“It’s logical.” Jericho ticked items off on his fingers. “Deliveries redirected. Documents altered. Files moved. Each incidentdesigned to make you look incompetent right before the most important event of Darragh’s reign.”
“Why would anyone sabotage the summit? It would hurt Safe Harbor.”
“They’re not sabotaging the summit. They’re sabotaging you specifically.” Jericho leaned forward. “Someone wants you to fail. They want to prove you’re unsuitable for this position.”
Finn’s stomach churned. “Who would do that?”
“Who opposed your marriage most vocally?”
“Aldric. Thomas. Helena initially, though she’s come around.” Finn shook his head. “But they wouldn’t…they care about Safe Harbor. About Darragh.”
“Maybe they think they’re protecting both by proving you’re the wrong choice.”
The idea made Finn feel sick. Not just because someone might be actively working against him, but because if they were succeeding, didn’t that prove they were right?
“I’m just stressed,” Finn insisted. “That must be it. I’m making stupid mistakes. I need to be more careful.”
“You don’t make these kinds of mistakes.”
“How would you know? You’ve never seen me under this kind of pressure.”
Jericho’s expression softened. “I’ve seen you coordinate entire village renovations with half the budget and twice the complications. I’ve seen you manage Winrone’s harvest logistics when Father was sick. You don’t fall apart under pressure, Finn. You get more organized, not less.”
Finn wanted to believe him, wanted to accept that someone else was responsible for the chaos spiraling around him.But accepting that meant accepting he was disliked enough, distrusted enough, that someone would actively sabotage Safe Harbor’s interests just to make him fail.
“I can’t think about this right now,” Finn said finally. “I have too much to do. Whether it’s my mistakes or someone else’s actions, I still need to fix everything before delegations start arriving.”
Jericho looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded instead. “Just...be careful. Pay attention to whoever has access to your files and documents. Don’t dismiss this.”
After Jericho left, Finn tried to return to work, but the conversation kept circling through his mind. Sabotage seemed impossible – the kind of dramatic intrigue that happened in novels, not real life.
And yet.
Gordon was right. He didn’t misfile critical documents in closets he’d never visited.
Finn stared at his perfectly organized desk, his color-coded filing system, his meticulous lists. Everything was in its place. Everything accounted for, except for the things that kept going inexplicably wrong.
/~/~/~/~/
Three nights later, Finn worked in his office past midnight.
Darragh had tried to convince him to come to bed to the point where he’d stood in the doorway looking concerned and tired and like he wanted to say something important. But Finn had delegation briefings to finalize, seating arrangements to triple-check, and contingency plans to review.
“Soon,” he’d promised, the same empty word he’d been offering for days, and after a long moment, Darragh had left without arguing.
Finn rubbed his eyes, refocused on the document in front of him. Dietary requirements for the Surmont delegation. Three vegetarians, one who required specific food preparation, and two with severe shellfish allergies. He’d already submitted the list to the kitchen staff, but he wanted to verify…
Movement in the hallway caught his attention.
Finn froze, listening. The castle should have been quiet. Most of the staff had retired for the night, and Darragh would be in bed, hopefully sleeping despite Finn’s absence.
Soft footsteps passed his door, heading toward the records room.
Finn rose carefully, moved to his door, and eased it open just enough to see out. A figure in dark clothing slipped into the records room - the secure space where all summit documentation was stored. The person carried no candle, navigating by moonlight through the windows.
Who would be accessing the summit files at midnight?
Finn waited, heart pounding, pressed against the doorframe. Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty. Then the figure emerged, still moving carefully, quietly, like someone who didn’t want to be discovered. The moonlight caught his face as he turned.
