused energy of a seasoned commander assessing a battlefield. Her dark braid, usually coiled tight, had come loose, strands escaping to frame a face carved from granite. “You’re awake,” she stated, her voice flat, devoid of inflection. Not a question, merely an observation. “Good.”

  “Princess,” Linus offered, forcing a weak smile. He shifted against the pillows, testing the ache in his ribs. A dull throb, easily concealed, but a constant reminder. “A…pleasant surprise.”

  “Marcus,” Mara directed, her gaze flicking to the guard. “You can wait outside. I’d prefer a private word with Linus.”

  Marcus’s jaw tightened, a subtle protest. He met Linus’s eyes for a fleeting moment, a silent question passing between them. Linus offered the barest of nods. Loyalty was a useful tool, but sometimes, appearances demanded solitude. “As you wish, Your Highness.” Marcus’s departure was as silent and efficient as his arrival.

  The door clicked shut, sealing them within the confines of Linus’s chamber. The air felt immediately colder, heavier. Mara didn’t offer a seat, nor did she take one herself. She simply stood, hands clasped loosely in front of her, observing him with an unnerving intensity.

  “Marcus should have briefed you about the shapeshifter, I guess,” she said finally, the words clipped and precise. “The one who attempted…this.” She gestured vaguely towards his bandaged torso. “We are continuing to look for him. A thorough sweep of the lower city, questioning informants. It’s…difficult. The battle created a great deal of chaos.”

  Linus allowed a flicker of gratitude to cross his face. A performance, of course. “I appreciate the diligence, Your Highness. It’s…reassuring to know you’re taking this seriously.”

  “Do you know why they would target you, Linus?” Her eyes, the color of storm clouds, bored into him. The question wasn’t one of genuine inquiry. It was a probe, testing the waters.

  He considered his response carefully. Truth was a dangerous commodity. “That’s what I’ve been attempting to ascertain. Perhaps they believe I’m…particularly close to you. A misguided attempt to weaken your position?” He presented it as a possibility, a palatable explanation.

  Mara’s expression didn’t change. “Many of my loyal men were targets during the battle,” she said, her voice a monotone. “Assassinated during the cover of the fighting. It’s possible someone believes you are…aligned with me. A convenient scapegoat.”

  Linus’s fingers tightened beneath the covers. She was close. Too close. He’d orchestrated the deaths of those men himself, or rather, had ensured his own agents did so, framing it as collateral damage in the chaos of the siege. It had been a necessary maneuver, weakening Mara’s inner circle and forcing her to rely more heavily on his…services.

  “A chilling thought,” he murmured, carefully modulating his tone to convey concern, not self-preservation. “But surely, Your Highness, you wouldn’t suspect anyone within your own court?”

  A ghost of a smile touched her lips, a fleeting, unsettling expression. “Suspicion is a necessary tool, Linus. One I’ve learned to wield effectively. And you, of all people, should understand that.”

  He did. He understood it intimately.

  “Of course,” he agreed smoothly. “But to think someone so close…it’s unsettling. Perhaps this shapeshifter is a Sorenputhra agent, attempting to destabilize the kingdom?”

  Mara didn’t respond immediately. She walked slowly towards the window, her gaze fixed on the courtyard below. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the stone. “Perhaps,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper. “Or perhaps, the rot begins closer to home than we think.”

  She turned back to face him, her eyes unwavering. "I trust you're being entirely forthcoming with me, Linus?"

  The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations. He met her gaze, his own expression neutral. “You wound me, Your Highness. My loyalty is…unquestionable.” A lie, of course. But a necessary one. For now.

  Mara’s lips thinned, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she shifted her focus, her voice becoming colder, more clinical. “My sister, Elara, is arriving tomorrow. She’s…insistent on assessing the situation firsthand. I anticipate a difficult visit.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Linus gave a polite nod. Elara. The favored daughter, the one with the genuine claim to the throne, the one Mara despised. Her arrival complicated things. “A family reunion, of sorts. I’m certain you’ll manage.”

  “And Isabel is missing,” Mara stated, her voice flat. “Vanished since the night of the siege. No trace. She knew…things. Details about my movements and my preferences. Details I didn’t share widely.”

  A coldness settled in Linus’s gut, a familiar ache that signaled complication. Isabel. His Isabel, currently breathing – albeit reluctantly – in the damp stone of the lower dungeons. He’d secured her, of course, not for sentiment, but for the information she possessed. The girl was more than he’d initially calculated. A secret, unchanneled light mage, a dangerous anomaly. And now, with Mara voicing her disappearance, the risk of exposure escalated.

  He schooled his expression, maintaining the practiced neutrality that had served him so well. “A regrettable loss, Princess. A thorough investigation will be launched.” The words felt hollow, a performance for an audience of one.

  The mention of Isabel stirred another, more unsettling thought. Azura.… the situation had just become exponentially more precarious.

  He filed the information away, not as a loose end to unravel, but as a pressure point demanding immediate attention. Two problems now. One contained, for the moment, beneath the estate. The other, a growing shadow on the horizon.

  Then came the question he’d been dreading. Mara’s gaze sharpened, pinning him like an insect under glass. “The Sorenputhra prince, Louis. You were the one who confirmed his death. How did you know? And…where did you get this?” She held up a signet ring, its silver tarnished with age, bearing the crest of House Sorenputhra. It was undeniably Louis’s.

  He’d anticipated this, of course. He’d prepared several plausible explanations, carefully crafted narratives designed to deflect suspicion. But seeing the ring in her hand, the raw accusation in her eyes…he found himself wanting to do more than simply deflect. He wanted to unsettle her, to remind her of the delicate balance of their arrangement.

  “Ah,” he said slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips. He allowed his gaze to drift downwards, lingering for a beat on the stark contrast of her black skirt against the crimson of her tunic. The fabric clung subtly to her form, hinting at the strength beneath. He let his eyes trace the line of her waist, then slowly back up to meet her gaze. “I didn’t think it was time to reveal everything yet.”

  Mara’s jaw tightened. She didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact, but he saw a flicker of something in her eyes – surprise, perhaps, or something akin to…discomfort.

  "He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Do you remember, Princess, who came to you? Who offered assistance when your own family turned a blind eye to your…discomforts? You didn’t request loyalty. You offered yourself to me. You said you wanted to be my tool, my blade… and my toy.”

  He drew the word out, letting it linger in the air like a caress. He didn’t need a response. The way her breath hitched was answer enough. “A useful quality, Princess. Willingness”

  He paused, letting the words hang in the air. The implication was clear. She had willingly ceded a degree of control, and now resented the consequences. She’d sought his power, and now questioned his use of it.

  His gaze traced the line of her jaw, then slowly drifted downwards, lingering on the rise and fall of her pointed chest with each measured breath. He noted the subtle tightening of the muscles in her neck, the way her fingers clenched almost imperceptibly at her side.

  “We can talk about Louis, about the ring,” he continued, his gaze returning to her eyes, holding them captive. “But only when we’re both being entirely forthcoming. When you’re not hiding anything…when you’re not…dressed for war.” The double meaning was deliberate, a subtle jab at her constant state of guarded readiness, the metaphorical armor she wore.

  He allowed a moment of silence to stretch between them, savoring the subtle shift in the power dynamic. He hadn't shown weakness, hadn't provided explanations. He'd simply…reminded her of their arrangement, and subtly, deliciously, unsettled her.

  He knew she saw through his manipulations and understood his self-serving nature. That was precisely why she tolerated him. A predator recognizes another, even when they’re circling each other.

  Mara folded her arms, the movement precise and economical. “Elara will doubt both of us, Linus.”

  The implication was clear: she didn't believe Elara would give either of them the benefit of the doubt, a reflection of the deep-seated distrust that permeated the royal family. Everyone kept their distance from her, save for Alexander, her brother.

  “What can we say, Princess? We didn’t even know Louis was within the Aldric kingdom. The kingdom will do anything it can to find the culprit.” The words were carefully chosen, offering a plausible deniability, a convenient scapegoat. He watched her reaction, searching for the telltale signs of disbelief, but her expression remained stubbornly blank. A frustrating quality, that.

  Mara offered no acknowledgment, no verbal confirmation that she’d even registered his statement. “Conserve your strength, Linus.” She turned, her movements as fluid and silent as smoke, and departed the room, leaving the words hanging in the space she’d vacated. Not a dismissal, precisely, but a directive. A subtle reminder of his vulnerability and her control.

  Once Mara was gone, Linus exhaled sharply, his body slumping slightly in exhaustion. He hadn't realized how much energy it took to maintain the facade in his weakened state. Marcus, silent as ever, remained stationed by the door, a statue observing the aftermath.

  “She suspects,” Linus murmured, more to himself than to his bodyguard. “And Elara… she’s circling.”

  “Naturally,” Marcus replied, his voice a low rumble. “She is not foolish. Nor is her sister, though her judgment is clouded by… familial affection for the Prince.”

  Linus ran a hand through his hair, the gesture revealing a tremor he hadn’t consciously acknowledged. The game was becoming increasingly complex. Isabel, Azura, Elara… and Mara, a volatile force he was attempting to control. He needed information and leverage. And he needed it quickly. The carefully constructed equilibrium was fracturing, and he had a sinking feeling that the pieces were about to fall in a way he couldn’t predict.