The palace had grown colder. Not in temperature, but in the way the halls seemed to carry whispers wherever Sophie walked. Servants bowed lower now, but their eyes flickered too quickly, their respect tinged with curiosity—or doubt.
Draven's poison had begun to spread.
Eira was the first to notice how quickly the cracks formed.
Late one evening, as Sophie sat near her chamber's fire, trying and failing to focus on a scroll Alexander had sent her "for practice," Eira burst in. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and her cloak was still damp from the mist outside.
"I followed one of Draven's men," Eira said breathlessly, throwing the hood back from her hair. "He's gathering allies. Quiet meetings. Always at night. Always away from the king's eyes."
Sophie stood, heart lurching. "Allies? Who?"
Eira glanced toward the door, lowering her voice. "Two lesser lords already. And whispers that he's courting one of the council members. He's building something, Sophie. Something dangerous."
Sophie's pulse raced. If Draven gained enough power among the court, her position—and maybe Alexander's—would crumble.
"We need proof," Sophie said firmly. "If Alexander doesn't see it himself, he'll think it's just fear talking. He'll think I'm trying to sway him."
Eira's jaw tightened. "Then we go after the proof. We spy on them."
The word felt sharp on Sophie's tongue. Spying wasn't something she'd ever imagined herself doing, but here she was, balancing between survival and destruction.
Sophie nodded slowly. "Then we spy."
That night, Sophie couldn't sleep. She paced her chambers restlessly, until at last she opened the door and stepped into the corridor. The air was cool, the halls dimly lit by flickering torches.
She didn't expect to see Alexander there.
He was leaning against the stone wall just beyond her door, his dark cloak draped across broad shoulders. His gaze lifted when she stepped out, his eyes catching hers in the torchlight.
"You walk the halls like a restless ghost," he murmured. "Do you think I wouldn't notice?"
Sophie's breath caught. The way he looked at her—half suspicion, half something else—made her stomach flutter.
"I can't sleep," she admitted.
He studied her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. There was distance in his posture, yet his presence felt dangerously close, like fire barely contained.
"You're hiding something," Alexander said finally, his voice low.
Sophie's throat tightened. If he only knew how much.
Her instinct screamed to look away, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. "And you're not?" she countered softly.
For the briefest heartbeat, something cracked in his mask. His jaw tightened, but his eyes lingered on hers longer than they should have. The silence between them stretched—too heavy, too charged—until Sophie's chest ached.
Finally, Alexander straightened, pulling the cloak tighter around him. "Be careful, Sophie. Every step you take in this palace is watched. By me… and by those who want you destroyed."
The words should have been a warning. Instead, they felt like both a shield and a chain.
Sophie's lips parted, but she couldn't think of what to say before he turned and strode away, his presence lingering in the hall like smoke after flame.
The next evening, Sophie and Eira made their move.
Dressed in plain cloaks, they slipped through a servants' passage Sophie had only recently discovered. The air was damp and smelled faintly of stone and smoke, but it kept them hidden from the main halls.
Eira led the way, her steps sure. "Draven's meetings always happen in the eastern gallery. I watched the guard rotations—there's a window before the midnight bell when the corridor is empty."
Sophie's heart thudded painfully in her chest. "And if they catch us?"
Eira's voice was steady, though her hand clenched around the dagger at her side. "Then we pray the king finds us first."
The words sent a chill down Sophie's spine—not only for the danger in them, but for the truth she couldn't deny. Even when Alexander frightened her, a part of her trusted him more than the court itself.
They reached the gallery, slipping behind a tall statue carved into the shape of a rearing stag. The chamber beyond was dimly lit by candlelight. Shadows flickered along the stone walls as voices rose and fell.
Draven stood at the center, his silhouette sharp against the glow. Around him clustered half a dozen nobles, their hushed words carrying just enough for Sophie to catch fragments.
"…the king grows blind…"
"…we must act before she—before it—becomes permanent…"
"…the prophecy…"
Sophie froze, her breath catching in her throat. The prophecy. They know.
Eira's grip tightened on her arm, steadying her. They couldn't move closer without being seen, but the word alone sent Sophie's thoughts spiraling.
One of the nobles spoke louder, voice laced with fear. "If the girl is truly tied to it, then she's as dangerous as the lost queen. Perhaps more."
Draven's reply was calm, cruel. "Then we remove her before she grows roots too deep. The king may shield her now, but he cannot shield her forever."
Sophie's blood ran cold. Remove her. They were plotting openly against her now.
She leaned closer to Eira, whispering so low she barely breathed the words. "We have to get this to Alexander."
Eira nodded, her expression grim. "But we move carefully. If Draven suspects we know, he'll strike faster."
They slipped back into the shadows, hearts pounding, until at last they were safe within Sophie's chambers again.
Sophie pressed her hands against the edge of her desk, staring into the flames of the fire. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the echo of Draven's words burning in her mind.
"He wants me gone," she whispered. "Not just discredited—gone."
Eira's hand found hers. "Then we fight smarter. But Sophie—if you tell Alexander, you'll have to admit you were spying. He'll ask questions. He'll wonder what else you've been doing behind his back."
The memory of his eyes in the torchlight returned, searing her. That heavy, unreadable gaze that lingered too long. The part of her that wanted to trust him. The part that feared she couldn't.
"I know," Sophie whispered.
But even as her heart pounded with dread, a sliver of warmth remained. The way he had looked at her in the hall. The way his words—half threat, half promise—had wrapped around her like armor.
The danger was growing. Enemies circled. The prophecy loomed larger every day.
And Sophie knew her next step could determine whether she survived the palace… or was destroyed by it.