11. Whispers in the dark

Harsh followed the noblewoman through the dimly lit corridors of the palace. The scent of incense and old wood filled the air, the flickering torches casting long shadows against the stone walls.

She moved with an ease that came from years of navigating these halls—these games.

Harsh, on the other hand, was a stranger here.

A forgotten noble. A man with no real power, no standing.

And yet, she had called him here.

As they entered a quieter chamber, she gestured for him to sit on a cushioned bench. Servants moved silently in the background, pouring wine, adjusting the lamps, their eyes carefully avoiding his.

She sat across from him, studying him with the same piercing gaze as before.

"You understand why you're here, don't you?" she asked, swirling the wine in her cup.

Harsh held her gaze. "Because I interest you."

She smiled. "Yes. But more than that—because you are nothing."

A sharp silence settled between them.

Harsh clenched his fists under the table. He had expected as much, but hearing it stated so plainly still stung.

"You have no allies," she continued, her voice smooth. "No wealth. No claim. No soldiers. No bloodline of importance. You exist in the spaces between power, too insignificant for the great houses to fear, too noble for the common folk to accept as one of their own."

Harsh exhaled slowly. "And that makes me useful?"

"It makes you invisible," she corrected. "And in a palace where every move is watched, invisibility is a gift."

Harsh's mind raced.

She wasn't wrong. He had spent his time here observing, unnoticed, dismissed. The great lords cared nothing for him. The servants pitied or ignored him. He had been no one.

But what if he could turn that into an advantage?

She leaned forward slightly. "I know your type, Harsh. You think too much, you ask the wrong questions, and you believe that morality has a place in politics."

He frowned. "Doesn't it?"

She laughed softly. "Not in any way that matters."

Harsh remained silent.

"You still see the world through a scholar's eyes," she continued. "You think knowledge alone can change things. But knowledge without power is as useless as a blade without a hand to wield it."

Harsh's jaw tightened. "And you're offering me power?"

She studied him for a moment before answering. "I'm offering you a path. What you do with it will be up to you."

She reached into the folds of her silk robe and pulled out a small, rolled parchment.

Sliding it across the table, she met his eyes. "Read it."

Harsh hesitated before picking it up, unrolling the thin sheet. His eyes scanned the words, his breath slowing.

It was a list.

Names.

Servants. Guards. Nobles. Traders.

He looked up. "What is this?"

She tapped the rim of her cup. "People who have been watching the wrong things. Asking the wrong questions. Some of them know too much. Some of them… simply stand in the way."

Harsh's stomach twisted. "And what do you expect me to do with this?"

"Nothing," she said lightly. "Yet."

He placed the parchment down carefully. "You're testing me."

Her lips curved slightly. "Of course."

He took a slow breath. He had known, from the moment she summoned him, that this meeting was dangerous. But now, it was clear.

She wasn't just offering him a path.

She was asking him to choose one.

A Forgotten Noble's Choice

"Why me?" he asked at last.

"Because you have nothing to lose," she said simply. "And that makes you unpredictable."

She stood, her silk robes whispering against the stone floor. "Think about it. But do not take too long. Opportunities do not linger in the dark."

She walked past him, pausing briefly by his side.

"And Harsh?" she murmured, her voice low.

He turned his head slightly.

"You are not the only one who watches."

Then she was gone, leaving only the parchment behind.

Harsh exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the paper.

The game had begun.

And whether he liked it or not—he was now a piece on the board.