He did not request an audience.
He simply arrived.
Her guards parted for him—reluctantly, but lawfully. A royal knight had the right to investigate matters concerning state security.
And today, that meant her.
She received him in the eastern parlor, where the windows let in soft afternoon light. She chose the seat with the sun behind her. Subtle advantage. It forced him to squint slightly when he tried to read her expression.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
“Lady,” he greeted, voice calm.
“Sir,” she replied smoothly. “To what do I owe the honor?”
He did not sit.
Interesting.
“Lord Vaelmont has withdrawn from court,” he said. “Citing sudden illness.”
“How unfortunate.”
“You met with him this morning.”
She lifted her teacup.
“I meet many people.”
“He was agitated when he arrived.”
“And?”
His gaze sharpened.
“And you seem remarkably composed.”
She smiled faintly. “Would you prefer I panic?”
Silence stretched between them.
He studied her the way a commander studies a battlefield before charging.
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“I have seen corrupt men fall before,” he said finally. “But rarely so quickly. And rarely after crossing paths with the same individual.”
“Are you accusing me of something?” she asked softly.
“Not yet.”
Ah.
Honest.
That made him more dangerous.
She allowed a thread of vine to coil beneath the marble floor—just enough to brush the edge of his shadow.
It recoiled instantly.
Burned.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Light affinity.
Of course.
His magic carried purity—radiant, sharp, cutting. It disrupted her vines before they could anchor.
Fascinating.
He noticed the flicker in her expression.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she replied smoothly.
He stepped closer now, finally taking the seat opposite her. Close enough that she could see the faint scar along his jaw. A past battle.
“You are different from the rumors,” he said.
“Oh?”
“They describe you as volatile. Emotional. Reckless.”
She gave a quiet laugh.
“People see what makes them comfortable.”
“And what should I see?”
Her eyes met his fully now.
“Whatever you are brave enough to.”
The air shifted.
Tension—not hostile.
Measured.
He leaned back slightly. “Vaelmont was planning something.”
“Yes.”
“You know what it was.”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing to stop it?”
Her smile returned.
“You assume I did nothing.”
His jaw tightened.
“You play a dangerous game.”
“And you assume I’m playing alone.”
That made him pause.
Good.
Let doubt take root.
He stood again, restless energy flickering beneath controlled posture.
“If I discover you are destabilizing the kingdom,” he said quietly, “I will act.”
There it was.
Not a threat.
A promise.
She rose as well, matching his height with regal composure.
“If you discover that I am preventing greater harm,” she countered softly, “what then?”
His gaze searched hers.
For lies.
For cruelty.
For guilt.
He found none.
Because she carried none.
“I will continue watching you,” he said.
“I would expect nothing less.”
He turned to leave.
But at the doorway, he paused.
“Why help bring down Vaelmont?”
She considered the truth.
Because in another life, he destroyed me.
Because you executed me based on his lies.
Because I refuse to die again.
Instead, she said—
“Because rot spreads if not removed.”
He did not respond.
But his silence felt… heavier.
After he left, she remained standing for a long moment.
Her vine magic stirred restlessly beneath the floor.
His presence had disrupted it.
Light clashed with shadow.
Opposites.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The hero had moved his piece.
Not to attack.
To observe.
Which meant—
He suspected more than he admitted.
She walked back to the window.
Outside, clouds were gathering.
Storm weather.
Perfect.
Because if he continued digging—
He would eventually uncover something far more dangerous than smuggling.
And when that happened…
He would have to decide.
Hero.
Or ally.
