Chapter 1
The Assignment
The doors to the Queen's Hall loomed like judgment.
Caelin stood alone before them, soot still clinging to the hem of her coat, the smell of scorched vellum haunting her skin. Her hands were clean—barely—but ink still stained the cuticle of her left thumb, and that felt like proof enough of guilt in a place like this.
Two guards flanked the doors. One looked at her with the same disdain he might offer a soot-covered chimney sweep. The other simply knocked twice.
The doors groaned open.
Inside, the hall was cool and quiet. Shadows clung to the high vaulted ceiling like watchful ghosts. Queen Elaris sat not on her throne, but beside a long crescent table, a single ledger open in front of her. She did not look up as Caelin approached.
"Scholar Mor," said the Queen's steward, voice clipped. "You are aware of the incident that took place earlier today?"
Caelin kept her chin lifted. "Yes, I lived it."
The steward did not smile. "You were found inside the restricted archive during an active fire."
"I was trying to save records—documents that should have been secured, not left to burn."
"Documents you were not permitted to access."
"I didn't set the fire."
"No one is accusing you of arson," the Queen said quietly, eyes still on the ledger. Her voice was like smoke over frost. "Only of recklessness."
Caelin swallowed.
"Perhaps," the Queen continued, "you truly believed you were preserving something of value. Or perhaps you thought yourself above containment protocols. Either way, the result is the same: fire, destruction… and curiosity."
She looked up now, gaze sharp.
"You are not here because I am angry, Scholar Mor. You are here because your behavior forces me to make a choice: exile or containment."
Caelin's breath caught. "Exile?"
"It would be safer," said the steward. "Cleaner."
"For whom?" Caelin asked.
"For everyone… the same way it helped your mother," the Queen said flatly. "But I'm told you have a gift for uncovering buried things. And though I find that deeply…frustrating at times. I also find it useful."
The Queen rose.
"You will remain in the capital. You will be granted temporary access to the sealed wing of the archives for one lunar cycle. After that, your work ends—one way or another."
Caelin's fists clenched at her sides. "And the price?"
The Queen gestured, and from the far end of the room, footsteps echoed.
Aren Talren stepped into view, still in the same worn armor, cloak hanging at an angle across one shoulder. His face was clean now, but the hard-set line of his jaw remained unchanged. His dark gaze met hers only briefly before flicking back to the Queen.
"He will be your escort," the Queen said. "Your shadow. If you stray from your assigned path, he will correct it. Where you go, he goes."
"And if I don't follow orders?" Caelin asked, jaw tight.
The Queen didn't look up. "Then the consequences will be handled swiftly. Virelia no longer has time for indulgent minds."
Aren spoke, voice quiet but firm. "Don't give them a reason."
Caelin turned her head slightly. "Is that a threat?"
"No," he said. "It's a warning."
The Queen closed the ledger with a soft snap.
"Dismissed."
##
They walked in silence down the marble corridor, their footsteps out of rhythm—hers brisk and clipped, his unhurried and impossible to shake.
It infuriated her that he could stroll so casually and still keep pace, while she was nearly winded trying to out-pace him without showing it.
Caelin glanced sideways at him. He was broader than she remembered in the firelight—tall, sun-browned skin, a long scar slicing through the arch of his left brow. His armor wasn't polished or ceremonial. The scratches told stories, and none of them involved court dances.
No knight in shining armor, that was for sure.
"You're not from here," she said finally.
He didn't look at her. "No."
"Let me guess—border campaigns?"
"Four years."
"Voluntary?"
"Define voluntary."
She huffed. "You're really committed to this whole monosyllabic brute persona, aren't you?"
"I'm just here to make sure you don't die," he said. "Or get anyone else killed."
She bristled. "I didn't start that fire."
"Never said you did." He finally looked at her. "But I nearly died dragging you out of it. If I hadn't thrown you over my shoulder and forced us both out, we'd be ash."
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it.
His gaze lingered—sharp, assessing. Not cruel. Not bored. Just... tired.
He wasn't watching her like she was a burden.
He was watching her like she might be a threat.
Or worse—like he already knew she was one, and he was stuck with her anyway.
##
The path to the sealed wing curved down through the western archives, the air cooling as the stone floor dipped into shadow. Ahead, the scorched bronze doors loomed—marked by the royal sigil: a crown entwined with a circle, half-burned into the metal.
Two guards stepped aside without a word.
Caelin paused at the threshold. Aren stopped just behind her.
"I hope you know what you're looking for," he said quietly.
"I don't," she admitted. "That's the point."
He studied her for a beat. "You're risking a lot for questions."
She turned, meeting his gaze. "Knowledge is power. Stop asking questions, stop looking for truth—and someone else decides what history means. That's how the narrative shifts. That's how control works."
She exhaled. "That's why I fought to save the books in the fire. Some of that knowledge is already lost. If there's something—anything—left in this wing that can trace the true origins of the Shatterbound Oath, I have to find it. Even if it's only fragments."
Aren's jaw tightened. But he said nothing.
Instead, he pushed open the door.
##
In the upper chamber of the Ivory Citadel, the Queen stood with her back to the stained-glass window, fingers laced behind her back. Morning light fractured across her shoulder, casting pale gold against navy silk. Her face was drawn, the weight of rule etched into every line. Yet her shoulders remained straight, her chin high—she wore authority like armor.
Her steward approached quietly, scroll in hand.
"The scholar has entered the sealed archive," he said. "The soldier with her, as instructed."
Queen Elaris didn't turn. "And the protective wards?"
"Layered deep," the steward replied. "Nothing overt. Just enough to ensure she sees what we want her to."
The Queen inclined her head. "Good."
A pause.
"If she asks the right questions?" he asked.
Her voice was smooth. "Then we make sure the answers arrive… in the right way."
Her gaze drifted to the mountains beyond the glass—distant, pale, unmoved.
"Let her dig. Let him watch. And if they uncover anything dangerous—well." She let the thought trail off, a faint smile curving her lips. "We'll deal with that when it comes. For now, I need them both alive and near—but not near it."
She stepped out of the light.
"Some stories deserve forgetting. Some people need reminding of their place. And some promises... should never be broken."