"Sometimes the enemy isn't the one smiling at you."
The note slipped into my hand during sword practice, as subtle as a pickpocket's touch.
I was concentrating on parrying Master Aldwin's strikes, my blade ringing against his in the rhythmic dance of steel on steel that echoed across the training yard. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool morning air, and my muscles burned from the repetitive motions. The familiar weight of my sword felt good in my hands-honest, straightforward, nothing like the complex games being played in Academy corridors.
It happened during a brief respite, when Master Aldwin called for the students to switch partners. In the shuffle of moving bodies and clanking practice armor, someone brushed past me. Their touch was so brief I might have imagined it, but the small square of parchment that appeared in my palm was very real.
The paper was folded tight as a secret, its edges smudged with dirt as if it had been passed through too many hands before reaching mine. I palmed it quickly, tucking it into the leather pouch at my belt where I kept spare arrowheads and fletching wax.
No one looked at me directly, but I felt the weight of unseen eyes all the same. Around me, students continued their drills-the clash of practice swords, the instructor's barked corrections, the heavy breathing of young wolves pushing their bodies to exhaustion. But beneath the familiar sounds, I sensed something else. Watching. Waiting.
The rest of practice passed in a blur of mechanical movements. My mind kept drifting to the hidden note, burning against my side like a brand. When Master Aldwin finally dismissed us with orders to clean our weapons and return them to the armory, I practically fled.
The Academy's corridors felt different as I made my way toward the dormitories. Shadows seemed deeper between the torch sconces, and every footstep echoed with potential threat. Students passed me in groups, their conversations a low hum that might have hidden whispered conspiracies or simply complaints about the morning's lessons.
I waited until I was alone in my chambers before unfolding the parchment with trembling fingers.
The message inside was scrawled in hurried ink, the letters sharp and slanted as if written in haste or fear:
Beware Gideon Wicke. He has betrayed those closest to him before. You are not the first he has tried to claim. A friend watches from the shadows.
My chest tightened, breath catching in my throat as if someone had laced my stays too tight. I read the words again, then a third time, each reading making them sink deeper into my consciousness like stones thrown into dark water.
Not the first he has tried to claim.
The phrase dug deep, burrowing beneath the pride I wore like chainmail. What did it mean? Who had he betrayed-and how badly? The questions multiplied in my mind like serpents, each one spawning two more.
I folded the note quickly, shoving it deep into the pocket of my woolen jacket before anyone could notice. But the words had already burned themselves into my memory, impossible to forget or ignore.
That evening found me in the library's hushed sanctuary, surrounded by towering shelves laden with leather-bound tomes and rolled parchments tied with silk ribbons. Candles flickered in their brass holders, casting dancing shadows across the worn wooden tables where students bent over their studies.
I sat across from Caleb at our usual table near the tall windows that overlooked the Academy gardens. The glass was old and slightly warped, distorting the view of moonlit pathways and carefully tended herb beds. He had spread several military treatises before him, but his attention was focused entirely on me.
"You're distracted tonight." His observation was quiet but pointed, delivered in that steady tone he used when he sensed trouble brewing.
I hesitated, my fingers finding the note in my pocket. The parchment crinkled softly between my fingertips as I debated whether to share this burden. But Caleb had earned my trust a dozen times over, and I needed someone else's perspective on this mystery.
Without a word, I pulled the note free and slid it across the polished table surface. Caleb read quickly, his jaw tightening with each line. When he looked up, his brown eyes were grim as winter storm clouds.
"Who gave this to you?"
"I don't know." The admission tasted bitter on my tongue. "It just... appeared during training. Someone brushed past me, and suddenly it was in my hand."
Caleb tapped the parchment with his finger, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper to avoid carrying to neighboring tables. "This isn't idle gossip or student rivalry. This is a warning, carefully planned and deliberately delivered. Whoever wrote this has real knowledge of Gideon's past-and they want you to see him clearly."
I bit my lip, worrying the soft flesh as the implications swirled through my mind. "Should I confront him with it? Demand explanations? Or should I keep it secret, use it as leverage when the time is right?"
"Think strategically, not emotionally." Caleb leaned closer, his expression intense. "Gideon thrives on reactions, on pushing people off balance and then exploiting their confusion. If you let him see that you're rattled, if you give him any hint that someone is working against him, he'll win this game before you even realize you're playing it."
The reminder stung because part of me was rattled. Gideon's silky words from our dinner still lingered in the corners of my mind like expensive perfume-I could make you Alpha queen. Despite everything I knew about manipulation and political games, I couldn't deny that his offer held a dark appeal.
Power. Recognition. The chance to never be dismissed or underestimated again.
The thought made me sick, but I couldn't entirely banish it.
Three days passed before Gideon sought me out again. I was crossing the main courtyard after evening meal, my stomach full of roasted venison and honeyed bread, when his familiar voice called my name across the cobblestones.
"Elara." He appeared from the shadows near the old stone well, moving with that predatory grace I'd come to associate with barely leashed danger. "You've been avoiding me."
Moonlight silvered his dark hair and cast sharp shadows across his aristocratic features. He was dressed impeccably as always-fine woolen doublet in deep blue, leather boots polished to a mirror shine, a jeweled dagger at his belt more ornament than weapon.
I forced my features into careful neutrality, calling on every lesson in court etiquette I'd ever received. "Perhaps I simply prefer the company of those who don't view other people as chess pieces to be maneuvered."
His eyebrow arched in mock surprise, but his smile remained perfectly polished. "You wound me, sweet Elara. I only want to give you everything you deserve-power, position, a place where your talents would be truly appreciated."
The hidden note felt heavier than lead in my pocket. His words slid over me like honey, golden and sweet on the surface, but I could hear the poison beneath now. Every compliment was a chain disguised as silk, every offer a trap dressed as opportunity.
I said nothing. Instead, I turned and walked away across the moonlit stones, keeping my spine straight and my pace measured. My heart thundered against my ribs, but I wouldn't let him see fear or uncertainty.
That night, I tucked the mysterious warning into the bottom of my traveling trunk, hidden beneath folded chemises and woolen stockings. The wood was carved with protective runes that glowed faintly in the candlelight-a gift from my grandmother long ago, back when I'd believed such trinkets could actually keep monsters at bay.
I told myself I'd decide later what to do with the information. Whether to investigate further or simply file it away as insurance against future need.
But as I latched the trunk with its heavy iron clasps, a prickling sensation crawled down my spine like ice water. The feeling of being watched, studied, evaluated by unseen eyes.
I turned toward the narrow window that looked out over the Academy grounds.
And there he was.
Gideon stood in the shadows beneath the ancient oak tree, his figure perfectly framed by silvery moonlight. The distance should have made his expression impossible to read, but somehow I could see his smile anyway-sharp, cruel, knowing.
He lifted one hand in a mockery of courtly greeting, and my blood turned to ice in my veins.
He had seen everything.