A storm rolled in that evening—quiet, brooding, no lightning, just endless clouds smothering the moon. Rose stood at her window, watching the rain paint silver rivers down the glass. Somewhere in the garden below, the Queen was likely still seething, replaying every word, every smile.
Good.
Let her doubt. Let her wonder.
Let her fear.
Behind Rose, Kyle lingered by the hearth, arms crossed, eyes watching her like a man bracing for impact.
"She'll retaliate."
Rose nodded. "She already is. The servants won't speak to me. My invitation to the military council was 'postponed.' And I received a gift this morning—"
She moved to her writing desk, lifting a small box. Inside, nestled on velvet, lay a single chess piece.
A queen.
Carved from obsidian.
Its head snapped clean off.
Kyle's jaw tightened. "She's not even pretending anymore."
"She doesn't have to. She thinks she's winning." Rose closed the box. "But she doesn't know what I found."
She pulled a folded map from her drawer. Unrolled it.
At first glance, it looked like the usual palace layout—but Kyle quickly noticed the markings. Red ink. Symbols. Hidden chambers.
"She has a network," Rose said. "Tunnels beneath the west wing. I think she's keeping something down there. Or someone."
Kyle frowned. "A prisoner?"
"Maybe. Or a spy. Or something worse."
He studied the map. "You think this has to do with Darius?"
Rose nodded. "He's been too careful. Too precise. He let himself be seen for a reason. And I think he wanted me to find this."
Kyle stepped back, something dark flickering in his gaze. "He's playing you."
"Of course he is," she said. "But I'll let him—for now."
There was a knock. Soft. Hesitant.
Kyle moved instantly, hand on his blade. Rose gave a nod. He opened the door slowly.
A maid stood there, pale and trembling. "Forgive me, my lady. I—I shouldn't be here."
Rose stepped forward. "Then why are you?"
The girl glanced over her shoulder, then handed Rose a sealed envelope. No wax. No name.
Just a faint stain of soot on the corner.
Rose opened it.
> "They are watching the prince. Tonight, he rides to the edge of the northern woods—he carries a message not meant for your ears. Follow him if you want the truth."
There was no signature. But the writing… Rose recognized the elegant slant. Darius.
Kyle read over her shoulder. "It could be a trap."
"Or a test," she murmured.
She turned to the girl. "Why bring this to me?"
The maid swallowed. "Because the Queen… she knows you're not afraid. And that frightens her. We talk, you know. The quiet ones. The ones no one sees."
Rose's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"
The girl's voice dropped. "You're not the only ghost in this palace."
Then she fled down the hall.
Rose and Kyle exchanged a look. The map. The message. The Queen. The woods.
Everything was converging.
---
That night, cloaked in black, they followed Prince Christopher beyond the palace gates. No guards. No fanfare. Just him, on horseback, with a satchel strapped across his chest.
He rode fast, like someone afraid of being followed.
But not fast enough.
Through trees slick with rain, Rose and Kyle kept pace. The forest thickened, then gave way to a clearing lit only by flickering lanterns.
And there—waiting at the center—stood Darius.
Christopher dismounted.
He handed the satchel to Darius. "No one can know I gave this to you."
"Of course not," Darius said smoothly. "Your secret is safe with me."
From their hiding place, Rose's breath caught.
Kyle whispered, "He's working with him."
"No," Rose said softly. "He's protecting him."
Because now, she understood.
Darius hadn't returned to burn the Queen's world down.
He'd returned to shape a new one—with Christopher at its center.
And Rose?
She had just become the last threat in their way.