The letter did not look threatening.
That was the problem.
It lay perfectly composed on her desk, the royal seal pressed in deep crimson wax, the ink dark and precise, each stroke of Prince Kael's handwriting steady and infuriatingly calm. There were no dramatic flourishes, no underlined warnings, no urgency in the phrasing.
And yet, to Niana, it might as well have been a declaration of war.
She had already read it six times.
Reading it a seventh did not improve the outcome.
The Inquisition will proceed in ten days.
Ten days.
Ten.
Not twenty.
Not a month.
Not a politely negotiable "at your convenience."
Ten days.
Niana slowly lowered herself into her chair as though gravity had personally betrayed her. She placed the letter flat on the desk, smoothing it with her fingers as if pressing hard enough might change the number.
It did not.
The squad list stared back at her with clinical indifference.
Prince Kael.
Sir Aurelian Drake, Captain of the Royal Knights.
Eryx Vale, Court Mage and prodigy.
Saintess Serena.
A royal.
A war hero.
A magical genius.
A divine figure.
And then—
Her.
And Lucien.
If someone were to describe the lineup to the public, it would sound glorious. Strategic. Symbolic. The Crown, the Sword, the Arcane, the Light.
And then somewhere in smaller print: the Duchess who reads books and the silent man who looks like he could stab someone without blinking.
Niana leaned back slowly and stared at the ceiling.
"In ten days…" she whispered.
The ceiling did not respond.
Lucien, who had been standing near the bookshelf pretending not to listen while absolutely listening, finally spoke in his usual calm tone.
"You have repeated that number eight times."
She sat upright immediately, scandalized. "Have I?"
"Yes."
"That's concerning."
"It is."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are not helping."
"I was not aware I was assigned to help."
Niana gasped softly, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. "Lucien, this is a crisis."
"It is a schedule."
"It is a schedule that leads to potential death."
"That is most schedules."
She stared at him.
He stared back.
His face remained maddeningly neutral, but she could see it — that faint, almost imperceptible twitch near his mouth. The smallest hint of amusement.
"I refuse," she declared, pointing dramatically at the letter, "to be the decorative attachment on this expedition."
"You are rarely decorative," Lucien replied smoothly.
"…Excuse me?"
"You are more… disruptive."
She flushed instantly. "That is not better."
He tilted his head slightly, as if reconsidering. "Strategically disruptive."
"That still sounds like a liability."
"It depends on who is being disrupted."
She opened her mouth to argue and then paused.
That was annoyingly sound logic.
Still.
Ten days.
In ten days, she needed a plan. Not just a reaction to the prophecy she had revealed, not just the knowledge of what might unfold — but an actual, structured, tactical plan worthy of standing beside that squad.
Prince Kael would expect preparation.
Sir Aurelian would expect competence.
Eryx would expect intelligence.
Serena would expect… hope.
And what did she have?
Anxiety.
A library.
And a talent for surviving situations she did not ask to be in.
A knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
Three gentle taps.
"Milady?" a maid's voice called softly from beyond the door. "May we enter to tidy your chambers?"
Niana blinked.
Morning.
She had apparently been so consumed by dread that she had forgotten she had just woken up.
"Yes, come in," she called, smoothing her expression into something resembling composure.
Two maids entered quietly, bowing before moving efficiently around the room. Curtains were drawn back, allowing warm sunlight to spill across the carpets. Sheets were straightened. A faint floral scent filled the air as one of them replaced the water in a porcelain vase.
Niana watched them for a moment, then cleared her throat.
"Can I ask something… hypothetical?"
Lucien's gaze shifted slightly.
The nearest maid paused politely. "Of course, Milady."
"Hypothetically," Niana began carefully, "if someone were to need… a distraction. Something physically engaging. Something that would not look suspicious. What might one participate in?"
The maid blinked once.
Then twice.
"…Milady is asking for entertainment suggestions?"
"Strategic entertainment," Niana corrected quickly.
Lucien said nothing.
Which meant he was absolutely judging her.
The maid hesitated thoughtfully. "Well… there is the upcoming autumn hunting competition."
Niana tilted her head.
"Hunting… competition?"
"Yes, Milady. The nobles gather in the northern forest. It is quite prestigious. Though…" the maid's voice lowered slightly, "…the Valeris household does not usually attend."
"Why not?"
"There is little interest from your house in such… public displays."
Lucien's eyes flickered faintly.
Niana leaned forward slightly. "And who participates?"
"Primarily noblemen, Milady. Ladies do not hunt, of course. They may sponsor or be represented."
Represented.
By men.
Something inside Niana twitched sharply.
"Represented," she repeated.
"Yes, Milady. A gentleman hunts in the lady's name."
Lucien remained perfectly still.
Which was suspicious.
Niana smiled slowly. Too slowly.
"So women are not allowed to hunt?"
The maid looked startled. "Traditionally, no."
Ah.
Of course.
Niana felt something mischievous bloom in her chest.
Not anger.
No.
Something more dangerous.
Interest.
A hunting competition meant strategy. Tracking. Precision. Observation.
And no one would suspect her of competence there.
Because no one believed she possessed any.
She could not reveal her sword skills publicly.
That was her hidden advantage.
But a bow…
A bow could be justified.
Perhaps.
Hypothetically.
"Hunting…" she murmured to herself as the maids resumed tidying.
Lucien finally spoke.
"You are thinking too loudly."
She turned toward him slowly. "Am I?"
"Yes."
"And what do you think I am thinking?"
"That you intend to cause trouble."
"I never intend trouble."
"You generate it naturally."
She placed a hand over her heart again. "Lucien, I am wounded."
"Not yet."
The maids froze briefly at that exchange before quickly pretending not to hear.
Niana stood, smoothing her sleeves. "Prepare lunch."
Lucien blinked once. "You are hungry?"
"No. I am strategizing."
"That sounds dangerous."
She ignored him and moved toward the dining hall, skirts swaying lightly behind her. The long table was already being prepared when she arrived, sunlight glinting off polished silverware. As expected, Lucien took his place nearby — not at the table itself, but close enough to intervene if needed.
He always accompanied her when she ate.
Like a particularly intimidating piece of furniture.
Niana took a delicate sip of water before placing her glass down thoughtfully.
"Lucien."
"Yes."
"What do you know about hunting competitions?"
He did not even blink.
"That they involve prey."
"I am serious."
"So am I."
She narrowed her eyes. "If, hypothetically, a lady wished to participate."
"Impossible."
"Hypothetically."
"They would require a male representative."
She tapped her fingers lightly against the table. "And if the lady did not trust a representative?"
"Then she would be unwise to attend."
She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "And if she trusted… someone else?"
Lucien's gaze sharpened faintly.
"Milady," he said carefully, "you are not planning to enter a public competition while preparing for an Inquisition."
She smiled sweetly.
"I am planning to be productive during these ten days."
He studied her.
Really studied her.
And then—
"…You are going to enter it anyway."
She lifted her chin with exaggerated dignity.
"In ten days," she said calmly, "I refuse to be a trophy."
Lucien's eyes darkened slightly — not with anger, but with something quieter.
"You never were."
For a moment, she faltered.
Then quickly looked away.
"Well," she said lightly, "then perhaps it is time the kingdom learned that."
Outside, the autumn wind stirred the trees.
Ten days.
And Niana Valeris had just found herself a distraction.
Or perhaps—
An opportunity.