I CLAIMED THE DISCARDED LUNA

Chapter 3: The Ledger Trail

The grandfather clock in the corner of the war room struck two in the morning before the wooden door opened. A low-ranking quartermaster aide entered, bowing low as he set three thick, leather-bound ledgers onto the oak table.

"The southern requisitions for the past four quarters, Your Majesty," the aide murmured, avoiding eye contact before retreating silently into the hall.

Kaelen pulled the top ledger toward them, unbuckling its heavy iron clasp. The smell of old parchment and dry ink filled the space between them.

Seraphina didn't jump in immediately. She dragged an oil lamp closer, her fingers trailing down the opening column of the first page. Kaelen watched her profile in the warm light—the steady, rhythmic movement of her eyes, the faint furrow in her brow whenever her thumb paused on a figure.

"Start with the forge allocations," Kaelen suggested, leaning his forearm on the table beside her. "If Vane is reinforcing the southern border, he’d need cold iron for armor."

"No," Seraphina said softly, her nail tapping a column three pages back. "Iron leaves a heavy paper trail through the guild contracts—too easy to track. Look at the leather and salt rations instead."

Kaelen frowned, leaning in closer. "Leather and salt?"

"Iron equips a soldier once," she explained, looking up at him. "Salt keeps meat from spoiling on a long march, and leather soles wear out every sixty days on rough terrain. If a commander is hiding men, his food and boots will always betray him before his weapons do."

Kaelen’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the line she indicated. "Quarter Three shows a forty-percent spike in salted beef deliveries to the High Ridge outpost."

"Where General Vane’s secondary division is stationed," Seraphina added, turning to the next quarter. She didn't sound triumphant; her tone was strictly analytical. "Now look at the requisition signature. It isn't Vane's personal seal."

Kaelen took the ledger, tilting it toward the lamp. Stamped in red wax at the bottom of the order was the crest of Duke Alden—one of the wealthiest southern lords currently protesting Kaelen’s war taxes.

A cold silence settled over the room.

Kaelen felt the initial shock from the carriage settle into a harder, more complex reality. "Alden signed the requisition orders for Vane’s garrison."

"Or someone in Alden's estate is funding Vane's supply lines," Seraphina pointed out carefully, placing a quiet boundary on jumping to conclusions. "It proves a financial link between the southern lords and the High Ridge garrison. It doesn't prove Vane is leading a coup."

Kaelen looked at her, searching her face. "You warned me in the carriage that he was building a private army."

"I said someone high in your inner command was feeding a garrison," Seraphina corrected gently, meeting his dark crimson gaze without flinching. "Vane’s name is on the troop deployments, but Alden’s seal is on the coin. Vane could be orchestrating a rebellion... or he could be secretly over-allocating troops to cover a border breach he hasn't reported to you yet."

Kaelen stared at the wax seal. The possibility hung in the air like a double-edged blade. Vane was a veteran of thirty wars; he was capable of ruthless strategy, but he was also fiercely proud. Would he hide a mounting threat from his King out of stubborn pride, or was he actively conspiring with Alden to take the crown?

"Either way," Kaelen said slowly, his voice laced with heavy authority, "my supreme commander is accepting off-book supply lines from a duke who refuses to pay his royal taxes. That is a breach of crown law."

"It’s a thread," Seraphina said, reaching for the second ledger. "Not a hanging rope. If we move against Vane on this alone, Alden will claim it was a legitimate regional aid supply, and your council will accuse you of persecuting a war hero."

Before Kaelen could answer, a sudden, muffled pop echoed from the floor below, followed instantly by the sharp, acrid smell of burning oil drifting under the war room door.

Shouts erupted in the courtyard below.

"Fire in the lower vault!" a guard screamed from the corridor. "The archive records are burning!"

Kaelen stood up instantly, his chair scraping hard against the stone floor. His crimson eyes flared as his Alpha aura spiked in the room. "The lower vault houses the original quartermaster receipts."

Seraphina was already on her feet, but she didn't panic. She calmly closed the three ledgers on their table, pulled her cloak over them, and tucked the most critical volume securely under her arm.

"Someone realized the quartermaster delivered these ledgers to your war room," Seraphina said, her voice dropping into that razor-sharp focus Kaelen was coming to admire. "The fire isn't an accident, Kaelen. It’s a cleanup."

Kaelen drew his broadsword with a dark, metallic shhhk, stepping in front of her as heavy, frantic footsteps rushed up the spiral staircase toward their door.

"Stay behind my blade," Kaelen commanded, his voice booming with lethal authority.

"Only until we clear the stairs," Seraphina replied, drawing a concealed silver dagger from her boot. "After that, we fight together."

Kaelen glanced back at her, a fierce, dark spark lighting up his eyes despite the rising smoke in the hall. "Agreed, Advisor."