Katerina's POV
Every eye in the throne room is on me.
Damien stands before his throne, waiting for an answer. His face is unreadable, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. The way his hand rests on his sword hilt.
He's one wrong answer away from believing Serena's accusations.
What execution is she talking about? he asks again, his voice deadly calm.
I force myself to breathe. To think. One wrong word and everything falls apart.
She's insane, I say, letting anger color my voice. You heard her. She's desperate and making up wild accusations because she got caught trying to kill me.
She mentioned scars. Damien's eyes don't leave mine. She said to ask you about scars from an execution three years ago.
My heart hammers. I have scars. Everyone who's lived in the Neutral Territories has scars. It's not exactly a gentle place.
Show me.
The demand catches me off guard. What?
Your scars. He descends from the throne, moving closer. If Serena's accusations are baseless, prove it. Show me these scars have nothing to do with an execution.
The court holds its breath.
I could refuse. But that would only make me look guilty.
So I pull back my sleeve, revealing the thin white lines on my forearm—knife wounds from fights in the Neutral Territories. Real scars, earned during my training with Marcus.
Satisfied? I ask coldly.
Damien studies the scars, his jaw tight. Then he reaches out and traces one with his finger, and I have to fight not to flinch.
These are from blades, he says quietly. Combat wounds.
Like I said. The Neutral Territories aren't gentle.
He looks into my eyes, searching for truth, and I see the war happening behind his gaze. He wants to believe me. But Serena's words planted doubt.
Your Highness! A messenger bursts into the throne room, panting and wild-eyed. Urgent news from the eastern border!
Damien's attention snaps to the messenger. What now?
The attacks have intensified. Three villages burned in the last two days. The bandits are getting bolder—they're not just raiding anymore. They're occupying territory.
The court erupts in alarmed whispers.
How many? Damien demands.
At least two hundred fighters, Your Highness. Maybe more. They're dug in at Blackridge Pass, and they're flying Celestrian colors.
My stomach drops. Adrian's escalating. This isn't random violence anymore—it's open warfare.
Damien's face hardens. He turns to his generals. Prepare the troops. We ride within the hour.
Your Highness, one of the older lords protests. You can't leave the capital now. Not with— He glances at me. Not with everything that just happened.
Which is exactly why I need to go, Damien says sharply. Adrian wants me distracted and off-balance. I won't give him the satisfaction. We crush this attack, we send a message that Eldermoor won't be intimidated.
He's right. But watching him prepare to ride into battle makes my chest tight with worry I shouldn't feel.
What about the court? someone asks. Who will manage affairs while you're gone?
Damien's eyes find mine across the room.
Lady Raven will serve as my acting advisor. All matters requiring immediate attention go through her. She speaks with my authority.
The throne room explodes.
Your Highness, this is madness!
A woman from the Neutral Territories cannot—
She's been here less than a week!
Damien's voice cuts through the protests like a blade. Lady Raven predicted Adrian's strategy when none of you could. She uncovered his supply manipulation. She's earned this position. His gaze sweeps the room, daring anyone to challenge him. And if I return to find that anyone has undermined her authority, they'll answer to me personally.
The silence that follows is thick with shock and resentment.
But no one argues.
Damien nods curtly. The matter is settled. Court is dismissed.
Nobles file out, shooting me looks ranging from suspicion to outright hatred. I've just been handed enormous power, and half the court thinks I'm a foreign spy.
Great.
When the room empties, Damien approaches me. His face is still hard, still closed off.
I'm trusting you, he says quietly. Don't make me regret it.
I won't.
Serena's accusations—
Were lies, I interrupt. Desperate attempts to destroy me because I helped exile her.
He studies my face for a long moment. I want to believe you.
But you don't. The words hurt more than they should.
I don't know what to believe anymore. His hand rises, almost touching my face, then falls. You feel like a ghost, Raven. Like someone who shouldn't exist but does. And I can't figure out if that's because I'm haunted or because you're hiding something that could destroy us both.
Both, I think. It's both.
When you return, I say carefully, we'll talk. Really talk. And I'll tell you everything I can.
Everything you can? His eyes narrow. Not everything?
Everyone has secrets, Damien. Even you.
He flinches like I've hit him. Because we both know it's true.
When I return, he says quietly, we finish this conversation. No more deflections. No more half-truths. I need to know who you really are.
Then he leans in close, his lips nearly brushing my ear.
And if I find out you've lied about anything that puts my kingdom at risk, he whispers, I won't make the same mistake twice. I won't hesitate.
The threat should terrify me.
Instead, it just makes me sad. Because he doesn't know he's threatening the same woman he's already killed once.
He pulls back and walks away, barking orders to his guards.
Within the hour, he's gone. Riding out to fight Adrian's forces while I'm left behind to manage a court that hates me.
That night, I can't sleep.
Damien's words circle my mind. We finish this conversation. No more half-truths.
I have maybe three days before he returns. Three days to find proof of Adrian's conspiracy that's so overwhelming Damien will have to believe me when I reveal the truth.
Three days to save myself.
Lyssa finds me pacing in my chambers.
You look like you're planning something dangerous, she observes.
The palace archives, I say. They're kept in the north tower. If Adrian and Serena really were working together three years ago, there might be records. Evidence of communication, payment transfers, something.
The archives are locked at night.
I know. I meet her eyes. Which is why I need you to create a distraction.
Lyssa grins. Now you're talking.
Two hours later, a kitchen fire draws the guards away from the north tower. It's small, controlled, nothing dangerous—but loud enough to cause chaos.
I slip through the shadows and pick the archive lock with tools Marcus taught me to use.
The room is massive, filled with shelves of documents stretching up three stories. Records of treaties, trade agreements, diplomatic correspondence going back centuries.
I light a small lamp and start searching.
Hours pass. My eyes burn from reading in dim light. Most of the documents are useless—grain shipments, tax records, marriage contracts.
Then I find a section marked Royal Correspondence—Confidential.
My hands shake as I pull out folders from three years ago.
And there—buried between requests for grain shipments—I find it.
A letter in Adrian's handwriting, addressed to someone at Eldermoor's court. No name, just a cipher that looks like random numbers.
But the content is clear:
The princess must be eliminated before she produces an heir. Once she's gone, we can proceed with the alliance. Your payment will be delivered after the execution is confirmed.
My breath stops.
Adrian paid someone in Damien's court to help frame me.
I keep searching, pulling out more documents, and find responses. Letters in different handwriting, reporting on progress with the plan. Confirming servants had been bribed. Noting that the evidence has been planted successfully.
The signatures are in code, but I recognize the handwriting.
It's Serena's.
She wasn't just working for Adrian. She was his spy from the beginning, planted in Eldermoor's court years before my marriage.
I'm photographing the documents with the small camera Marcus gave me when I hear it.
A click.
Not from the door I entered.
From somewhere else in the archive room.
I freeze, lamp in hand, and watch as a section of the wall swings open.
A hidden door.
And behind it, a room I never knew existed.
My heart pounds as I move closer. The hidden room is small, lined with more shelves. But these documents aren't official records.
These are secrets.
I step inside and start reading.
What I find makes my blood run cold.
Letters between Adrian and King Aldric—Damien's father—discussing their plan to eliminate both me and Damien. Notes about dividing the kingdoms between them. Detailed strategies for starting a three-kingdom war.
Aldric was in on it. The whole time. Damien's own father helped Adrian frame me.
And there's more.
A final letter, dated just two weeks ago.
From Adrian to Aldric:
The son is becoming problematic. He suspects too much. If this new advisor of his discovers our connection, we'll need to eliminate them both. I suggest poison. Make it look like the advisor killed him, then suicide from guilt.
They're planning to kill Damien.
My husband—my enemy—the man I came here to destroy—is about to be murdered by his own father and my brother.
I stand in the hidden archive room, holding proof of a conspiracy so vast it could topple kingdoms.
And I have three days to figure out what to do with it.