Calen’s heart pounded so violently he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. Each heavy beat was a warning—this was it.Queen Elara Wynn moved with the deliberate, unhurried grace of someone who had never once doubted her authority. Her golden gown, embroidered with intricate silver threads, shimmered under the morning sun, and each step she took seemed to demand reverence.He forced himself to remain still, his hands clenched at his sides beneath his leather gloves. His fingers ached from the pressure, but he dared not relax them.If she recognized him, it was over.He was one man, outnumbered and surrounded, in the heart of enemy territory. His only defense was his disguise. No sudden movements. No eye contact.The soldiers standing beside him held their heads high, their backs straight, their expressions resolute. They belonged here. Their loyalty to Rivermoore was evident in the way their chests swelled with pride as the Queen passed.Calen, on the other hand, was an intruder.

Calen made his way toward the washing area, carefully balancing the large pile of military garments in his arms. This was a menial task, but in reality, it was his best chance to observe the palace’s inner workings. If he could track which servants moved between the Queen’s Pavilion and the laundry station, he might uncover a pattern—a way in.The washing station was a large open-air structure, covered with wooden beams and lined with long stone basins. Water flowed continuously through the carved channels, providing an efficient system for scrubbing clothes clean. The scent of soap and damp fabric filled the air, mixed with the occasional herbal fragrance of perfumed oils used for the Queen’s linens.He set the pile down near one of the basins, rolling up his sleeves as his eyes discreetly scanned the workers.Most of them were women, bustling around with practiced efficiency. Some were scrubbing, others were rinsing and wringing out the garments before hanging them on wooden racks.

Calen moved with the convoy, his steps measured, his posture straight. He kept his head slightly lowered, as the real envoys did, blending seamlessly into the group as they glided through the palace’s grand corridors. The silence was oppressive, thick with unspoken expectation. The sound of their footsteps was muffled by the rich crimson and gold carpeting, but Calen could hear his own heartbeat, steady yet alert.As they reached the heart of the royal pavilion, a line of high-ranking female soldiers awaited them—Vynoria’s elite guards. Their presence was unmistakable. These were not ordinary warriors but living symbols of the kingdom’s might. Their polished silver armor gleamed like liquid moonlight under the golden chandeliers, each intricate engraving catching the warm glow of enchanted fire. Unlike the male soldiers of the lower ranks, these women carried themselves with a quiet, unshakable authority.Their expressions were unreadable.Their hands, though resting by their sides, w

Calen knew he should turn back, but his instincts refused to let him. His breath was steady, his movements calculated as he trailed after Queen Elara, keeping to the shadows.She walked with a purpose, gliding through the palace with effortless grace until she reached a secluded corridor. Calen pressed himself against the wall, watching as she stopped before a large, unmarked stone surface.Elara lifted her hand and whispered an incantation in a language he did not recognize.The air shifted.A deep, resonant hum filled the corridor as golden symbols flickered to life along the surface of the wall. The stone rippled as if it were liquid, then slowly parted, revealing a hidden passage beyond.Calen’s breath hitched.On the other side, bathed in soft golden light, was the most breathtaking sight he had ever seen.A river of crystalline water flowed between towering cliffs, its surface shimmering like liquid starlight. The air was thick with magic, the energy almost tangible. Lush, emera

The war chamber of Aerondale was a vast, circular hall built from dark stone, its high vaulted ceiling adorned with banners of past victories. A massive table sat at the center, around which the kingdom’s highest-ranking military officials had gathered. Maps, battle plans, and sealed missives lay scattered across the polished surface.The air was thick with tension.Evan Drake stood with his arms crossed, his usual composure tinged with frustration. He had spent years working in the shadows, orchestrating intelligence missions that no one else dared to take on. And now, one of their most vital assets—Calen—was missing.He took a slow breath before speaking.“There’s no way he’s still alive.” His voice was measured but firm. “We haven’t heard from him in over a day. If he were safe, he would have sent word.”Across the table, Great General Thaddeus Ironheart sat in his high-backed chair, his iron-gray beard and weathered face betraying decades of warfare. He was a man of unshakable pre