My jaw tightened. I wanted to reassure her, to explain that these were storerooms and siege shelters—not dungeons. She would know soon enough. But curse it all, Darius didn’t need the satisfaction of seeing how attuned I was to her every worry.
Greaves slowed his pace, rounding the corner to hold open the door to the underground council room. Nienna’s grip on my arm loosened, but I pressed her hand back into place, unwilling to let her stray. She had to remain by myside. It wasn’t just for her safety—it was a statement, a clear sign that she was under my protection.
The chamber mirrored its purpose: sparse, functional, stripped of luxury. A modest bar stood in one corner, stocked with wine and mead, while an oval oak table dominated the center, ten chairs tucked around its edges. As the door clicked shut, sealing us in, the men already present rose to their feet.
“Your Majesty,” they greeted in unison, their voices blending into a formal chorus. One by one, their gazes shifted to Nienna. “Princess.”
“Councilmen. Advisor.” My tone carried a low rumble as I guided her to the seat at the head of the table, the one Tallon should have occupied. “Gentlemen.”
Their faces were familiar but I couldn’t place them. I pulled out Nienna’s chair, letting her settle before I claimed the seat beside her. Greaves positioned himself to my right, a silent sentinel, while Darius slid into a spot flanked by two unknown men.
One bore the marks of age, his graying hair and sagging jowls giving him a hound’s weary demeanor. The other, younger by decades, sat with immovable posture, his shoulders rigid, and despite the damp chill, a glint of sweat traced his temple.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers drumming the table once before stilling. The soft sound echoed in the quiet chamber, and every gaze fixed on me, expectant. The weight of their attention settled across my shoulders.
Darius gestured toward the older man, his tone clipped. “Your Majesty, this is Glendor, master of the city guard,” he said before motioning to the younger figure beside him, “and Lukas, captain of the palace guard.”
Lukas dipped into a bow, his head almost brushing the table’s edge. A tense swallow betrayed his unease. “Your Majesty,” he began, his voice tight, “I offer my deepest apologies.”
I let the silence hang, heavy and deliberate. My palm brushed the polished oak, the faint gleam of my signet ring catching the lantern’s flicker. “I do not accept apologies,” I said, my words weighted and deliberate. “What I demand are answers. How does an assassin bypass three layers of guards and find their way into Princess Nienna’s chambers?”
Glendor flushed a deep crimson and licked his lips. “They entered through the southern gate.”
“They were identified?”
I resisted the itch to go straight to the body, but with Nienna at my side, I didn’t want to take her to search and dissect a corpse.
“Recognized,” Glendor admitted, nodding. “They were seen yesterday at the Singing Oak Inn.”
“And how did they bypass palace guards?” My gaze locked on Lukas, unrelenting. My scrutiny bore down on him until his shoulders hunched, hisresolve cracking under my frown. This man wasn’t fit to lead, and I made a mental note to question Darius on his appointment.
“They killed their way through, my king,” he stammered. “Seven dead. The guards at the princess’ door among them.”
A snarl twisted my lips. “Perhaps your men need more than training.”
Nienna’s knee bumped mine. My jaw clenched as I fought the pull to look at her. Was she trying to calm me? Or warn me of something I hadn’t noticed?
Darius leaned forward. “Even if the assassins were skilled, how did no one notice? Bodies should have been found during the rounds.”
Lukas winced, his face pale. “Our numbers… are thin. Too many were pulled for the northern harvests. Those on duty had been awake all night and were expected to stand the next evening. I had to lighten the shifts to ensure fresh guards.”
Could I not even protect my own palace? The thought twisted my gut. How dare he imply I lacked men?
“Then you make the rounds, Captain,” I spat. “Do I not pay you well enough? Is your bed too comfortable to rouse you?”
The man faltered. “Your Majesty, you ordered the draft–”
“Hold your tongue,” Fallione cut him short. “Guards can be reinforced. What matters now is discovering where the assassins came from.”
I inched back from the table, staring at Lukas. A bead of sweat traced his cheek, and he seemed to find every corner of the room more appealing than meeting my eyes. Good. He should be afraid.
Darius’ fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the wood. “They had nothing to identify them. Dressed in black Radaanian garb. No scars or tattoos.”
“Their teeth?” I already knew what he would say.
“Flat. Like ours,” Fallione said with a resigned sigh. “They weren’t Velli.”
He turned to Nienna. “Princess, may I be so blunt?”
