The fire burned low in Rose's chambers, casting tall, twitching shadows on the stone walls. She sat in silence, one gloved hand resting over her lips, her eyes fixed on the flame. Kyle paced behind her, his boots making soft, rhythmic taps against the floor—like a countdown.
"He's working with Darius," Kyle said again, the disbelief still raw in his voice. "Christopher. The prince."
Rose didn't respond right away. Her mind replayed the scene in the forest again and again—the exchange, the secretive posture, the way Christopher had looked over his shoulder before handing off the satchel.
He wasn't just aiding Darius.
He trusted him.
"I don't think Christopher even knows what Darius is," Rose murmured at last. "He thinks he's doing the right thing. Maybe… trying to protect the kingdom from his mother."
Kyle stopped pacing. "Then he's a fool."
"No," Rose said, her voice colder now. "He's dangerous."
She rose from her chair. The Queen had poisoned courts with secrets, Darius was resurrecting rebellions from the grave—and now Christopher, the one person Rose had almost trusted, had been playing a shadowed game of his own.
Everything was shifting. And she needed to be ahead of it.
"Kyle," she said, pulling on her cloak. "Gather the mirror spies. I want eyes on every corridor. Every whisper. Find out who else is tied to Darius—nobles, guards, even servants."
"And you?" he asked.
"I'm going to pay someone a visit."
---
The west wing of the palace was a ruin of forgotten architecture—sealed-off halls, broken statues, doors bolted and barred for decades. But Rose had studied the map, and she knew where the passage opened.
Behind a collapsed fountain shaped like a lioness.
The stone wall shifted with a groan. Dust swirled. She descended into the tunnels beneath the palace, every step echoing like a warning in her ears.
The air changed as she walked—cold, damp, stale. Lantern light glinted off cobwebs and rusted chains.
Then… a sound.
Breathing.
She froze, just before the turn in the tunnel.
Then a whisper.
"I was wondering when you'd come."
Rose stepped into the chamber and saw him.
Bound in iron cuffs. Ragged, but alive.
Commander Aldric.
Her former guard captain. Loyal until the day she died—until he died, or so she'd been told. He'd died with her.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"You…" she breathed. "They told me you were—"
"Dead?" He smiled weakly. "They told me the same about you."
Rose rushed forward. "What is this place? Why are you here?"
"Because I knew too much," he rasped. "And because I refused to bend to the Queen's lies. She kept me hidden. Locked away. Thought no one would ever come."
She gripped his hands. "I'm going to get you out."
"Don't," he said quickly. "Not yet. Listen to me, Rose. Darius isn't your only threat. He's just a symptom. The disease is older. Deeper. There's a name. The Order of the Hollow Flame. They were behind the last purge. They never stopped."
Rose froze. "I've heard of them. But only in whispers."
"They're real. And they've infiltrated the court. Nobles, priests, even the Queen's inner circle. Darius is working with them—maybe even for them."
"And Christopher?"
"I don't know," he said. "But if he's aligned with Darius… he's already too far gone."
Rose stepped back, mind spinning. The Order. The tunnels. The prince. The game had just gone deeper than she'd ever imagined.
Then, suddenly—footsteps. Boots. Voices.
They'd been followed.
Aldric's eyes snapped to the door. "Go! Now!"
Rose hesitated—then vanished into the shadows, heart hammering.
She didn't look back.
---
Above, in the Queen's tower, a cloaked figure stood at the window.
Darius.
Behind him, the Queen sipped a glass of dark wine, her expression unreadable.
"You've lit the fire," she said. "Now let's see which of them burns first."