The note arrived in the early light—delivered not by messenger or servant, but by pigeon.
Dahlia found it tethered to the foot of a pale dove resting on the terrace rail, its wings dusted in gold powder. An affectation the High Cardinal used only when issuing personal messages.
I took the parchment with gloved fingers. Its seal was waxless, bound only in prayer thread—a sacred cord used in burial rites.
Inside, a single line of ink shimmered red beneath the morning sun:
> "A flame kept too long in the dark either dies… or burns its keeper."
There was no signature. Only a pressed sprig of black yew. Poisonous. Decorative. Beautiful.
His reply.
Not just a warning—an invitation. He knew I knew. And now he wanted to see what I'd do with that knowledge.
I set the note aflame and let the ashes drift out over the garden below.
Let him watch.
---
Later that afternoon, Elira returned. This time in court silks, escorted by two guards who remained dutifully outside the room. She offered a bright, nervous smile and held out a cream envelope lined with gold.
"The queen requests your presence at the Mid-Spring Garden Tea," she said. "Personally."
I raised an eyebrow. "The queen rarely attends her own teas. Let alone summons those she's rumored to despise."
Elira's hands fidgeted with her skirts. "She… she wants to hear your thoughts on the upcoming festival. And on the people."
I opened the envelope.
The invitation was real. Official. Signed and sealed by the Queen's own hand—not her steward's. The date was two days from now. A private affair.
Only eight names listed.
Six nobles.
Lady Elira.
And me.
A trap?
Or an opportunity?
"Elira," I said softly, "did she ask anything else of you?"
She hesitated.
"Yes. She… she asked me why I was spending time with you. And whether you seemed… changed."
"And what did you say?"
"I told her yes," Elira said quietly. "And that it might not be a bad thing."
I stared at her. This soft, naive girl who had once been my enemy by design. Now she stood between queens and daggers for me.
"Thank you," I said, and meant it.
She left with her head held higher than when she entered.
---
That evening, Kael requested my presence in the inner gardens—a rare gesture.
I expected sword drills or brooding silence.
Instead, I found him seated on a bench beneath the moonflowers, cloak draped to one side, fingers drumming over an old journal.
"My old letters," he said as I approached. "To you. Before the engagement became political."
I blinked. "You kept them?"
He didn't answer right away.
"I reread them last night," he said. "They were full of arrogance. Empty compliments. I thought I knew who you were. What role you'd play."
"And now?"
Kael looked at me, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
"Now I'm wondering if I ever knew you at all."
Silence settled between us like frost.
"You said something the other day," he went on. "That surviving sometimes means playing the villain. Were you speaking about yourself?"
I nodded.
"Then tell me," he said, voice quieter now, "if you could stop playing, what would you become instead?"
I thought of Camden's letter. Of the cursed bloodline. Of my name bound to centuries of someone else's sins.
And I said, "A survivor. A disruptor. Maybe even something better."
He smiled faintly. "Then I look forward to meeting her."
And with that, he stood and left me in the moonlight. For once, without suspicion in his step.
---
But in the shadows beyond the hedges, a different pair of eyes watched.
And later that night, in a forgotten chamber beneath the cathedral, a voice whispered through candle smoke:
> "She's waking them. One by one. The scholar. The alchemist. The cursed blood. If she reaches the library beneath the crypt, the binding will fail."
Another voice hissed, "Shall we act?"
A hand, thin and gloved, tapped a silver ring shaped like a crown of thorns.
> "No. Let her come closer. The fall is more exquisite from the summit."
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