Chapter17: Names in the Dark

Back in her chambers, Aveline locked the door behind her. Not even Elise stirred from the adjoining room—she'd sent her to sleep hours ago with a soft lie and a tighter smile.

Now, only the moon watched.

She placed the black-sealed envelope on her desk. The wax was stamped with no crest, only a jagged line through a circle—broken unity.

It cracked with a snap beneath her fingers.

Inside: a list.

Twelve names. Written in crisp, angled ink. Some she knew.

Some she wished she didn't.

Countess Varent. Lord Elric of the Southern Border. Lady Calista. Lord Fennhart.

Lucien's cousin. A Royal Scholar. Three courtiers she'd once dined beside.

And at the very bottom, scrawled in darker ink—

A second list.

Only three names.

Dorian Everwind.

Eira of the Obsidian Flame.

High Mage Caelis.

Her hand trembled.

Her father's name sat at the top of a page of "unknown loyalties."

Eira… she didn't know. Yet the name tugged at her like a frayed memory.

But it was the last name—Caelis—that made her blood run cold.

Because she'd seen that name once. In her mother's diary.

Scrawled beside the phrase: "He warned me once. Then vanished."

Aveline folded the paper, mind spinning.

Someone had mapped the rot beneath the court's gold.

And now she had the key.

She slid the paper into the false lining of her writing desk, hands steady again.

No one would see it until she wanted them to.

Let them believe she was still dancing blind.

Let them think her unaware.

But the game had changed.

And now, she held the first sword.

The morning air was brisk, sunlight spilling through the grand windows of the east wing. Aveline sat beneath a vine-laced archway in the gardens, a book open on her lap—but unread.

Her tea had gone cold.

The knowledge tucked in her desk burned hotter than any flame. Names. Threats. Traitors.

And right on cue, footsteps approached.

Polished boots. Confident stride.

Lucien.

"Reading philosophy this early?" he asked, eyeing the untouched pages as he approached.

"I find it soothes the mind," she said, offering a cool smile. "Or distracts it."

He sat without invitation, fingers drumming lightly on the marble table. "Interesting, considering I passed a servant girl running down the hall in tears. Something about a silver pin and a silk sash being burned?"

Aveline tilted her head. "Discipline builds character. Court needs more of it."

Lucien smirked. "I didn't come to talk about servant scandals."

"Then what did you come for?"

He leaned forward just a bit. "Your name is circling again. This time not just in whispers, but in private reports."

"To whom?"

"To people who matter," he said, voice low. "And not all of them like what they see."

Aveline met his gaze, unflinching. "Then perhaps they should stop looking."

Lucien's expression flickered—amusement, something sharper, something curious.

"I warned you before," he murmured. "You can't play this game alone."

"No," she said softly, "but I can learn the rules faster than anyone expects."

A moment of silence stretched.

Then Lucien sat back, just enough for his voice to return to its usual velvet tone. "You're dangerous when you're like this."

"I know."

He gave her one last look—half admiration, half warning—then rose.

"I'll see you at the assembly this afternoon. The king will be watching."

"So will I," she said, lifting her teacup at last.

Lucien smiled. But it didn't reach his eyes.