While the fire crackled and the weight of command shifted between the sovereigns, Leesa stood still, too still. The words of the Empress had pierced deeper than any accusation ever could.
"That is not a tale. That is a riddle."
The line repeated in her mind, over and over, unravelling her composure thread by thread. The Crown Prince had vanished—without sound, without struggle, without a trace.
It defied every instinct, every measure of logic she'd known. And yet… it had happened. In those few seconds, she had stepped away, the world had shifted.
How?
That single word echoed through her, louder than the flames or the fury in the chamber. How did they know the route? How did they silence a dozen guards? How did they take a man like him without leaving a body behind?
A riddle. Not a failure. A design.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She had replayed the moment in her mind a dozen times, but now she had begun to look between the moments. Not what she'd seen, but what she hadn't.
The Empress was right.
Slowly, Leesa raised her head, eyes no longer clouded with fear or shame. There was something else in them now—resolve and the first edge of fury.
"I will find him," she said quietly, her voice steadier than it had been since the chamber doors first closed. "I swear it." She stood up, bowed to the Emperor and the Empress, turned around and left. Elzar followed behind.
The great doors closed behind her with a low, echoing thud, sealing the cold fury of the throne chamber within.
Leesa exhaled, only now realising how long she'd held her breath beneath the weight of royal judgment. But there was no time to dwell and definitely no time for doubt.
In an attempt to speak to Elzar, she turned to him, but before she could speak, a figure peeled away from the shadowed wall—Anton Benton, a royal butler and shadow-listener of the Imperial Palace.
"You heard everything," she said simply, not as a question.
Anton gave a single nod, his expression unreadable beneath the flickering moonlight.
"Good now, Commander Elzar," she said, striding beside him, her tone clipped but urgent, "I need to speak with our vice commanders." He nodded without hesitation, and her eyes moved from Elzar to Anton, and Anton understood his assignment.
Anton gave a small bow, already turning away, his velvet-lined steps silent as thought.
Within the hour, the high-ceilinged meeting room in the Berly Palace flickered with the light of a dozen lanterns. The stone walls were thick and cold, built to withstand siege, but tonight, they bore witness to something far quieter and more dangerous: a council drawn in desperation.
At the long oak table sat the Crown Prince's most trusted men.
Elzar took his place at the head of the table, his brow furrowed. Beside him sat Roman Le, young for his rank, with sharp eyes and a reputation for unorthodox tactics. Lean, silent, always watching. Across from him was Hendricus - broad, energetic, a man of few words, but of absolute loyalty.
And then there was Anton Benton, no longer in his role as servant but as Flavian's right hand—the one who saw everything in the palace, heard every whisper behind every door. He stood apart, arms crossed, his face unreadable. He said nothing yet. He would speak when needed—and when it mattered most.
Leesa entered last. The room fell silent.
She did not sit. Her voice was calm but clear. "We have little time and even little information," she began. "I will not waste time. The Crown Prince has been kidnapped. There was no struggle. The guards were down in seconds. Whoever did this knew of our routes, our habits, our people. This was not a strike from beyond the borders. It came from within."
Her gaze hardened. "And we will find them."
Anton spoke of his confusion. "Lady Marlene, I am still unable to comprehend how such a feat was accomplished. The Crown Prince is no easy target—tall, broad of frame, a warrior in his own right. For him to be spirited away so swiftly… it defies all reason. And that, too, within mere seconds.
Leesa sighed, "That's what I want to know, too. I had sparred with him on a few occasions and trained beside him on the royal grounds. His hands bore calluses, his footwork was sharp, and his instincts were keener than most average knights. He was taller than me, broader. A quiet kidnapping? No chance."
"If the crown prince had been taken—truly taken—there would have been signs. A body. A blade. Blood. Anything?" asked Roman Le with a surprised look.
"There was body and blood, but of our own and nothing from the other side. Just silence and disappearance." Leesa averted her eyes for a second and murmured, "Unless…"
A dark possibility began to unfurl itself in her mind like a shadow crawling beneath a door.
Unless he was never taken at all.
"What if the Crown Prince left of his own accord?" Leesa blurted. All eyes in the room were fixed on Leesa. "Or worse—what if something had been used? A spell, a drug, a whisper in the night that bent even Flavian's iron will?"
Leesa's jaw tightened, and her arms folded across her chest. She didn't believe in ghosts. But she believed in power. And magic, in the wrong hands, could become the most silent of weapons.
"Magic?" questioned Anton, taken aback when he heard Leesa say that Flavian could go on his own.
"What?" Leesa looked directly into Anton's eyes, not realising she was letting her thoughts get away.
The air was starting to get thick with silence, heavy with the weight of suspicion and unspoken truths.
And then—
Bang!
The heavy doors were thrown open without warning. The crashing echo reverberated through the chamber like a cannon fire. The nobles stormed in with the arrogance of men who had mistaken their titles for absolute authority.
"This is where the Prince's fate is being decided?" barked a sharp, imperious voice, dripping with disdain.
Leesa turned slowly, her face unreadable.
Into the chamber strode three noble Lords, robes heavy with silk, pride, and perfume. Their retinue hovered just beyond the threshold, eyes gleaming with scandal and opportunity.