Reed failed to return to the barracks unnoticed. A patrol nearly spotted him at the worst possible moment, forcing him to hide in the South Wing. He waited for the chance, and just when it seemed the coast was clear, he was discovered. And not by just anyone, but by the prince himself. Arne’s night walks in the South Wing were nothing new, but Reed’s presence was bound to raise questions. Arne sized him up in silence while Reed clenched his jaw, a thousand and one excuses for being where he didn't belong racing through his mind.

  The prince had stepped out of the room, and a faint rustling could be heard from within. It was perfectly clear that Arne didn't spend his nights in the South Wing alone. Perhaps that was why the patrol passed through there less frequently? Who could say. Nevertheless, the silent standoff between Reed and Arne dragged on. Both eyed each other with mutual suspicion. The prince looked caught off guard, and Reed was certain his own face wore roughly the same expression.

  "Your Highness, I..."

  "Quiet. The patrol."

  Arne grabbed Reed by the elbow and hauled him into the room.

  At first, Reed couldn't believe his eyes. Yet as he realized the sheer scale of the disaster, he froze. Dread crawled over his skin, digging into his very core with its filthy, sticky claws. Victoria was sitting in the room. The pieces quickly fell into place, but it didn't make things any easier. Arne put a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.

  When the footsteps outside the door faded, Victoria stood up. She touched the prince cautiously, affectionately. Reed knew all too well what that kind of touch meant, so he looked away.

  "Arne..." she began, but the prince only shook his head.

  "Leave. I will... handle this." He put a strange emphasis on the last word, causing Reed to feel the blood drain from his face.

  Victoria left, and the room fell into a heavy silence. Finally, Reed forced himself to speak.

  "I know how this looks, but I..."

  "What?" Arne raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Are you lost? Just out for a walk?"

  "No." Reed's jaw twitched in annoyance.

  "Surprise me." The prince sat down, still boring into Reed with his gaze. The look seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it.

  "This has nothing to do with you."

  "That's a start," he nodded. "What is it about, then?"

  Reed's mind raced, while Arne was the epitome of calm.

  "Curiosity." Instead of inventing a lie, he decided to use the truth. That way, he couldn't be accused of lying.

  Arne raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

  "I was curious about what was in the cellar," Reed blurted out.

  "And is that where you got your face rearranged?"

  "No, that happened in the barracks. I cheated at cards. Rene patched me up, and I decided to have a look around for myself. She never lets anyone in. I was always kept outside, and I..."

  "Got curious." Arne cut off the stream of excuses, stood up, and met Reed's eyes. A silent battle of wills played out between them for a moment. Finally, he spoke, "I know who you are and why you're here."

  "Is that so?" Reed asked brazenly. Arne only grunted in response.

  "Don't test my patience, Hector." The prince's voice took on a chilling edge, and Reed's blood ran cold. No one could know that name. No one except Meredith. And no one could have overheard it, let alone reported it to Arne. His mind spun, and while Reed tried to find where he'd slipped up, the prince smiled contentedly. "It seems I have your full attention now."

  "How did you find out?" His voice suddenly dropped into a threatening growl. Even though Reed couldn't harm the prince, he didn't know how else to act. Especially when panic gripped him.

  "I know everything about you. You're alive only because you haven't gotten in my way, and your little assignment is currently beneficial to me."

  "Assignment?" Reed raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

  "You went into the South Wing out of curiosity. I'm willing to believe that, as it’s indirectly related to the main reason for your arrival at the castle. You can't finish your business without knowing the whole picture. You're like a bloodhound, even though you were hired to simply be a beater. Anyone else would have quietly done the job and disappeared, but not you."

  Reed was silent. Dread devoured him from the inside, clouding his thoughts. Arne watched Reed with a satisfied look. Running through his options to escape the current circumstances, Reed found only one way out. He couldn't kill the prince. The only option left was to run. He'd flee, take Meredith, and never return to Emeron. It would be better for everyone that way.

  "Did you find out what you wanted?" the prince finally broke the silence. Reed did not immediately grasp his meaning.

  "No, I didn't have time," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, as shot Arne a wolfish glare.

  "Remember when I asked you about nature?"

  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "My father and Salvat defy nature. You are here to put a stop to it, even if you don't quite understand exactly what needs to be stopped. Correct me if I'm wrong."

  "You're not wrong," Reed snapped. "So what now? Will you send me to the gallows?"

  "And what use of you dead?" Arne raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  "May I ask something?" Receiving a nod in response, Reed continued, "Why did the puppet master of Forfield show his hand to me?"

  "Figured it out on your own?" Arne asked.

  "If you weren't playing your own game, you would never have kept my identity and the purpose of my presence here a secret. Anything else would have made no sense. I'd be executed if they found out, and you'd go to the gallows with me for harboring an infiltrator. There is clearly a reason."

  "Naturally." Arne folded his arms across his chest, and a strange shadow passed over his face. "Everyone in the castle has their own games, as you've already realized. You are here because I wanted you here. You are here because your presence serves my interests. You passed the Tournament because I made sure of it."

  "And you just sit there and admit this to me?" Reed raised a mocking eyebrow. "To a mercenary?"

  "Strange," Arne grunted. "You don't seem stupid. Of the two of us, only I am in a favorable position. If you tell anyone what you've learned, I'll easily reveal your identity. You'd be in the interrogation cells before the sun rises, and by lunch the next day, you'd be swinging from a rope. And I'll simply say that you tried to frame me to remove an obstacle on the way to the advisor and the king. I can prove it, but I don't think we should let it come to that. Correct?"

  "Correct," Reed ground the word out. The prince was ready to lay his cards on the table and had calculated everything. In any case, he held all the leverage. Cunning bastard. It was no wonder he had stayed in the shadows for so long.

  "Maró said you were trouble, so I decided to check just how much trouble you'd be and whether it was worth getting involved with you at all." While Reed was processing this, Arne pressed his advantage.

  "And? Did I pass the test?"

  "Maró is about as trustworthy as Arden," Arne sighed. "Everyone has secrets, don't they, Hector? So, Maró is my pawn, and you are his. And that begs the question: do we really need middlemen?"

  "Are you suggesting I turn my coat?"

  "I'm offering a choice. Maró will throw you to the wolves as soon as you stop being useful. But I don't discard valuable allies."

  "Well, aren't you just Alaira with balls, the picture of purity," Reed grumbled gloomily. "You're not telling me anything new. I knew Maró was a bastard. And I doubt you're any better than him."

  "My intentions are far from pure, just like yours. And I need allies. Even you need them. There are no saints in this castle, only those who are more beneficial to align with."

  "What about the mages?"

  "Mages are pawns, a tool. Valuable leverage. Any crisis that weighs on the minds of the people will give you power if you know how to use it. Mages are just the perfect means to gain power."

  "They're dying." Reed was stunned by Arne's callousness. He spoke so easily about the cost of human life and power that it made Reed uneasy.

  "As long as Arden is rules."

  "You realize we're discussing high treason right now?"

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "I wasn't born yesterday."

  "And you gamble with people's lives to get the throne? You'll get the crown and power, and they'll live just as before. Nothing will change, and it will all be for nothing. Correct me if I'm wrong."

  "I don't owe you an explanation."

  "And I don't have to accept your offer if I don't know what exactly I'm signing up for. Maybe I'm just choosing the lesser of two evils."

  "You took Maró's coin without knowing who he is, what his endgame is, or what he is prepared to do. You knew he considers you and everyone else pawns, but you signed on anyway. How is he better than me?"

  "I didn't take the job for his sake."

  "Then for what? Personal reasons? Whatever your motives may be, I'd bet that you knew absolutely nothing about Maró's true intentions. You took his word for it, or the word of whoever recruited you. And you have absolutely no idea where this road leads."

  "And you do?"

  "I do," Arne replied smugly. "It all boils down to a struggle for power."

  Reed fell silent. It was a difficult conversation. Of course, Maró had never inspired trust, but it was one thing to guess and quite another to know for sure.

  "Are you a mage?" Arne suddenly asked.

  "No, but I won't sell anyone out to buy your silence. You can turn me in right now. I'll go to the gallows, but at least I'll know that I didn't betray anyone I didn't want to betray."

  "Did I say I'd turn you in if you refused?"

  "Doesn't that go without saying?"

  Arne sighed. "I won't turn you in. I need you to kill Salvat. I have a personal stake in this."

  "Of course. He's loyal to the king. He's carved out quite a comfortable spot for himself."

  "Salvat and Arden killed the queen," Arne said quietly. "My mother died in that very cellar for the way nature had made her. Like I said, for now, Maró and I are walking the same path, but we see the end of this story differently. You'd better pick a side before the scales start to tip."

  "You and Maró are cut from the same cloth. And those scales will crush people like me no matter which side I choose."

  "Do your job," Arne replied tiredly. "And afterward, when you no longer owe Maró, I'll be waiting for your decision."

  Before leaving, Reed asked, "So, what is Maró's endgame?"

  "He clearly isn't fighting for the freedom of mages." Arne lowered his voice slightly, folded his arms across his chest, and now looked at Reed like he was a naive child. What a brat. Arne was young enough to be Reed's son. "He wants the king dead, but that isn't the answer to your question, only one step in his plan. I'm certain Maró won't just quietly walk away after Arden is dead. There must be something else. What it is, I don't know. He won't tell me, and he won't tell you. Like I said, for now, our paths just happen to align."

  "He didn't tell me about the mages here either. I came to the castle thinking Salvat had to die because he was a threat to the Order, that they were being hunted all over Forfield because of him."

  Arne smiled grimly. A single, heavy shadow slipped across his frowning brow, as if all his thoughts had broken free from their chains at once and were now hovering nearby, feeding the night's darkness.

  "You should know one important thing about Maró: he will only share what is convenient for him. The former royal advisor knows the value of information, and if he didn't tell you something, it was because keeping you in the dark benefited him. Remember that every time you speak with him."

  "Seems the prince also knows the value of information."

  "As does a mercenary," Arne countered, standing up. A moment later, Reed saw only his thin back, hiding the true feelings of the king's son like a shroud. Arne delivered his final words, ending the conversation, almost inaudibly, "Go, before someone misses you. I will expect your answer later."

  ***

  On the seventh day, the castle plunged into mourning. Rumors spread quickly, passing from one kreyghar to another, but only Reed knew the whole truth. The situation with Victoria had not become any easier when he found out exactly who her lover was. This knowledge was oppressive, because if Arne found out who was responsible for the death of his lover, all of Reed's business in this life would come to a brutal end. Out of sheer spite, Arne might even go after Meredith. If he managed to find out Reed's real name, finding out about Meredith would be child's play.

  Logically, Reed knew that Arne could not possibly know about his involvement in Victoria's death, but anxiety gnawed at him like a festering wound. This anxiety had become so habitual, so natural and familiar, that it already seemed like a part of him. Reed had forgotten what it felt like to live without it.

  Reed spent every day in grim, restless anticipation, and he couldn't quite decide what he was waiting for more: Victoria's death or his own downfall. While Victoria drank the poisoned draft and Rene edged closer to the eternal Darkness, Reed tried to act natural. He went about his usual business and even found a strange semblance of peace in the routine.

  When Victoria was covered with a gray shroud, he collected rumors and passed them to others as if he knew nothing at all. Some said the advisor's wife was gone due to an illness, pointing to the fever that had ravaged her in her final days. Others suspected foul play, and some believed that a miscarriage was to blame for everything. Everyone was right in their own way. There was a grain of truth in every rumor. Otherwise, there would be no point in talking.

  Rene remained completely unbothered, acting as if nothing had happened, and Arne wasn't seen in public for several days. The entire castle held its breath and waited for the mourning ceremony to see with their own eyes the mark that death had left on Victoria. And then they would gossip about it for several Moons.

  The ceremony was to take place three days after her passing. It was the custom of the kreyghars to allow three days for each of their gods before the body was buried. People believed that during this time, Alaira, Balron, and Altan visited the dead to decide their fate. Some would find peace in the temple of the Three as faithful servants, others would be reborn, and the rest would vanish into the Darkness, completing their journey. Therefore, the dead were left in the Gray Chambers, which could be found in every wealthy home. The kreyghars believed that the colors of the living world blinded the eyes of the Three, and only gray did not offend them. Reed considered this nonsense, but he wasn't about to risk expressing that opinion. According to his cover, he was supposed to believe in the Three, not in the Mother, who judges no one after death. Not that anyone would care.

  Snow was falling again that morning. Reed stood in an unfamiliar hall surrounded by kreyghars and other guards, his entire posture radiating grief. The Blessed One stood over Victoria, who was clad in a gray dress. Death had not changed her. She still looked like a real princess, though she was pale, with bluish bruising on her neck. It seemed she was about to stand up and smile, and Reed would sigh with relief while simultaneously accepting his defeat. But Victoria did not stand up, and the Blessed One continued his sermon while Merit knelt before the stone altar where his wife lay. That was how it was supposed to be. The spouse and close relatives had to kneel as a sign of farewell, respect, and submission to the will of the Three.

  Merit looked anxious and upset, but he didn't look like a grief-stricken husband. Arne did. The prince had appeared among the living only when the Blessed One arrived at the castle. He stood behind the king, next to Salvat. His face was a mask of stone, but Reed knew exactly what that expression concealed. Arne’s gaze never wavered from Victoria, and Reed felt a sense of guilt growing inside him. Reed had once convinced himself that no one would pity him and that he shouldn't get too involved in all these tragedies. Yet for some reason, none of those reasons held any weight now. Reed felt ashamed.

  When the Blessed One fell silent, a suffocating hush set in. It was as if there were only the dead in that hall. Reed didn't dare to even move. It seemed that in the deafening silence, everyone could hear his heart beating, his fear and guilt scratching at the back of his mind. Finally, the mourners began to pay their last respects. Merit pressed his lips to Victoria’s pale hand and stepped back. Then the king approached and gave an awkward bow. When it was Arne’s turn, he winced slightly as if from a blow, and then he bowed as well. His lips were pressed into thin line, his body rigid. Arne straightened up and walked toward the exit. Reaching the door, he turned to Reed, who was all but ready to receive a death sentence.

  "Follow me," Arne grumbled quietly, approaching him almost point-blank.

  Reed obediently headed for the exit. No one paid any mind as it was a common occurrence. After all, couldn't His Highness have urgent orders for a guard? Respects had been paid. Once the remaining mourners had said their farewells, the body would be sent back to Victoria’s parents, and there was no special ceremony in that. The main thing was to listen to the Blessed One.

  Reed followed the prince quickly. His armor clanked irritatingly with every step, but Arne didn't even look back to see if Reed was keeping up. Not that it mattered. Near the Hall of Repose, the prince turned toward the stairs, and soon Reed stood in a spacious office while Arne restlessly paced the room. Watching his agitation, Reed remained silent, waiting for the reason for his presence to reveal itself. All the while, he was working out his escape routes.

  Finally, Arne stopped, pierced Reed with a look, and asked, "If I ask you a question, will you answer honestly?"

  "Yes."

  "Then tell me, how could Victoria die if she was drinking drafts intended to strengthen her health, not the opposite?"

  "Should I know?" Reed answered with a sharp edge to his voice. He inhaled slowly and then exhaled, trying to tame his anxiety. His heart beat in a jagged rhythm. He wanted to press his hand to his chest to muffle that frantic pounding drumming against his ribs.

  "Of the two of us, only you have spent nearly your entire life as a killer for hire." Arne didn't notice the change in Reed's face. He noticed almost nothing around him at all. His entire mind was consumed by a single question.

  "If you're implying I had a hand in her death, then..."

  "This isn't an accusation, it's a question," Arne interrupted. "You promised to answer honestly."

  "Then you have your own suspicions." Reed looked Arne straight in the face, studying him. "One doesn't need to be an expert. Either she was truly ill, or someone wanted us all to believe she was. And there is only one way to gain that."

  "You think she was poisoned?"

  "Perhaps. It all depends on how she died. It could be an accident, or it could be poison. I'm no prophet, Your Highness."

  Arne fell thoughtful. He was clearly wrestling with what to say and what not to. The mental battle was so evident that even the most skillful liar couldn't have hidden it. Reed watched the emotions flicker across Arne's face. That familiar shadow settled on Arne’s brow as he made his decision.

  "Victoria was carrying a child. That's why she was taking the drafts. And three days ago, she simply bled out during miscarriage."

  Reed scratched his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. "Are you certain there had to be outside interference? Could she not have died simply because the child died in the womb?"

  "Because she was fine before that!" Arne exclaimed. His face contorted, and Reed had never seen such raw anger. "She was fine! And then she bled out overnight, and no one could do anything! She was bleeding from everywhere. Do you understand? Everywhere! If I haven't gone mad, then it's my belief that pregnant women don't bleed from the nose, mouth, and ears. Because it's not damn well normal. Do you think I have enough reason to believe it was murder?"

  Reed raised his palms in a soothing gesture.

  "Easy," he said quietly. "Easy. I was only asking."

  Arne took a heavy breath, steadying himself. With a practiced motion, he smoothed his hair and adjusted his clothes.

  "Will you help me?" he finally asked.

  "Is that an order?"

  "A personal request. I helped you when you needed it, and now I need your help. If you've ever loved anyone in your life, you'll understand why this is so important."

  "I'll do everything in my power," Reed replied after a pause. Arne was right. The only problem was that Victoria's killer stood right in front of him, staring boldly into his eyes while promising to help.

  "Can you find out what kind of poison killed her?"

  "It isn't that simple. Poison, if that's indeed the cause, could have been delivered to her in different ways. Someone could have slipped it into her food, mixed it into her water, or... tainted her drafts." Reed glanced warily at Arne. "By the way, how did you find out she was drinking anything at all?"

  "Merit told me."

  "Where did she get it?"

  "From Rene, probably. I don't know for sure."

  "Find out exactly where she got it."

  "Come here this evening," Arne ordered, tiredly rubbing his eyes with his hand.

  "I'm on patrol duty."

  "Then tell the captain that I ordered it. Is this your first day in the castle?"

  "No, Your Highness," Reed replied with a hint of mockery.

  Turning sharply on his heel, Reed left the office. Heading toward the captain, he thought about Arne and how to divert suspicion from himself. It would be logical to help the prince find the cause of his lover's death. If he refused, it would look suspicious. Arne was in an unstable state and could easily sense a catch in any refusal.

  With a frustrated twitch of his jaw, Reed decided it was time for a new performance.