VIVIAN’s POV
The palace feels smaller lately. Not because its halls have shrunk, but because the air inside them carries weight—thick, secret, and stifling. Every corridor feels like a throat closing.
Servants move quieter now, avoiding glances, as if the walls have learned to listen. Perhaps they have. Verloren’s palace was always full of whispers, but since the King’s illness—or absence, as I’m beginning to believe—the whispers have turned into poison.
I’ve learned to breathe through it.
Each morning begins the same. I wake before dawn, arrange the Queen’s gowns by color and stitch, and prepare the day’s schedule. Meetings, visits, audiences. I keep her life running while mine hides beneath it.
And all the while, the letter burns a ghost mark inside my pocket—though the real paper now lies hidden in a chest beneath my floorboards. Queen Arinelle never noticed it missing. Or perhaps she noticed and is waiting for the right moment to use her silence against me.
Either way, I act as if nothing happened.
Today, she’s holding an early gathering in the atrium with her advisors, lords from western Verloren, and two sharp-tongued duchesses. My job is to keep the air still, the wine flowing, and the Queen satisfied.
I move between them like a shadow, pouring drinks, listening. The talk is of trade routes and border taxes, but beneath the politeness lies unease. Everyone knows something’s shifting in the kingdom.
When the meeting ends, Arinelle rises with her usual grace—the kind of beauty that commands without warmth. “I’ll be in my chambers,” she announces, and they all bow as she leaves.
I follow her halfway down the corridor before she dismisses me with a lazy wave. “You may go, Vivian. Have the seamstress ready the new silks by morning.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
When she disappears behind her gilded doors, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The silence afterward feels dangerous.
I take the opportunity to leave.
***
The temple sits just beyond the palace walls, close enough that the guards can see its spire from the western gate, but far enough that most courtiers pretend it doesn’t exist. Religion in Verloren has become decoration—a painted thing for painted people.
Inside, it’s empty. Dust dances in beams of light spilling through stained-glass windows, the colors bleeding across the floor in shifting shapes.
Alastor stands near the altar, reading from an old book. His voice is low, the kind that turns even ordinary words into prayers.
When he sees me, he closes the book with a soft thud. “You again,” he says, a smile flickering. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the heavens existed.”
“I can’t afford heaven,” I reply, walking closer. “But I can borrow your silence.”
He nods, stepping aside so I can stand beside him. “Speak, then. The walls here don’t listen—only the saints.”
“I’m not sure saints are enough,” I murmur. “It’s the Queen.”
His brow furrows. “What about her?”
“She’s waging a war no one sees. Not against other kingdoms—against her own husband.”
He exhales slowly. “You’re certain?”
I hesitate. “I read her letter. To the King.”
That gets his full attention. “You read it?”
“It wasn’t meant for me, but it found me anyway.”
Alastor studies my face. “And?”
“She’s demanding the throne,” I say quietly. “Threatening to take it if he doesn’t surrender it willingly. She’s planning to rule Verloren alone.”
The reverend goes still. “That’s... treason.”
“It’s ambition,” I correct. “And ambition is always forgiven when crowned.”
He crosses his arms. “You realize what happens if anyone learns you’ve seen that letter?”
“I disappear,” I say simply.
He doesn’t deny it. “You should have burned it.”
“I couldn’t.” I meet his eyes. “Someone has to know what she’s planning. You were right—something big is happening here. Bigger than both of us.”
Alastor sighs, rubbing his temples. “Vivian, you walk a dangerous line. I’ve seen what happens to those who think they can survive between loyalty and truth.”
“Then I’ll make it quick,” I answer.
His gaze softens. “You’re not her enemy, Vivian. You’re just standing too close to one.”
For a while, neither of us speak. The candlelight wavers, the wax dripping onto the stone floor in slow surrender.
Finally, I ask, “Do you think the King’s truly alive?”
He hesitates. “I think someone wants you to believe he’s not.”
That chills me more than any answer could.
When I leave, Alastor catches my wrist lightly. “Be careful,” he says. “The Queen has many mirrors. You never know which ones are watching.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I whisper, and step out into the afternoon light.
***
The palace feels heavier when I return. The guards at the entrance nod stiffly; their armor gleams too brightly, as if polished to distract from their unease.
Inside, the main hall stretches wide and echoing, sunlight spilling over the marble floor. Queen Arinelle stands there, surrounded by two of her ladies-in-waiting. She turns at the sound of my steps, her smile sharp as glass.
“Vivian,” she says. “I was about to send for you.”
I bow. “Your Majesty.”
“Tomorrow, a new knight will arrive,” she announces. “He comes from the northern borders—an exchange, of sorts.”
I blink. “An exchange, Your Majesty?”
“An agreement between allies,” she says, strolling slowly down the hall. “Northern Verloren has always supplied strong men. Their commander was kind enough to send me one of his finest.”
Her tone is casual, but her eyes gleam with curiosity.
“I want you to make sure he’s received properly. See to his quarters, his meals, his comfort. I expect no complaints from him—or from anyone about him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say. “But if I may—why the special treatment? Knights are not uncommon.”
She pauses mid-step, turning to me. The sunlight catches the gold threads in her gown, making her look almost ethereal. Almost.
“This one isn’t just a knight,” she says softly. “He’s a warrior of reputation. Fought in battles I’m sure you’ve never heard of. The kind men sing about in their cups.”
Her words carry that dangerous lilt she uses when she wants to be obeyed but admired for her mystery.
“I see,” I reply. “And where does he come from?”
“From our northern allies,” she repeats, her tone hardening just slightly. “That’s all you need to know. Treat him with respect. I want him to feel... welcome.”
“As you command.”
She studies me for a moment longer, then nods. “Good. See that everything is ready by noon tomorrow.”
I bow again, but her next words stop me in place.
“And Vivian,” she adds, her gaze narrowing. “You’ve been quiet lately. I hope it’s not because you’re bored.”
“Never, Your Majesty.”
“Good. Boredom makes people curious.”
I keep my expression calm, the way I’ve learned to survive in this palace. “I have no time for curiosity, only service.”
Her smile returns, cold and lovely. “That’s why I trust you.”
She walks away, her gown sweeping the floor behind her like a golden tide.
When she’s gone, I release the breath trapped in my chest.
A new knight. A northern warrior. A stranger arriving at the very moment the Queen tightens her grasp on power.
Coincidence, perhaps. But I’ve learned not to trust coincidence in Verloren.
As I turn to leave, the torches flicker against the walls, and I catch my reflection in the polished stone—steady, composed, unreadable.
Tomorrow, someone new will walk through these doors. My hidden mission will be to understand whether he's an ally or an enemy.