Chapter 17: Silent Moves, Hidden Monsters

(Kyren's POV)

I sat still in the council chamber long after the others had gone. Only the faint crackle of dying firelight filled the vast, stone-carved room.

My fingers tapped lightly against the arm of my chair—an unhurried rhythm, yet each beat struck with intent.

Geo Rosairio.

Too charming, too patient. His presence was not merely that of a spurned suitor or an ambitious noble.

No... it carried the reek of something deeper—older.

A rot that words could not perfume.

I exhaled slowly, letting the simmering rage cool into something far more useful: calculation.

Subtle actions. Not yet open warfare. Not yet.

First, isolate. Second, expose. Third... destroy.

I issued the first command that night in a low whisper to Mark, who waited in the shadows.

"Keep Rosairio's movements watched. Discreetly. No guards in my colors. And if he meets with anyone unfamiliar... I want names. Faces."

Mark nodded once, his expression hard. He needed no elaboration.

Two nights later, the trap began to tighten.

It was during a royal banquet—ostensibly a dull affair celebrating the harvest—that I spotted a new player slipping into the game.

Not a guest on the official rolls.

Not an ally I recognized.

He stood near the eastern columns, speaking quietly to Geo.

Their proximity was too intimate for casual acquaintance—and too cautious for a public ally.

The man was clothed in black velvet, embroidered with curling silver patterns that shimmered like smoke. His hair was pale—a silver so light it could have been mistaken for white under torchlight.

But it was his eyes that rooted me in place.

One silver.

One black.

Cursed blood.

I had heard whispers of the line of Thorne.

Once stewards of a forgotten stronghold far beyond the mountains—until disease and madness had devoured their house.

Most believed them extinct.

I never had the luxury of believing in extinction.

Mark materialized at my elbow, following my gaze.

"You see him too, then," he murmured.

kept my voice low.

"Identify him. Quietly. I want everything—origin, loyalties, weaknesses."

Mark nodded once again, fading back into the crowd like mist.

I moved through the banquet carefully, speaking with minor nobles, maintaining the illusion of disinterest.

But my mind remained fixed on Geo and his companion.

Geo laughed too easily at Thorne's quiet words. He tilted his head just slightly, deferentially.

Not a master ordering a pawn.

An ally... or perhaps something worse.

I watched as Thorne's gaze lifted, scanning the crowd lazily—

And for a breathless second, our eyes locked across the hall.

He smiled.

There was no warmth in it.

Only promise.

And death.

Later that night, as Vidalia and I sat by the hearth in our private chambers, I found my hands restless again.

She was humming to herself, stitching a simple pattern onto a kerchief—completely unaware of the noose tightening around her.

Around us.

Part of me wanted to tell her.

Warn her.

Bury her in my arms and vow that no darkness would ever touch her.

But I didn't.

Not yet.

I needed her to be strong.

I needed her to be ready.

Instead, I crossed the room, pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and murmured:

"Stay close to me, Vidalia. Always."

She looked up, surprise flickering across her beautiful features.

"Of course," she said, voice gentle, smile soft. "I am yours."

And for the first time in days, some of the pressure coiled in my chest eased.

But deep inside, I knew:

Geo's play had begun.

And I had only just moved my first piece.