Isolde Raventhorn slipped through the palace halls, her cloak pulled tight to avoid notice. The note from last night burned in her mind: "They know now that you survived. Meet at dawn. The old gate. Come alone, or they'll finish what they started."
But, she hadn't gone to the old gate, she didn't trust anonymous threats, but it kept her awake, wondering who "they" were. The black wax seal with her family's raven sigil wasn't one she recognized. Someone was watching her, and she needed allies fast.
The Lord's wing was quiet, the morning light filtering through narrow windows. Isolde stopped at a carved oak door and knocked twice, sharp and quick. She'd heard Lady Myrren was back in the palace, serving as the Queen's advisor. Myrren had been her friend since they were kids, sneaking through these halls, stealing pastries from the kitchens. If anyone in this snake pit would stand with her, it was Myrren.
The door opened, and Myrren stood there, her brown hair loose, her blue eyes wide with surprise. She was taller now, dressed in a simple green gown, but her freckled face was the same. "Isolde?" she whispered, stepping aside. "Get in here before someone sees us!"
Isolde slipped inside, closing the door. Myrren's chambers were warm, with a fire crackling and shelves stuffed with books and scrolls. A table held a teapot and cups, steam rising. It felt safe, like a piece of the past.
Myrren grabbed her shoulders, looking her up and down. "It's really you. I thought you were dead. Everyone did."
Isolde managed a small smile. "I'm hard to kill."
Myrren laughed, pulling her into a hug. "Gods, I missed you. When I heard you walked into the hall last night, I couldn't believe it. Why didn't you send word?"
Isolde stepped back, her smile fading. "I couldn't. I was in hiding, rebuilding what I lost. I needed to come back strong, not begging."
Myrren nodded, her face serious. "You looked strong out there. The whole court's talking about you, your testament, your accusations. You shook them up."
"Good," Isolde said, sitting at the table. "They deserve it."
Myrren poured tea, handing her a cup. "Tell me what happened. Where were you all this time?"
Isolde sipped the tea, letting the warmth settle her. "After the attack, I nearly died. My convoy was ambushed in the woods, my guards killed, my carriage wrecked... A stranger found me, patched me up in a hut. I spent weeks recovering, then years building alliances with the coastal clans. They gave me resources, a place to plan."
Myrren's eyes widened. "The coastal clans? They're not exactly friendly to the crown."
"They're loyal to me," Isolde said. "My father's name still means something there. They want what I want—Justice."
Myrren leaned forward, her voice low. "Justice for what? You said in the hall you were wronged. Who did it?"
Isolde's jaw tightened. "I don't know yet. But the attack wasn't random. Someone wanted me gone, and they got what they wanted when Rowan annulled our marriage and the court erased my name."
Myrren frowned, setting her cup down. "Rowan's been different since you left. Quiet, closed off. He's drowning in council meetings and wars, but last night, when you walked in, he looked like he'd seen a ghost."
"He should," Isolde said, her voice hard. "He didn't look for me. He let Elsinore take my place."
Myrren hesitated, then spoke carefully. "Elsinore's got the court in her grip. She's smart, ruthless. She's been running the palace household, and no one crosses her."
"I noticed," Isolde said, thinking of Anna's words about the servants' meals. "She's starving the staff, cutting their food to once a day. Rowan doesn't even know."
Myrren's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like her. She's been pushing everyone around, servants, minor lords, even the Queen's advisors. But there's more going on, Isolde. Things I've heard, things I don't like."
Isolde leaned forward, her tea forgotten. "What things?"
Myrren glanced at the door, lowering her voice. "There's a secret group pulling strings. They call themselves the Order of the Crescent. I've heard whispers in the council, names mentioned, meetings held in secret. They're tied to the old families, like yours and Rowan's, but no one knows their full reach."
Isolde's heart skipped. The note from last night, could it be them? "What do they want?"
Myrren shook her head. "Power, I think. They influence decisions, trade deals, marriages, even wars. Some say they've been around for centuries, guarding secrets about Aerendale's bloodlines. I don't know details, but I've seen lords change their votes after late-night meetings. It's not right."
Isolde's mind raced. A secret society manipulating the court could explain a lot, why her attack was swept under, why her marriage was annulled so fast. "Do you think they had something to do with my attack?"
Myrren's face tightened. "I don't know. But the timing of your 'death,' right when Draemor and Thorne needed to unite, feels too perfect. And Elsinore's been cozy with Lord Varyn Draemor. He's got his own whispers about the Order."
Isolde gripped her cup, her knuckles white. "Elsinore. Of course she's in the middle of this."
"She's dangerous," Myrren said. "She's spreading rumors already, saying your testament's fake, that you're a pretender sent by the coastal clans to start trouble. The court's divided. Some believe you, some don't."
"Let them talk," Isolde said. "I've got the truth, and I'm not backing down."
Myrren smiled, but it was tense. "I'm with you, Isolde. Always. But you need to be careful. Elsinore's got spies, and if this Order's real, they're watching too."
Isolde nodded, her mind turning to the note again. "I got a message last night," she said, keeping her voice low. "Left at my door, sealed with a raven sigil. It told me to meet at the old gate at dawn, alone, or 'they'd finish what they started.' I didn't go."
Myrren's eyes widened. "A raven sigil? That's your family's mark."
"I know," Isolde said. "But it's not one I've seen before. Someone's playing games, and I need to know who."
Myrren stood, pacing to the window. "This is bad. If the Order's involved, they might know more about your survival than you think. You need allies in the court, not just the clans."
"I'm working on it," Isolde said. "Anna, my maid, she's loyal. She remembers me from before, says I was kind to her family. She told me about Elsinore's cruelty to the servants."
Myrren turned, nodding. "That's a start. The servants hear everything. If you win them over, they'll be your eyes and ears. But you need nobles too, someone to counter Elsinore's influence."
"I'll find them," Isolde said. "But first, I need to know what Rowan's doing. He's digging into reports about my attack, but I don't trust him. He says he's sorry, but it feels like a trap."
Myrren sat back down, her voice soft. "He's not the same man you married. Losing you broke something in him. But I saw his face last night, he still cares. Maybe too much."
Isolde's chest tightened. She didn't want to hear that, didn't want to think about Rowan's guilt or his dreams. "He made his choice," she said. "He picked Elsinore."
"Did he?" Myrren asked. "Or did she pick him? She's been pushing that betrothal since you were declared dead. He didn't fight it, but he didn't look happy about it either."
Isolde didn't answer. She didn't want to think about Rowan's feelings. She needed to focus on her plan, reclaiming her title, exposing her enemies, finding out who attacked her.
Myrren leaned closer. "I'll help you, Isolde. I've got access to the council, the Queen's ear. I can listen for more about this Order, maybe find out who's behind that note."
"Thank you," Isolde said, meaning it. "I need you, Myrren. This place is a battlefield, and I'm not losing again."
Myrren squeezed her hand. "You won't. We'll do this together."
They talked a bit longer, planning who to approach, which nobles might be swayed. Isolde felt lighter, like she wasn't alone anymore. Myrren was a real ally, someone she could trust.
As Isolde stood to leave, a sharp knock came at the door. Both women froze. Myrren motioned for her to stay quiet and crossed to the door, opening it a crack.
A servant stood there, out of breath, his face pale. "Lady Myrren," he said, his voice shaking. "There's been an attack. A coastal envoy was ambushed outside the city gates an hour ago. They were carrying a message for Lady Isolde."
Isolde's blood ran cold. She stepped forward, her voice sharp. "What message? Who attacked them?"
The servant swallowed, glancing between them. "The message is gone, my lady. And the survivors, they say the attackers wore cloaks marked with a crescent moon."