The palace no longer felt like stone and gold.
It felt like a trap.
A breathing one.
A waiting one.
Kaedan’s orders hit the court like thunder the moment Ariaxa revealed the warning.
“Double the guards.”
“No one enters her chambers without my mark.”
“No noble walks unescorted.”
“And if anyone touches her—anyone—kill them.”
Fear rippled through the palace.
Not of Ariaxa.
Of Kaedan.
Because the empire had seen him split mountains.
They had seen him nearly tear the Temple of Binding apart.
They knew he would burn Vharon to ash to protect her.
Guards shadowed Ariaxa’s every step.
Two in front.
Four behind.
Riven’s personal soldiers on every floor.
Kaedan walked beside her whenever he could, fingers brushing the small of her back as if to reassure himself she still existed.
Nobles whispered behind their fans and scrolls:
“Harbinger of war.”
“She is the reason the Triarchs attack.”
“The empire bends around her like gravity.”
“She saved Vharon.”
“She will destroy it.”
“She is crowned in everything but title—”
Ariaxa pretended not to hear.
But she felt it.
Eyes.
Pressure.
Expectations pressing on her like armor too heavy to lift.
Yet something worse pressed deeper.
***
It began as a wrongness.
A flicker in the corner of her vision.
A shift in shadows where no torches should’ve moved.
A whisper of cold air against her spine.
Ariaxa walked through a corridor and paused.
Kaedan stopped instantly.
“What is it?”
She stared at the wall tapestry — once depicting Vharon’s first emperor slaying a beast.
But now?
Shadow threads crawled through the woven sun.
Like corruption spreading under the surface.
Ariaxa touched it—
Magic stung her fingertips.
Sunlight magic recoiled.
Kaedan drew his sword instantly.
“Who enchanted this?”
Guards scrambled, ripping the tapestry from the wall.
A dark sigil glowed beneath it — one Ariaxa recognized.
She whispered, “A Triarch curse.”
Riven rushed in, breath still shallow from healing.
“There’s more.”
He led them through the palace:
A servant staring blankly at a corner, whispering to shadows.
Runes fading into carpets.
Chalice water turning black when touched by sunlight.
A mirror reflecting someone who wasn’t standing there.
And the worst—
The magical wards protecting the palace gate had been twisted.
Distorted.
Riven’s voice was grave.
“Someone tampered with them from the inside.”
Ariaxa’s throat tightened.
“So they don’t plan an invasion,” she whispered.
Kaedan’s eyes flashed. “What do you mean?”
“They plan a corruption. A poisoning. Slow. Sickening. Quiet.”
Riven nodded grimly.
“If they infect the palace’s core magic, they can control the minds of nobles. Soldiers. Servants. Even us.”
Kaedan growled.
“No one controls my court.”
Ariaxa touched the wall.
Her palm tingled.
The bond hummed — warning her, pushing her, guiding her.
“They’re inside,” she murmured.
Kaedan’s hand tightened on the hilt of his blade.
“Then we hunt.”
***
Hours later, night heavy and restless, Ariaxa entered her chambers alone for the first time since her return.
Only for a moment.
Kaedan had gone to coordinate patrols.
Riven had gone to resecure the wards.
Ariaxa breathed out, rubbing her wrists where shadow-thorns once dug into them.
The bond pulsed fearfully.
She froze.
A wrongness filled the room.
Thick.
Smothering.
Silent.
She walked toward her bed.
Her fingers brushed the pillow—
Something crackled.
A spark of magic seared her skin.
She jerked her hand back, heart jolting.
“What—?”
Slowly, she lifted the pillow.
Her blood froze.
Underneath, carved delicately into the mattress straw, pulsing faintly with shadow:
An assassination sigil.
A runic trap meant to activate—
the moment she fell asleep.
Her breath trembled.
The palace wasn’t unsafe.
It was poisoned.
The Triarchs weren’t coming.
They were already here.
And she was their target.