The door slams behind me, shaking the hinges. I don’t care. The echo feels good—loud, violent, something I can control. My pulse hammers in my ears as I drag my fingers through my hair and pace the floor.
Then I grab the nearest thing—my golden-stitched jacket—and throw it at the wall. It hits the stone with a heavy thud, sliding down like a corpse.
“Damn it!” I snarl, striking my fist against the edge of my desk. The wood splinters slightly, a sharp pain jolting through my knuckles.
I breathe hard, trying to pull myself together, but all I can see is her face—Lara’s face—as the guards dragged her out. Her voice echoing in my head. You have to believe me.
And I didn’t say a word.
The latch clicks again behind me.
“Get out!” I bark, sharper than I intend.
“Won’t happen,” a voice answers, calm and irritatingly familiar.
I turn fast. A tall figure stands in the doorway, framed by the torchlight—a man taller than me, broad-shouldered, his silver armor glinting faintly. His long blond hair looks like it hasn’t seen a comb in weeks, and his blue eyes gleam with mischief.
For a heartbeat, I can’t believe it.
“Brenno,” I breathe.
He grins. “The one and only.”
Before I realize it, I cross the room and pull him into a rough embrace. The sound of his laugh fills the chamber.
“Sir Brenno Kade,” I say with a half-smile, stepping back. “Captain of the Silver Guard himself. You finally came back from your trip to—what was it last time?”
He raises an eyebrow. “And you call yourself a prince? You can’t even remember your best captain’s route.”
“Forgive me,” I retort. “You’ve grown facial hair. I hardly recognized you.”
He laughs, scratching at the short blond beard on his jaw. “A side effect of chasing bandits through the eastern mountains. No mirrors there.”
Despite everything, I chuckle. Brenno has served our family since my father’s reign—once my mentor, later my most loyal soldier. He’s aged, yes, but his eyes still hold that spark that makes him impossible to hate.
He leans against the desk, setting his sword down with a sigh. “Well then, do I get an explanation as to why the prince looks ready to kill someone?”
The smile fades from my lips. I pace again. “It’s the head of my seamstresses.”
He blinks. “A seamstress did this to you?”
“There was a meeting with the Ardelian diplomats an hour ago. During the inspection afterward, the guards found Lady Qazzi’s stolen gold necklace in her dormroom chest—and a matching ring in her pocket.” I stop, fists clenching. “They dragged her in front of everyone. Accused her like a thief.”
Brenno tilts his head, unimpressed. “And?”
“And it’s ridiculous,” I snap. “Lara Venn isn’t capable of theft.”
His lips twitch. “Ah. She has a name now. Not just the seamstress.”
I glare. “Don’t start.”
He folds his arms. “You sound sentimental, Aldric.”
“Watch it, Brenno.” My voice hardens. “You’re here to help me, not mock me.”
He lifts both hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll behave. Tell me more.”
I exhale and sink into the chair behind my desk. “She’s… different. She works harder than half the palace combined. She’s never once asked for favor or gold. Everything she does is for her child. I’ve seen it.”
Brenno nods slowly. “And you trust your eyes that much?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretches between us for a moment. He studies me, that soldier’s gaze reading more than I’d like. Then he sighs and drops into the chair opposite me.
“All right. Let’s pretend you’re right,” he says. “If she didn’t steal it, someone planted the items. The question is—why?”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Because someone wants her gone?”
“Lady Seraphine,” he says instantly, and I raise an eyebrow.
Brenno snorts. “That woman would poison her own reflection if it looked prettier than her.”
“Careful. She's still my fiancé,” I mutter.
He taps his fingers on the desk thoughtfully. “Alright, alright, macho. So, what’s the plan? You want me to investigate quietly?”
“Yes. Start with the guards who searched her quarters. Someone had to give the order. I want names, shifts, records—everything.”
He smirks. “You’re asking me to spy inside my own ranks, Your Highness. Dangerous game.”
“I’m not asking,” I reply flatly.
He chuckles. “Still the same stubborn boy. You get that from your father.”
The mention of my father makes my chest tighten. I look away. “My father trusted the wrong people. I won’t make the same mistake.”
For a moment, Brenno’s face softens. “You know,” he says quietly, “I was there that night. When the snake bit him.”
I glance up sharply. “You were?”
He nods, eyes shadowed. “I was stationed outside his chambers. I heard him gasp once, then silence. By the time we broke in, it was too late.”
“Do you think someone sent it?”
Brenno hesitates. “I’ve thought about that every night since. But I had no proof then. Just like you have none now.”
I press my palms to my face. “Lara’s no thief, Brenno. She’s being framed. I can feel it.”
He studies me again, long and quiet. “You feel it, or you know it?”
My jaw tightens. “Both.”
He leans back, smirking. “You’ve gone soft, my prince. Falling for a seamstress now?”
“I said watch your tongue.”
He laughs, unbothered. “Relax. I’ll help you. But if I find out she’s guilty after all, you owe me a bottle of that royal wine you keep hidden in the cellar.”
“She won’t be,” I say sharply. “I’d bet the crown on it.”
He grins. “That’s what worries me.”
We spend the next hours sprawled over the desk, parchment scattered, the candlelight burning low. Brenno sketches out names, schedules, notes about which guards have debts or grudges. I can’t sit still; I pace, tapping my fingers, my mind tangled between fury and something I can’t name.
Because beneath all of it—the politics, the suspicion, the logic—lies memory.
The first time I kissed her. The midnight fitting. The way her breath trembled when our hands brushed, how she whispered that I wasn’t standing right, and then the world tilted.
The second time, after I made her head seamstress. The matchlight between us, her lips soft and desperate, my control slipping.
That wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t strategy. It was something far more dangerous.
I grip the edge of the desk. “She’s innocent,” I mutter.
Brenno looks up from his notes. “I hope so. For both your sakes.”
His tone carries more meaning than I can stand. Because if he’s right—if she isn’t—then I’ve built my trust, my defiance, my heart itself on a lie. And I’m not sure which would hurt more: losing her to betrayal… or to the truth.