Read Chapter 10: The Hidden Truth

The morning light crept through the curtains like a thief, and Elara had already been awake for hours. Corin slept in the hidden alcove behind her wardrobe, curled into a ball with his thumb hovering near his mouth—a childhood habit he thought he’d outgrown. She watched him breathe and tried to remember the last time she’d felt safe enough to sleep that deeply. She couldn’t.

Annette arrived with breakfast at the usual hour, her movements practiced and quiet. Elara had known Annette since they were both girls, had trusted her with secrets that would have seen them both hanged. She checked the corridor twice before closing the door and pulling the maid close.

“I need you to do something dangerous,” Elara whispered.

Annette’s eyes went wide but her voice stayed steady. “Tell me.”

“Corin can’t stay here. The castle is a cage with too many eyes. There’s a convent two hours east—Sister Marguerite’s order. They take in orphans, ask no questions. I need you to get him there disguised as a novice.”

Annette’s hand went to her throat. “If we’re caught—”

“We won’t be. You’ll leave at dusk, when the kitchens are loud and the guards change.” Elara pressed a small pouch of coin into Annette’s palm. “Tell Sister Marguerite I sent you. She owes me a debt from the winter fever.”

Annette nodded, tucking the pouch into her sleeve. “I’ll prepare the clothes. A novice’s habit will hide him well enough.”

Elara exhaled. For the first time in days, something felt like it was moving in her favor.

By midday, a knock came at her door. Not Annette’s rhythm—quicker, sharper. Elara slipped the bolt and found Lady Seraphine standing in the corridor, a still smile on her pale face.

“Your Highness,” Seraphine said, dipping into a curtsey that felt, somehow, like a mockery. “I was told you requested your maid. I’m afraid Annette has been taken ill.”

Elara’s blood chilled. “Ill?”

“A stomach complaint. She insisted I come in her stead.” Seraphine’s eyes flicked past Elara’s shoulder, into the room. “She said you needed errands run. I am happy to be of service.”

Elara did not step aside. “I did not request you.”

“No,” Seraphine agreed, and her voice dropped. “But I believe you requested help, and help is what I’m offering. The kind you cannot ask for out loud.”

The air between them went taut. Elara had pegged Seraphine for a court ornament—pretty, agreeable, decorative. But the woman standing before her had a soldier’s stillness in her shoulders and a spy’s flatness in her gaze.

“What do you want?”

“To talk. Inside.” Seraphine glanced down the corridor. “Unless you’d like to discuss it here, where anyone might hear.”

Elara’s jaw tightened. She stepped back and let Seraphine enter.

The lady moved with an economy of motion that confirmed every suspicion. She did not sit when offered, did not accept tea. She stood near the window, watching the courtyard below, hands folded.

“You’ve been playing a dangerous game,” Seraphine said quietly. “The fire. The boy everyone thinks died. The seal fragment no one can find.”

Elara’s stomach dropped. “How do you know about the fragment?”

“Because I’m the one who made sure it wasn’t found.” Seraphine turned, and for a moment the mask slipped, revealing something fierce and raw beneath. “I serve the true crown of Valdris, Princess. Not the regency that’s been rotting your kingdom from within.”

“The regency,” Elara repeated slowly. “You mean the men my father trusted to rule in his absence.”

Seraphine’s smile was bitter. “Your father is dead. You know that now, don’t you? Corin told you.”

Elara’s hand drifted toward the concealed knife in her sleeve. “Who are you?”

“I was my lady-in-waiting to your mother, years ago. Before the treaty marriage sent her to Valdris. I’ve been embedded in Aurenne’s court ever since, waiting for the moment your family would need me.” Seraphine reached into her bodice and produced a folded paper, creased from travel. “My loyalty is to King Elric. The true king. The one the regents claim is dead or missing—they can’t even keep their lies straight.”

Elara took the paper. It was an invitation, heavy with wax and gilded edges, bearing the sigil of House Marlowe—one of the most powerful noble families in Aurenne.

“A retreat,” she read aloud. “Three days at the Marlowe estate. Hunting, feasting, revelry.”

“And conspiracy,” Seraphine said. “The Marlowes have been the cabal’s quiet patrons for years. They fund the whispers, host the meetings. My sources tell me this retreat isn’t just for pleasure. They plan to gather the full inner circle—every noble hand that’s been pushing your kingdoms toward war.”

Elara stared at the invitation. “Why give this to me?”

“Because you’re the only one who can stop them.”

“I’m a bride-to-be playing at diplomacy. I have no army, no proof, no—”

“You have King Alaric’s ear,” Seraphine cut in. “And you have his trust, which is more than any enemy of the cabal has managed in years. The men planning to overthrow him don’t expect you to be clever. They expect you to be decorative, compliant, and terrified.” Her eyes glinted. “You’ve played that part beautifully. Now use it.”

Elara turned the invitation over in her hands. The guest list would be full of names she recognized—nobles who’d smiled at her over dinner while plotting her brother’s abduction. Poisoners and schemers who’d burned a wing of the castle to steal the one piece of evidence that could have damned them.

“If I attend,” she said slowly, “I’ll need to pose as Alaric’s loyal fiancée. Simpering, devoted, blind.”

“Exactly.”

“And if I find proof of the coup?”

Seraphine’s expression didn’t change. “Then you’ll have what you need to expose them—to your betrothed, to the courts, to anyone who will listen. But you must be careful, Princess. The cabal already suspects you. The fire was no accident, and the theft of your seal was no coincidence. They know you’re looking for answers.” She paused. “And they know you’re hiding something about the fire.”

Corin shifted in the alcove, and Elara’s heart seized. She moved to block Seraphine’s view.

“What about my brother?”

“He’ll be safer in the convent than he would be in this castle. Sister Marguerite’s walls have sheltered Valdris loyalists for decades.” Seraphine’s tone softened, just barely. “Your father used her order as a refuge more than once. The cabal doesn’t know she exists.”

Elara’s throat tightened. “You knew my father?”

“I knew the man he was before the regents got their hooks in. Before they made him a prisoner in his own keep and a ghost to his own children.” Seraphine stepped closer, lowering her voice. “He would be proud of you, Princess. He would want you to finish what he started.”

Elara looked down at the invitation again. The Marlowe estate, three days of feasting and hunting. A gathering of every noble who wanted her fiancé dead, her kingdom burned, her family erased.

She should fear it. She should refuse.

Instead, she felt something cold and steady settle in her chest.

“I’ll need a new gown,” she said. “Something that makes me look harmless.”

Seraphine’s smile finally reached her eyes. “I know just the seamstress.”