The sheer expanse of the royal palace was enough to make anyone dizzy.
Jamie trailed the maid down corridors that seemed to stretch on into infinity, weaving past soaring marble pillars, tapestries depicting ancient victories, and gilded archways that could easily swallow a small cottage whole. The maid moved with practiced efficiency, her arms full of linens, her gaze fixed ahead. She didn't look back. She didn't hesitate.
'This place is ridiculous,' Jamie thought, her eyes darting across the walls as she carefully maintained her Flow Suppression.
'Who on earth needs a house this big? It's not a home, it's a maze. How does anyone even find the bathroom here, let alone live day-to-day without getting lost and starving to death?'
They passed a dining hall.
A library.
Another hall.
A sitting room.
A staircase.
Another staircase.
A kitchen.
Jamie stopped, her nose twitching as the smell hit her immediately. A rich, buttery aroma drifted past, carrying the unmistakable scent of freshly baked pastries and roasted poultry. Jamie's stomach gave a fond little flutter.
'Oh.'
She looked toward the kitchen. Several cooks were moving between enormous tables, preparing food for the palace.
'Note to self: come back and raid the royal kitchens later.'
The maid continued walking and Jamie hurried after her.
They eventually reached a quieter corridor and her mental cataloging was abruptly interrupted when the maid slowed to a halt, bowing deeply as a woman stepped out from a side corridor. It was one of the queens. Jamie recognized the haughty tilt of the chin, the excessive, jewel-encrusted silks, and the aura of suffocating entitlement before she even opened her mouth. It was queen Irena, mother of first Prince Leon Zeppelin. Queen Irena's demeanor was harshly narcissistic, her gaze sweeping over the bowing maid with undisguised contempt. Jamie hid behind a nearby pillar, poking her head out slightly to observe.
"Your Majesty."
""You there, chattel, what is the meaning of this delay?" the queen snapped, her voice like grinding glass.
"I specifically requested the East Gallery chambers to be aired out and scented with night-bloom two hours ago. Are you entirely incompetent, girl, or do you simply enjoy testing my patience?"
"I apologize, Your Majesty." The maid swallowed.
"I was delivering the laundry for Envoy LeFay."
"And the gallery?"
The maid's expression tightened.
"I was going to attend to it after this."
"After this?"
The queen scoffed.
"You dare to put a foreign envoy's needs before your queen's? So now I must now wait for you to do things at yout own pace?"
"I'm sorry."
"You people are always sorry."
The woman's eyes narrowed.
"A simple task. Yet somehow even that becomes difficult."
Jamie watched from behind a pillar, her jaw tight. She could feel the maid's intent—the carefully suppressed anger, the humiliation, the fear. She could also feel the heavy, oppressive emotional weight radiating off the queen—cold, jagged spikes of vanity and cruel amusement and cold, narcissistic satisfaction at having asserted her authority. Despite this, the maid remained perfectly composed not showing even a flicker of the emotions within her heart.
'I don't like her,' Jamie thought glaring at queen Irena. 'Not one bit.'
The queen's gaze flicked over the maid's shoulder, scanning the corridor behind her. Her eyes narrowed as they passed over the pillar where Jamie was hiding. For a moment, Jamie held her breath, her muscles tensing. But queen Irena was a mundane human so her sensitivity to Flow was weak—barely enough to perceive a presence, certainly not enough to pierce Jamie's suppression. The queen blinked, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose and rubbed her eyes irritably.
"Is something wrong, Your Majesty?" the maid asked nervously, noticing the pause.
"Nothing," the queen muttered, dropping her hand with a dismissive wave.
"Just the lingering stench of commoners in the halls. It gives me a headache." She shot the maid one last venomous glare.
"Finish your chores. And if the chambers aren't fragrant by noon, you'll find yourself scrubbing the stables."
With a dramatic rustle of silk, the queen turned on her heel and strode away, muttering loud enough for them to hear,
"It is utterly absurd. A foreigner from the northern delegations receives better service from the palace staff than our own royal blood. This kingdom is rotting from the inside out."
The maid waited until the queen was out of sight before letting out a slow, controlled breath, adjusted the stack of linens in her arms, and continued down the corridor. Jamie stepped out from behind the pillar and followed, shaking her head.
'People really do have it rough here,' Jamie mused internally. 'Makes me almost miss Gyan.'
A sudden, fond smirk touched her lips as she remembered the time Gyan had forced her to wear a frilly maid outfit and scrub the floors as punishment for sneaking out at night. The memory of Elias wearing the same frilly uniform as punishment for commiting the same crime flashed through her mind, and she almost giggled. Almost. The moment passed quickly.
'Good times,' she thought warmly.
The maid led her deeper into the residential wing, navigating toward the grand suites reserved for foreign delegates and high-ranking guests—known formally as the Guest Wing.
They stopped before a heavy oak door bearing an intricate brass plaque that read: Envoy LeFay.
The maid knocked. There was no answer.
She knocked again. Still nothing.
When no answer came, she slowly turned the heavy brass handle, pushing the door open with a soft click.
"Housekeeping," the maid announced quietly into the empty suite. "Delivering fresh linens."
Finding the suite vacant, the maid stepped inside and immediately got to work, stripping the rumpled sheets from the massive, ornate bed and sweeping the floors with quiet efficiency.
While the maid worked, Jamie drifted around the room, her curiosity getting the better of her. The suite was lavishly decorated with deep mahogany furniture, silk drapes, and strange, foreign trinkets from the north.
'Who even is this LeFay person?' Jamie wondered, running a finger along the polished edge of a writing desk.
'And why do they get a room three times the size of mine?'
As she poked around near the adjoining bathing chamber, a strange sensation prickled at the back of her neck. It wasn't danger, exactly—it was a deep, resonant hum, like a tuning fork vibrating in her bones. She felt a bizarre sense of familiarity, as if she were standing next to a distant kinsman. Down her spine, the birthmark on her shoulder suddenly itched fiercely.
Before she could investigate further, the soft murmur of approaching voices echoed from the corridor outside. Before she could get out a woman entered. She was tall and atheletic and had chestnut-toned skin and beige hair cut into a short, curly buzzcut.
"Ah," she said, noticing the maid. "You're new."
The maid bowed. "I was sent to deliver your linens, Envoy LeFay. I hope I haven't disturbed you."
"Not at all." LeFay waved a hand dismissively. "Is the King available to speak? I have matters to discuss with him."
The maid hesitated. "I'm not certain, ma'am. His Majesty returned from the council meeting earlier this morning and was very tired. I believe he is resting."
LeFay frowned, massaging her temples. "Figures."
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Finish up quickly and leave. And if anyone asks for me, tell them I am unavailable."
"Yes, Envoy." The maid finished her work and left, closing the door behind her. Jamie heard the click of the lock as LeFay turned it.
Inside the bathroom, Jamie pressed her back against the cool marble wall, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
'Great. Just great. I'm trapped.'
She was locked inside a small room with a foreign diplomat, and the only exit led straight back into the main bedroom where LeFay was currently pacing. Lefay If she tried to slip past now, she'd be caught instantly. Outside in the suite, LeFay let out a frustrated sigh, walking over to lock the heavy bolt on the door with a sharp CLACK.
"Unbelievable," LeFay muttered to herself, her voice carrying clearly into the bathroom.
"I only came to this wretched nation on a short, diplomatic information-gathering mission, and it's turning into a complete logistical nightmare."
Jamie crept silently out of the bathroom and hid behind a nearby couch, peering over the frame. LeFay hadn't noticed her and was pacing near the bed, running a hand over her buzzcut.
"I was sent here to use the festival as a cover—to quietly observe how much the Kingdom of Aerthos suspects Nordhelm of masterminding that little border skirmish at Blackhaven. Not only have I been stonewalled by every noble in this city, but now an entire revolution has to break out and paralyze the capital!"
Jamie listened carefully. Her curiosity sharpened. LeFay groaned and continued with her rant oblivious to her audience.
"Minerva should have come."
Jamie tilted her head.
"She's the one with the silver tongue. She could have talked her way through this. But no—I had to come because Prince Lyle had to be a selfish, arrogant bastard and botch a simple retrieval operation."
Jamie frowned.
'Retrieval?'
LeFay sighed.
"At least we captured Sigmund Kilgowe. That was a win. Even if everything else has gone wrong."
Jamie froze.
'Captured? SK is dead so what does she mean captured? Whats going on?'
LeFay dropped the key on the nightstand and sat down on the bed, kicking off her boots.
"At the end of the day," LeFay murmured, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, "we managed to tie up the loose ends. We eliminated the main asset working with that traitorous princess, Raizelle and that bastard who became her lover, what was his name again? Ror... Roric, wasn't it?"
The color drained entirely from Jamie's face.
The warmth in her veins turned to liquid ice. Every sound in the room—the distant wind outside, the crackle of the fireplace, the beating of her own heart—vanished, replaced by a deafening, hollow ringing.
...Roric...
Roric Thorne.
Her father....
LeFay lay back.
"Pity about him. Though I hear that scum and the traitor princess actually spawned a brat. Dunno how true that is but someone should probably hunt the kid down ... though thank the spirits, that's not my problem. Someone else can deal with that burden."
LeFay drifted into silence, letting her eyes close as she relaxed against the pillows, entirely unaware of the shadow detaching itself from behind the couch.
She moved on silent feet, her steps measured, her body coiled with a tension she had never felt before. The cheerful girl who had entered the palace was gone, burned away in the span of a single heartbeat. In her place was something colder, something dangerous.
She stood over LeFay, casting a shadow across the envoy's face.
LeFay's eyes fluttered open. Her gaze met Jamie's, and for a moment, there was only confusion. Then she gasped , scrambling backward on the mattress with a start, her diplomatic composure shattering instantly.
"Who—how did you—?"
Before LeFay could finish the sentence, a faint, crystalline hum cut through the air.
Energy erupted outward from Jamie's palm as she summoned a weapon from the copper ring storage SK had gifted her, condensing with terrifying speed into a sleek, razor-sharp spear tipped with an ominous, dripping crimson edge. The same spear a Dishonored had used to kill her father.
Jamie stared down at her, her bright blue eyes completely devoid of warmth, shimmering with a chilling, bottomless bloodlust.
"My name is Jamie Thorne," she whispered, her voice dangerously soft, carrying the weight of an avalanche. "The daughter of Roric Thorne and Raizelle L. Thorne."
LeFay's breath caught in her throat, her chest seizing as she stared into the face of a terrifyingly lethal ghost. She had heard the rumors—the traitor's daughter, the child who had escaped the purge. She had never expected to meet her like this.
For a fraction of a second, stark terror paralyzed LeFay. But years of elite tactical and diplomatic training kicked in, forcing her survival instincts to lock on. She realized this was the exact target the higher-ups wanted silenced. No one else would know the names this girl had just mentioned. If she could capture or subdue this runaway brat here and now, a promotion and personal commendation from the Queen herself would be guaranteed.
LeFay's expression hardened from panic to a predatory, razor-thin smile.
"Well, well," she said, rising from the bed. "The little bird has flown into the cage itself."
"Envoy LeFay," Jamie continued, her grip tightening on the spear until her knuckles turned bone-white as she pointed it at LeFay.
"I require clarification. Elaborate on all you spoke of."
Without a word of warning, a lethal blade manifested in LeFay's hand, and she lunged forward off the bed with blinding, ferocious speed—swatting the spear aside and aiming a slash at Jamie faster than humanly possible to react.