For a better experience:
Play "Beauty in Betrayal" by Lennard Kastner on Spotify
Chapter 15
Whispers Beneath the Throne (Part II)
"Even silence has a pulse when it watches the one who defies it."
Lucien's Point of View
The corridor outside her chambers was steeped in the kind of silence only a palace could create. Polished, perfumed, and poisonous.
It was the hour before dawn, when the torches burned low and even the walls seemed to hold their breath. I moved through it without haste. The palace knew how to listen, and it always listened more closely to those who hurried.
Behind me lingered the faint trace of her scent, the sterile sharpness of herbs, and the soft warmth of wax. It should not have lingered. But it did.
Amethyst Celestria Rosaire.
Her name once appeared in my reports as a footnote, a forgotten royal, a fragile pawn, a dying relic of a dead queen. A child too delicate for survival.
Tonight, that same name felt heavier than the crown her father wore.
I reached the open arches of the inner courtyard. The rain had ceased, but the stone still glistened like old glass, reflecting the pale gleam of the moon. The air was cold, sharp, edged with the scent of iron.
I thought I was alone until I heard the faint scrape of a boot against the tiles.
"Your Grace," came a voice from the shadows.
Eloquin stepped forward, bowing low. His movements were deliberate, measured, as they always had been, even before his allegiance had turned toward me.
The scar along his side caught the moonlight, pale against the darkness of his uniform. I remembered the moment she had stitched it herself, her hands trembling with exhaustion but steady with purpose.
The irony was not lost on me. The woman I had been ordered to observe had saved the life of the man now sworn to watch her.
"You're late," I said quietly.
"Forgive me," he answered, straightening. "The council kept the halls sealed until the King dismissed them. Word spread quickly, they say the Princess accused the merchants of poisoning the capital."
"She did more than accuse them," I replied. "She showed them truth, and they called it blasphemy."
Eloquin's eyes flickered. "I was in the Hall. I saw her stand before the Queen."
I glanced toward the marble archway where rain pooled faintly on the floor. "She did not stand. She challenged. There's a difference."
He hesitated, then said softly, "She's brave."
"Bravery is a language that gets one killed in this place," I murmured. "She speaks it fluently."
For a long moment, only the faint hiss of the fountain filled the air.
"Your orders, my lord?"
I folded my hands behind my back. "The Princess is to be watched."
He hesitated. "Watched, or guarded?"
The question hung in the air, careful, cautious.
"Both," I said finally. "She attracts attention — some from enemies, some from fools who might one day become both. Two men near her chambers, discreet. No insignia. No contact unless necessary. I want to know every shadow that crosses her door."
Eloquin nodded, though I saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. "She won't like it."
"She won't know."
"She will," he said, more certain this time. "That one always knows."
A faint, unwilling smile touched my lips. "Then let her wonder whether the shadows are meant to kill her or keep her alive."
Eloquin shifted his weight, the tension in his shoulders betraying something that words could not.
"She saved me, my lord." His voice dropped lower. "She could have left me bleeding in the alleys. But she didn't."
"I know."
"If she finds out I'm among those watching her..."
"She won't," I interrupted. "And if she does, pray that she forgives faster than I would."
His jaw tightened. "Yes, my lord."
"Choose your men carefully," I added. "I want loyalty, not curiosity. If anyone speaks her name beyond these walls, I'll know where the breach began."
He bowed, his posture crisp. "As you command, Duke Valleria."
When he was gone, I stood alone beside the fountain.
The moonlight broke across its surface, scattering silver ripples that bent my reflection into something unrecognizable — half a man, half a mask.
"She believes justice can heal this empire," I murmured to the night. "She doesn't yet understand what festers beneath it."
The water stirred. For a moment, I could almost see her reflection beside mine, the tilt of her head, the stubborn glint of her eyes, the way she had looked at me as if she already knew who I was.
The memory clawed at something I had buried long ago.
I turned toward the courtyard's edge, where the faint glow of her window shimmered against the upper wall. The light flickered once — faint, fragile — then dimmed.
I should have left.
Instead, I lingered.
She had called me by that name tonight.
Lucas.
The sound of it still lingered like a bruise in the back of my mind.
Few dared speak to me without fear, fewer still without flattery. She had done both and neither.
She looked at me not as a Duke, not as a symbol, but as a man. That alone was dangerous.
I drew my cloak tighter, the crimson seal of Valleria catching the moonlight, the same crest she had seen and recognized. The same crest that had betrayed everything I had tried to conceal.
You knew, she had said.
And I had.
And now, so did she.
A dangerous knowledge, shared between us like a silent oath neither of us intended to make.
Beyond the walls, the city stretched in restless quiet. The river's surface gleamed faintly, black and endless. Somewhere in those alleys, the people still coughed from poisoned water.
And here, in the heart of marble and gold, the Queen smiled in her sleep, thinking her game still hers to win.
I exhaled slowly.
If Amethyst Celestria Rosaire continued to move as she had tonight, with intellect sharper than fear, with compassion stronger than obedience — she would not survive long enough to see the kingdom she wanted to save.
But if she did...
If she learned to wield her light as a blade instead of a beacon, then not even the Church could smother what she had begun.
The mare waited at the gate, restless beneath the dripping eaves. The guards bowed without meeting my eyes as I passed.
I mounted and glanced once more at the window above. A faint glow returned there, weak but unwavering.
"Guard her," I murmured to the rain. "But do not touch her."
The words were meant as a command, yet they sounded like a confession.
As I rode toward the gates, the night closed around me, deep, silent, endless.
The city's lights blurred into the fog, and still I could see that single, stubborn flame flickering behind her window.
Perhaps, I thought, I had not sent men to protect her at all.
Perhaps I had sent them to keep myself from returning.