The scream never came.
Only silence.
A silence so complete, so unnatural, it felt like the palace itself was holding its breath.
At dawn, the guards found the eastern watchtower empty. No signs of struggle. No blood. Just two bodies slumped against the stone wall, eyes wide open, lips parted in mid-sentence—as if death had interrupted them mid-thought.
Kael stood over them, his jaw tight.
"Poison," he said.
Lucien crouched beside one of the corpses. "Fast-acting. No scent. No residue."
Elara arrived moments later, her cloak still damp with dew. She looked down at the bodies, then at Kael.
"They're not warning us anymore," she said. "They're declaring war."
Kael didn't blink. "Then we answer."
---
The Sovereign Assembly met in hushed tones, the air thick with unease.
Kael stood at the center of the chamber, the steward's journal in one hand, the burned treaty in the other.
"They've infiltrated our walls," he said. "They've killed our men. They've tried to kill me. And now they're erasing our history."
A councilor rose. "Then strike them down. Arrest Seraphina. Bring Dorian back in chains."
Another added, "Purge the Inkspire. Burn it to the ground."
Elara stepped forward. "And if we're wrong?"
The room fell silent.
Kael turned to her, his voice low. "We're not."
"But if we act without proof," she said, "we become what they claim we are."
The Assembly fractured—half nodding, half glaring.
Kael's eyes never left hers.
---
That night, Kael didn't come to bed.
Elara found him in the training yard, shirt soaked with sweat, blade flashing in the moonlight. He moved like a man possessed—each strike sharper, faster, more desperate than the last.
"You're bleeding," she said.
He didn't stop. "It's nothing."
"Kael."
He froze.
Turned.
His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.
"I can't sleep," he said. "Not when I don't know where the next blade will come from."
She stepped closer. "You're not alone."
He looked at her, eyes shadowed. "Aren't I?"
Her heart cracked.
"I stood beside you," she said. "I always have."
"And yet you questioned me. In front of them."
"I questioned the moment. Not you."
He dropped the sword.
It clattered against the stone.
"I don't know how to be king and husband at the same time," he said.
She reached for his hand. "Then be Kael. I married him. Not the crown."
---
At the Inkspire, Seraphina stood before a mirror, brushing ash from her sleeves.
Dorian entered, his expression unreadable.
"They're rattled," he said. "But not broken."
Seraphina smiled. "Then we press harder."
He hesitated. "What if they find out?"
"They won't."
"And if they do?"
She turned to him, her voice like silk over steel. "Then we burn the rest."
---
Lucien returned to the tunnels.
He followed a new path—one that led beneath the old chapel.
There, hidden behind a false wall, he found a ledger.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
And at the bottom: a symbol.
The mark of the Inkspire.
He ran.
---
Kael stood in the war chamber, the map spread before him.
Elara entered, holding the ledger.
Lucien behind her.
"This is it," she said. "The proof."
Kael read it.
Then looked up.
His voice was steel. "Then we end this."
---
But that night, Elara couldn't sleep.
She sat in her study, the candle flickering low.
Kael had gone quiet again.
Not cold.
Just distant.
She opened her journal.
And wrote:
> The peace is trembling.
> The crown is steady, but the ground beneath it is not.
> Kael is slipping into silence. I am slipping into doubt.
> And the shadows are no longer waiting.
> They are moving.
> And the next move belongs to them.
>
> I used to believe I could write the world into order.
> But this world has a will of its own.
>
> And it's beginning to turn against me, once again.
She closed the journal.
And blew out the candle.
---The next morning, the palace awoke to tension.
Not fear.
Not yet.
But something colder—expectation.
Kael was already in the war chamber when Elara arrived. He didn't look up as she entered. His eyes were fixed on the map, his fingers tracing the eastern border like he could will the truth to rise from the parchment.
She stood across from him, waiting.
He didn't speak.
So she did.
"We need to talk."
His jaw tightened. "About the tunnels? Or about how you undermined me in front of the Assembly?"
Her breath caught. "I didn't undermine you."
"You questioned me."
"I questioned the timing. The strategy. Not you."
He looked up then, eyes sharp. "To them, there's no difference."
"To me, there is."
Kael stepped back from the table. "You think I don't see what they see? That I'm too close to this? That I'm too angry to lead?"
"I think you're scared," she said softly. "And you won't admit it."
He flinched.
Then turned away.
"I don't have the luxury of fear."
"You have me," she said. "That should be enough."
He didn't answer.
And that silence hurt more than any blade.
---
In the shadows of the Inkspire, Seraphina watched the flames of a single candle flicker against the stone.
Dorian stood beside her, arms crossed.
"They're unraveling," he said. "Kael and Lyria. She's pulling one way. He's pulling the other."
Seraphina smiled. "Then we let them tear each other apart."
Dorian's voice was low. "He's still my brother."
She turned to him. "And she was almost your wife."
He looked away.
"I wonder," she mused, "if she would've loved you, had things gone differently."
"She didn't choose me."
"No," Seraphina said. "But she might still regret it."
---
That evening, Elara stood on the balcony, watching the city below.
Kael joined her, silent.
They stood side by side, but the space between them felt wider than the kingdom.
"I miss you," she said.
"I'm right here."
"No," she whispered. "You're not."
He turned to her. "You think I don't feel this too? That I don't lie awake wondering if I'm losing you?"
"Then say it," she said. "Say you're afraid."
"I'm not afraid of them," he said.
"I didn't say them."
He looked at her.
And for a moment, the king vanished.
Only Kael remained.
"I don't know how to protect you from this," he said. "And I don't know what I become if I fail."
She stepped closer. "You don't have to protect me from the truth. Just don't shut me out of it."
He reached for her hand.
Held it.
Tight.
"I don't want to lose you," he said.
"Then don't."
---
That night, a raven arrived.
No seal.
No signature.
Just a single line scrawled in red ink:
"The queen bleeds next."
---
Elara read it in the candlelight.
Her hands didn't shake.
But her breath did.
She walked to the mirror.
Stared at her reflection.
And whispered, "So it begins."
---