The phone's glow painted Adrian's face in pale blue light.
He replayed the video again — slower this time, eyes narrowing.
There.
In the reflection of the mirror, just as his hand brushed Liana's cheek, a shadow shifted — faint but deliberate. Someone leaning in, tampering with the camera. The motion was subtle, surgical. Whoever it was had known exactly what they were doing.
He paused the frame. Zoomed in. The image pixelated — a flash of a glove, the corner of a crest on a sleeve, barely visible in the candlelight.
His stomach turned cold.
That wasn't a servant's uniform. It was royal. Alderian.
He leaned back, chest tight. The betrayal sank like lead in his gut. Someone inside his own palace had been there that night.
But who?
A knock broke the silence. Adrian startled, minimizing the video.
"Enter," he called, voice steady despite the storm inside him.
General Thane stepped in, grim-faced. "Your Majesty, scouts have confirmed Vareen's border camps are doubling. King Alden's ordered troops to the front. They're calling it 'Operation Redemption.'"
Adrian exhaled slowly. "He means to make an example of us."
The general hesitated. "You should issue a statement, sir. Deny the accusations. Show strength."
"Strength?" Adrian gave a low, bitter laugh. "They don't want strength, Thane. They want blood."
Thane's brow furrowed. "If you'd only tell the truth of what happened that night—"
"There's more to it than that," Adrian cut in sharply. "Someone set this in motion long before the scandal broke."
Thane studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Then find them, before they find you."
The door shut behind him, leaving Adrian alone once more with the flickering video. His reflection stared back at him — tired, haunted, and increasingly unsure who in his kingdom he could trust.
Outside, thunder growled again — as if the sky itself was warning him.
⸻
Elara woke to the sound of dripping water.
A rhythmic plink, plink, plink that echoed through the damp air.
Her head throbbed. Her wrists ached. A thick cloth was tied over her eyes, rough against her skin. The scent of iron filled her lungs — metallic, heavy, and wrong.
She tried to move, but her hands were bound.
Panic clawed up her throat. "Hello?" Her voice cracked. "Who's there? Where am I?"
Silence.
Then, the faint scrape of a door opening.
Footsteps — slow, deliberate — approached across the stone floor.
"W-what do you want?" she whispered.
A voice answered, smooth as silk and twice as chilling. "Finally awake, are we?"
It was calm, almost polite — but threaded with amusement. Male or female, she couldn't tell. The tone shifted between registers, echoing slightly, distorted by some sort of mask or voice filter.
"Where is Corin?" she asked shakily.
A soft chuckle. "He was loyal."