The King's Guard

Chapter 104

Mist coiled through the orchard rows. Kael stood at the fence’s edge, his cloak pulled close.

Elara’s voice came soft behind him.

“You’re thinking too loudly again.”

Kael half-smiled without turning. “If I stop, the Rift keeps going on its own.”

She stepped beside him, her shawl heavy with dew. “Then think more quietly. The walls here remember. They don’t like unrest.”

Reyna emerged from the barn doorway, sleeves rolled, strands of hair escaping her braid. “He hasn’t slept since last night. Keeps staring north like he expects Archon to ride through the fog.”

“I’d settle for less fog,” Kael said. “But we have work tonight.”

Reyna crossed her arms. “The summit.”

Elara nodded. “Lord Eryndor gathers his allies to ‘restore order.’ You’ll go as guests, not ghosts. Use the names on these seals.” She handed Kael two crested signets wrapped in cloth. “You represent House Theren: a family old enough that no one remembers its faces.”

Reyna inspected the seals. “That’s convenient.”

Elara replied. “Kyna secured the papers. The rest depends on your acting.”

Kael slid the signet onto his finger. “We’re not great at acting.”

Reyna’s smirk softened the tension. “Then we improvise.”

The summit unfurled within the marble halls of Lord Eryndor’s mountain estate. Servants glided like smoke; courtiers whispered like serpents. Kael and Reyna moved through it, cloaked in borrowed nobility.

“Smile,” Reyna murmured, adjusting his collar. “You look like you’re here to stab someone.”

“I might be,” Kael said under his breath.

A steward approached, bowing slightly. “Lord and Lady Theren, welcome. His Lordship requests your presence in the upper gallery.”

Kael inclined his head. “Lead on.”

Velreth stood beside a map strewn with inked lines and sigils. Archon lingered opposite, posture calm, expression unreadable. Between them, Lord Eryndor poured wine, smiling too easily.

Kael and Reyna kept to the balcony’s fringe, half-hidden by tall drapes. Elara’s whisper came through the rune at Kael’s wrist.

“Remember: listen first, strike later.”

Below, Eryndor spoke. “Stormhaven’s gold flows freely again. King Thorian keeps his word.”

Velreth’s tone was sceptical. “Thorian’s word shifts with the tide.”

Archon’s eyes glinted. “He funds what serves him. And what serves him, serves us for now.”

Kael tensed. Reyna’s fingers brushed his arm, grounding him.

Eryndor set his goblet down. “And when Veridale is pacified?”

“Then,” Archon replied, “Stormhaven names its price.”

Velreth leaned closer. “And the Queen? If she lives…”

Archon cut him off. “She’s a myth kept alive by those who need hope. Let them chase ghosts.”

Kael’s pulse quickened. Reyna’s whisper grazed his ear. “You hear that? He knows.”

“Too well,” Kael murmured.

A servant slipped through a side door carrying a tray stacked with scrolls. He paused as Archon gestured. “Leave them there.” When the man departed, Archon turned to the others. “Stormhaven’s courier arrived this morning. The King’s latest letters.”

Reyna mouthed silently.

Kael nodded. “Time to move.”

They slipped out through the adjoining corridor. Reyna picked the lock of a narrow archive room; the door sighed open.

Inside, rows of cabinets towered over them. Kael lit a single rune-stone, its pale glow revealing dozens of sealed envelopes bearing Stormhaven’s sigil.

Reyna started sorting. “Find anything with Eryndor’s hand.”

Kael scanned the pile, pulling a few marked with crimson wax. “Here. And, wait.” He turned one over. A faint corner had been torn away, revealing handwriting beneath the seal: a woman’s script.

Reyna leaned close. “What is it?”

He whispered, almost afraid to believe it. “I’ve seen this hand before… in the Queen’s memorial records.”

Her breath caught. “Kael…”

“I’m sure of it. These aren’t copies; they’re originals.”

Footsteps echoed outside. Kael blew out the rune-light and pressed Reyna back against the shelves. Two guards passed the doorway, their lantern beams slicing through the dark.

One guard muttered, “Eryndor wants the Stormhaven packet secured. Says it holds royal ink.”

“Royal?” the other scoffed. “From Thorian’s own hand?”

“From a woman’s, apparently. Old, but the seal’s fresh.”

Their voices faded. Kael waited, heartbeat hammering, then relit the stone.

Reyna whispered, “Royal ink… they’re talking about her.”

He nodded, eyes hardening. “Let’s find the rest.”

Scroll after scroll revealed threads of treachery: Eryndor reporting troop counts, Velreth requesting weapons shipments, Archon orchestrating both sides. And then, a folded note hidden between wax seals, edges singed.

Kael unfolded it carefully. The words danced faintly with residual energy:

> To those who would serve both crowns, beware the mirror that flatters kings. The realm has not fallen yet; it merely sleeps.

— L.

Reyna traced the “L” with trembling fingers. “Lauren.”

Kael whispered, “She wrote this a year after the siege. She was alive.”

Outside, shouts erupted, guards discovering the tampered door.

Reyna stuffed the letters into her satchel. “Time to vanish.”

They darted through servant corridors and into the banquet hall’s shadowed flank. Music still played; nobles laughed, unaware of the quiet theft unraveling above their heads.

At the exit archway, a masked woman intercepted them.

Kyna.

“Miss me?” she murmured, flipping back her hood.

Reyna exhaled in relief. “Grandma Elara sent you?”

“She guessed you’d stir a hornet’s nest. Come.”

Kyna guided them through a tapestry-lined hall to a terrace overlooking the valley. Three horses waited below, tethered near the hedge.

Kael handed her a sealed letter. “Proof enough?”

She skimmed it, eyes widening. “More than enough. Stormhaven funds Eryndor, Velreth, and Archon’s own secret agents. Thorian’s fingerprints are everywhere.”

Reyna added, “And the Queen’s.”

Kyna met her gaze. “Then the game’s larger than any throne.”

Elara laid the recovered letters across the table, candlelight glinting off the seals. “Stormhaven, Veridale, Archon… threads all woven by the same hand.” She pointed to the Queen’s fragment. “And this, this changes everything.”

Kael leaned forward. “She lived.”

“For a time,” Elara said quietly. “But if Thorian’s men handled her letters, then her captivity wasn’t chance. It was design.”

Reyna’s fists clenched. “So all of this: the exile, the coup, they were clearing the board.”

Elara nodded slowly. “Removing witnesses before the real move.”

Kael stared at the parchment, the faint scent of char still clinging to it. “Masks and mirrors,” he murmured. “We’ve been fighting reflections.”

Elara touched his arm. “Then find the face behind them.”

Outside, wind stirred the orchard leaves. Kael stood alone beneath the stars, the Queen’s words echoing in his mind: the realm has not fallen yet; it merely sleeps.

Reyna joined him, a cloak around her shoulders. “Can’t sleep?”

He smiled faintly. “You’d know if I tried.”

She leaned on the fence beside him. “We keep uncovering ghosts. When do we find the living?”

“Soon,” he said. “When we wake the realm.”

Her hand brushed his. “Then we wake it together.”