Chapter 15: The Queen's Game
The capital of Veyth was never still. Even in winter's teeth, its streets pulsed like veins, carrying the lifeblood of merchants, envoys, thieves, and spies. Towers loomed over narrow alleys; bells tolled from cathedrals whose spires stabbed the grey sky. The scent of roasting chestnuts mingled with horse sweat and the faint, metallic tang of the river.
Elias had grown up here, but it felt different now—colder, more watchful. Or maybe it was simply that he arrived as a fugitive, with Isabella riding at his side like a living storm he couldn't control.
They entered through the Western Gate under false banners. Marcellus had managed the bribes, but it wasn't coin that unsettled Elias—it was the way the guards' eyes lingered on Isabella, as if they recognized her without knowing why.
The Queen Regent's palace dominated the city's heart. Its white stone walls gleamed against the snow, crowned with gold filigree that caught the dying sun. Inside, the air was warm and perfumed, but the warmth didn't touch Elias's bones. He knew these halls, had played here as a boy—before the purge, before the gallows.
Now, he was led through them as a petitioner.
The Regent sat upon a throne carved from a single block of obsidian, a piece of the old world stolen from the desert empires. She was still beautiful in her way—sharp, like the edge of a freshly whetted blade. Her gown shimmered with threads of silver and black; her crown, a circlet of onyx thorns, seemed to drink the light.
When Isabella entered, the Regent's gaze sharpened, like a hawk sighting prey.
"So," the Regent said, her voice low, almost amused. "The last thorn of House Veyrin, returned from the snow. And you bring me… what, exactly?"
Elias opened his mouth, but Isabella stepped forward before he could speak.
"I bring you what you have been seeking," she said, her voice carrying easily in the great hall. "Power to break the Conclave. Power to make even the old kingdoms kneel."
The Regent's lips curved. "You speak boldly for one who comes unbidden."
"I speak plainly," Isabella replied. "You know of the Thorn of Ages."
A ripple went through the chamber—whispers from courtiers and ministers who had sworn never to speak of it aloud.
The Regent rose from her throne, descending the steps with the unhurried grace of someone who feared nothing. She stopped before Isabella, studying her face as if reading a cipher.
"You've seen it," she said at last.
"I carry it," Isabella answered.
For a moment, the Regent's mask slipped—a flicker of hunger, quickly smothered. She reached out, as though to touch Isabella's cheek, but her hand stopped just short.
"And what price would you ask for sharing this… gift?"
Isabella smiled faintly. "Freedom. For myself. For those I choose." Her gaze flicked toward Elias, quick as a heartbeat.
That night, the Regent held a private feast. Gold light spilled from crystal chandeliers, music from lutes and viols filled the air, and wine flowed like a river. Isabella was seated beside the Regent, the two women speaking in low tones that Elias could not hear.
He hated the way the Regent leaned close, as if whispering secrets into Isabella's ear. Hated more the way Isabella seemed to listen.
Celina sat across from him, picking at her food. "You see it too," she murmured.
"What?"
"She's testing her. Weaving her into the web. The Regent doesn't want to command Isabella—she wants her as an equal. Or thinks she does."
"And if Isabella agrees?" Elias asked.
Celina's eyes were steady. "Then you'll lose her."
Later, when the feast ended, Elias found Isabella alone on a balcony overlooking the frozen gardens. Snow drifted down, catching in her hair like flecks of silver.
"You enjoyed yourself," he said, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
She glanced at him, amused. "Are you jealous?"
"I'm wary," he replied. "You don't know what the Regent is capable of."
"Oh, I do," Isabella said softly. "She's not the only one who wants to change the game."
He stepped closer, searching her eyes. "And which side are you on, Isabella?"
For a heartbeat, something raw flickered there—pain, longing, maybe even fear. Then it was gone. "I'm on mine."
In the weeks that followed, Isabella's influence in the palace grew. Ministers sought her counsel; the Regent included her in councils of war. Elias found himself increasingly sidelined, his warnings drowned in the tide of political maneuvering.
But at night, when they were alone, the distance between them was less clear. She would sit by the fire in her chambers, hair unbound, telling him fragments of her dreams—dreams of the Thorn whispering in the voices of the dead.
One night, she asked him, "If you had the power to end the Conclave tomorrow, no matter the cost… would you take it?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation.
She studied him for a long moment, then reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were warm, but her pulse beat strangely slow, as if in another rhythm.
It was Celina who brought the first real proof that something was wrong. She burst into Elias's chambers one morning with a folded scrap of parchment.
"I intercepted this," she said. "It's from the Conclave—to the Regent."
The message was short, written in a cipher Celina had cracked long ago: The seed has taken root. When the flower blooms, she will be ours.
Elias felt the blood drain from his face. "They're letting her stay here. They want her here."
"Exactly," Celina said. "And the Regent either doesn't see it… or doesn't care."
That evening, Elias confronted Isabella. She listened without interrupting, her face unreadable.
When he finished, she said only, "Do you trust me?"
"I want to," he admitted.
"Then trust that I know what I'm doing." She stepped closer, her voice low. "The Conclave made a mistake. They think I'm theirs. But I am no one's."
Her breath was warm against his cheek. For a moment, he thought she might kiss him. Instead, she turned and walked back into the firelit chamber, leaving him on the balcony with the snow falling silently around him.
The Regent's Winter Court was approaching—a gathering of nobles, foreign envoys, and hidden knives. Isabella would be presented as the Regent's new "advisor," though Elias knew the truth was far more dangerous.
He had to decide whether to protect her… or stop her.
And somewhere deep in the palace walls, the Thorn whispered on.