[Christina’s POV]
The request arrives through official channels this time. Hunter Valdren, requesting a formal audience. Again.
I stare at the embossed card like it might burst into flames if I glare hard enough. My first instinct is to refuse. Our last meeting left me unsettled in ways I don't want to examine—the raw honesty in his voice, the guilt in his eyes that looked almost genuine.
Almost.
"You should see him." Daniel's voice interrupts my internal debate. He stands by the window, morning light catching the silver at his temples. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are calculating.
"Should I? Because I distinctly remember you warning me about trusting Valdrens approximately seventeen times this week."
"Eighteen." He turns, expression unreadable. "But if he has information, we should hear it. Strategy over sentiment."
I hate when he throws my own words back at me. "Fine. But if this is a waste of time, you're attending Margaret's smile workshop in my place."
"A fate worse than death."
"Exactly."
The receiving room feels smaller today. Or maybe I'm just more aware of the guards positioned near the walls, the weight of the crown I haven't worn yet pressing down on me. The chandelier catches morning light, scattering rainbows across polished marble.
Hunter arrives looking different. The broken man who stumbled through apologies last time has been replaced by something more purposeful. His jaw is set. His shoulders squared. He moves like someone who's made a decision and intends to see it through.
Interesting.
"Your Highness." He bows properly this time. No fumbling. No cracked voice.
"Lord Valdren." I keep my tone neutral. "You requested an audience. Again."
"I have information." No preamble. No groveling. "My mother has allied with House Montclair."
The words land like stones in still water. I keep my expression carefully blank while my mind races through implications. The Montclairs. Cousins to the crown. Catherine's family.
"The Montclairs." I say the name slowly. "Your fiancée's family."
"Yes." Hunter's jaw tightens. "Catherine visited yesterday. They're planning a legal challenge to your claim. Some procedural argument about the validity of deathbed declarations."
"How creative of them."
"There's more." He steps closer, lowering his voice despite the guards. "I overheard Catherine discussing you with my mother. She called you a 'problem to be eliminated.' Her exact words."
The phrase crawls up my spine like ice water. Eliminated. Such a clean word for something so ugly.
"And you're telling me this because?"
"Because someone should." His blue eyes meet mine without flinching. "Because I spent twenty-four years following my mother's lead without questioning where it led. Because watching Catherine smile while discussing your removal made me physically ill."
"Touching. But that doesn't answer my question." I lean back in my chair, studying him. "Why betray your family? Your mother. Your sister. Your fiancée."
Hunter laughs—a short, bitter sound. "Have you met my fiancée? Really met her? She looked at our family portraits like she was calculating auction prices. She talked about you like you were an inconvenient stain on her inheritance."
"I'm flattered she thinks of me at all."
"You shouldn't be. These people don't think—they calculate. Every word is strategy. Every smile hides teeth." He runs a hand through his hair, disrupting its careful arrangement. "I thought I wanted that world. Thought I could play their games. Then I saw what the games actually cost."
The honesty in his voice sounds genuine. Which means nothing. The Valdrens have been lying to me my entire life. Why should Hunter be any different?
"So guilt brought you here." I keep my voice cool. "And disgust. How noble."
"I didn't say it was noble. I said it was true." He holds my gaze with an intensity that makes something flutter inconveniently in my chest. "I don't expect you to trust me. I haven't earned that. But the Montclairs are dangerous, and my mother is desperate. That combination terrifies me."
I let the silence stretch. Watch him shift his weight. Watch him not look away.
"Thank you for the information." The dismissal is clear.
Hunter nods once, accepting it. He turns toward the door, then pauses.
"For what it's worth," he says quietly, "you're nothing like the girl I ignored for years. That girl would have thanked me. This one shouldn't."
He leaves before I can respond. Which is probably wise, because I have no idea what I would have said.
Daniel appears moments later, materializing from wherever he lurks during my audiences. His expression is carefully neutral, but I catch the tension in his shoulders.
"Well?" I ask.
"Interesting performance."
"You think it's a performance?"
"I think it could be." He settles into the chair across from me, long legs crossing at the ankle. "The Montclairs are dangerous in ways that go beyond court politics. They've survived three succession crises and emerged stronger each time."
"That's not ominous at all."
"It's not meant to be comforting." His grey-green eyes hold mine. "If Hunter is telling the truth, we're facing an alliance between desperate nobles and ambitious royals. If he's lying, someone wants us looking in the wrong direction."
"So either way, we're in danger."
"Essentially."
I stand, moving to the window. The palace gardens stretch below, immaculate and ordered, revealing nothing of the chaos churning inside these walls. Gardeners move between hedgerows like pieces on a board.
"He came back." The words escape before I can stop them. "He didn't have to. The first visit could have been curiosity, guilt, whatever. But he came back with specifics. With warnings."
"Which could be exactly what someone wants us to think."
"Could be." I turn to face him. "But what if it isn't? What if Hunter Valdren, of all people, is the only one willing to tell me the truth about what's coming?"
Daniel is quiet for a long moment. The firelight catches the angles of his face, the careful way he holds himself. When he speaks, his voice is measured.
"Then we file it away," he says finally. "Neither trust nor dismiss. We verify what we can. We prepare for what we can't. And we remember that even useful information can come from compromised sources."
It's not satisfying. Nothing about this is satisfying.
But it's practical. And practical is all I have right now.
"The Montclairs," I say. "Tell me everything you know about them."
"That would take considerably longer than we have before your next appointment."
"Then summarize. Use small words. I've had a very long morning of people trying to kill me metaphorically."
Daniel's mouth quirks. Almost a smile. "The Montclairs have been second to the throne for four generations. They've never stopped believing they should be first. Catherine's grandmother once said the only difference between patience and predation is timing."
"Charming family motto."
"They're not known for charm. They're known for results."
I file the information away alongside Hunter's warning. Neither trusting nor dismissing. Watching. Waiting. Playing a game I'm still learning while my opponents have practiced for generations.
The throne I haven't claimed yet already feels heavy.
And somewhere out there, people are discussing my elimination like it's a scheduling conflict.
Welcome to royalty. The coffee is terrible, and everyone wants you dead.
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