The victory celebrations had barely faded into memory when Elara found herself unable to sleep. She stood on the balcony of her reclaimed chambers, looking out over the kingdom that was once again hers. The castle felt different now—emptier somehow, despite being filled with her allies and supporters. Perhaps it was because she had changed. The girl who had fled through secret passages months ago no longer existed.
The moon hung heavy in the sky, its silver light casting long shadows across the courtyard below. Elara wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders, though the chill she felt came from within rather than the night air. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones, a whisper of unease that had been growing since the moment Malachar fell.
"You should be resting, Your Majesty."
Elara turned to find Kael emerging from the doorway, his face half-hidden in shadow. Even now, after everything they had been through together, he moved like a phantom—silent and watchful. But she had learned to read the tension in his shoulders, the subtle shifts in his stance that spoke of concern.
"I can't," she admitted quietly. "Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Not as he was at the end, but... before. When he was still my father's most trusted advisor. When he would tell me stories and teach me about the ancient magic of our realm."
Kael moved to stand beside her at the balcony's edge. His presence was steady, grounding. "Betrayal cuts deepest when it comes from those we trust."
"Is that what troubles you too?" Elara asked, studying his profile. "You've been distant since the battle. Something weighs on your mind."
For a long moment, Kael said nothing. Then, slowly, he reached into his tunic and withdrew a rolled parchment, its edges worn as if it had been handled many times. "I found this in Malachar's private chambers. I should have shown it to you immediately, but I... I needed to verify certain things first."
Elara's heart began to race as she took the parchment. The wax seal was already broken, revealing Malachar's distinctive handwriting. As she read by moonlight, the world seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
The letter spoke of allies—powerful ones. Lords and ladies she had believed loyal, merchants who controlled trade routes, even members of her own guard. But worse than the list of conspirators was the final paragraph, which spoke of a "greater master" to whom Malachar himself had answered. The usurper had been merely a puppet.
"This can't be real," Elara whispered, though her hands trembled. "If this is true, then we've won nothing. The real enemy is still out there."
"I've spent the last three days investigating," Kael said grimly. "The names on that list—I've watched them, listened to whispers in the market, spoken with my old contacts. Elara, I believe it's genuine."
She looked up at him, seeing her own fear reflected in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because I hoped I was wrong. Because you had just reclaimed your throne, and you deserved at least a few days of peace. Because—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching.
"Because what?"
"Because one of the names on that list is someone close to you. Someone who has been by your side throughout this entire journey."
Elara's blood turned to ice. She scanned the document again, her eyes catching on familiar names. Lord Rothgar, who had opened the gates for them. Sera, her lady-in-waiting who had survived the initial coup. Master Thorne, the scholar who had helped her understand her powers. Each name felt like a dagger to her heart, but none struck as deeply as the last entry, written in different ink as if added later.
Captain Lyros—the man who commanded her guard, who had fought beside her in the throne room, who had sworn his life to her protection. The man she had trusted implicitly since childhood.
"No," she breathed. "Not Lyros. He saved my life a dozen times over."
"The best spies are those who appear most loyal," Kael said softly. "But there's more. Show me your left wrist."
Confused, Elara extended her arm. There, barely visible in the moonlight, was a thin red mark she had attributed to the battle—a scratch from when she had channeled the ancient starlight magic to defeat Malachar.
"That's not a battle wound," Kael said. "It's a tracking mark. Shadow magic. Someone has been monitoring your location, possibly your magical energy as well. I've seen this kind of spell before, during my time in the eastern kingdoms. It requires physical contact to place and must be renewed every seven days."
Elara's mind raced. Seven days. The mark would need to be refreshed soon. Whoever had placed it would need to touch her again.
"Lyros helped me up after the final battle," she said slowly. "He grasped my wrist to steady me. I thought nothing of it."
"Seven days ago," Kael confirmed.
A sound from inside her chambers made them both freeze. Footsteps, measured and deliberate, approaching the balcony. Elara's hand instinctively went to where her sword would normally hang, but she had removed it when she came out for air.
Kael's blade was already partially drawn when Captain Lyros stepped into the moonlight, his weathered face creased with concern.
"Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion, but I saw light in your chambers and worried for your safety." His eyes moved from Elara to Kael, and something flickered across his expression—too quick to read. "Is everything all right?"
Elara forced herself to remain calm, to school her features into the mask she had learned to wear. "Everything is fine, Captain. Kael and I were merely discussing tomorrow's council meeting."
Lyros's gaze lingered on the parchment in her hand. "At this late hour? You push yourself too hard, my lady. You need rest to—"
"I'll rest when I'm ready," Elara interrupted, her voice carrying an edge she couldn't quite hide.
The captain's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Then he smiled, that familiar paternal expression she had known all her life. "Of course, Your Majesty. But perhaps I could convince you to at least come inside? The night air carries illness this time of year."
He extended his hand toward her, palm up in a gesture of assistance. His left hand.
Elara stared at that outstretched hand, her pulse thundering in her ears. If she took it, if she allowed him to help her inside, he would touch her wrist. The mark would be renewed. Her enemies would continue to track her every movement.
But if she refused, if she showed suspicion, and he was indeed one of the conspirators—what then? How many others in the castle answered to this mysterious master? How many blades could strike at her before dawn?
"Your Majesty?" Lyros's voice held a note of question. His hand remained extended, waiting.
Beside her, she felt Kael tense, ready to act. But any violence now could trigger a cascade of events they weren't prepared for. They didn't know who they could trust, didn't know how deep the conspiracy ran.
Elara looked at Captain Lyros—the man who had taught her to ride, who had stood guard outside her nursery when she was a child, who had wept openly when news of her family's death had spread. Could this man truly be a traitor? Or was there another explanation?
She had to decide. Take his hand and maintain the pretense, buying time to investigate further. Or refuse and potentially force the conspirators into action before she was ready.
The moonlight gleamed off something at Lyros's collar—a pin she had never noticed before, small and silver, shaped like a crescent moon with a shadow cutting through it.
The same symbol that had been stamped on Malachar's letter.
Elara's breath caught in her throat as Lyros's smile widened ever so slightly, and she realized with crystalline clarity that he knew. He knew that she knew.
And his hand was still extended, waiting for her decision.