Prince Ian led the way down the shadowed corridor of the east wing, its torchlight dancing across cracked stone and yawning doorways.
Behind him, Sir Cedric Arden's heavy boots echoed with solemn purpose; the knight's silvered hair and a deep scar on his cheek spoke of countless battles fought under pennants rather than in councils.
Alise Vayne drifted at their side, her braid swaying like a war banner, ice-blue eyes probing every gloom for hidden threats.
Lucian Darvos brought up the rear, pale as moonlight and taut as a spring, caught between the urge to flee and the urge to confront whatever lay ahead.
They halted before a low door carved with angelic figures now blackened by soot. Inside, Sister Brunhilde knelt beside a rough wooden pallet, her lips moving in whispered prayer as she stirred a foul-smelling brown draught. The maid lay swathed in coarse linens, her face deathly pale, lips tinged with blue, eyes glazed and empty. Not a single bruise or cut marred her unblemished skin.
Cedric crouched, voice low but unyielding. "Tell us exactly what you saw, sister."
The nun's hands trembled. "Yesterday she was fine… but this morning, while I lit the chapel candles, I called to her—she didn't answer—and then… I know it sounds impossible, but her pupils glowed sapphire. Her black eyes were consumed by that cold blue light."
Alise knelt to inspect the potion. "Water, crushed apple seeds, lily of the valley… and is that lavender oil? This isn't standard infirmary fare." She dipped a fingertip in and inhaled sharply. "Either someone wanted her unnervingly calm, or they never meant for her to wake up." Brunhilde recoiled. "No! A lady of the court insisted it would help." Alise's lips curled in disdain. "And you believed innocent intentions? Sister, these ingredients can kill. Were you sending her to meet her Maker early?"
The nun's eyes brimmed with terror. "I didn't know… it wasn't for me, I swear. I only followed orders."
Ian's jaw tightened. "What orders? Who gave them?"
Brunhilde flinched. "The noblewoman who visited the maid minutes ago… her lady-in-waiting urged me to prepare this 'soothing remedy' after whatever happened at dawn."
A chill rippled through Ian. "Name her."
The nun swallowed, lips quivering. "Your consort, my lord."
Ian's ironic smile was colder than steel. "A cheerful convent of conspirators, then." He turned to Cedric. "Add this to our morning's grievances: signs of forced entry in the missing maid's quarters?"
"None, Your Highness. No scratches, no broken locks. Whoever did this used a key… or knew her intimately. We'll investigate the concoction and its instigator."
Alise rose, her tone strangely bright. "Well, I'd say the fun's over—Lucian's spiritual retreats are officially canceled."
"They're not spiritual retreats!" Lucian snapped. "I study ancient magics and temporal anomalies!"
"Of course, dear," Alise teased, patting his arm. "Once the paperwork's done, you can bury yourself in dusty tomes again." A dry cough cut through the air. Apothecary Master Albrecht stepped forward, a tray of vials clinking softly. "Preliminary analysis, Your Highness," he rasped. "No known poisons—only common sedatives and an unfamiliar pigment that glitters in moonlight."
Ian seized a vial, holding it to the torch. The liquid pulsed with a soft cerulean glow. "The same hue I saw at dawn." He handed it back. "Keep me informed."
As Albrecht retreated, Lucian leaned closer to the body. "No sign of poison on her skin, no natural cause of death… how is this possible? We must delve deeper."
Ian nodded, eyes fixed on the vial. "Cedric, ready a stretcher and transport the body to Lucian's lab. Lucian, you're with us. Alise, ensure only trusted hands handle this—no idle gossipers in the halls."
They lifted the maid with funeral-like reverence, torchlight flickering on anxious faces and polished steel. Passing the chapel's stained-glass saints—who had surely witnessed cruelties far worse—Ian whispered to Cedric, "If this is a political gambit, we'll raise enough dust to blind them."
Cedric's stern lips curved in a faint acknowledgement.
Lucian, beside Alise, whispered, "What if it's a warning—a threat to the palace itself?"
Alise linked her arm through his. "Relax, little one. I've got you covered."
They reached the infirmary door—a solid oak slab engraved with "Sanctum." Beyond, healing fires crackled and herb scents wafted in the air. A group of medics clustered around a brazier until Alise's sharp nod snapped them to attention.
Ian's voice brooked no argument. "Investigate this death thoroughly. Find every clue, as if your own lives depend on it—because they do."
While Cedric positioned the stretcher, Alise watched the nurses scurry for bandages and warm compresses. "People hush when death is at their heels," she murmured. "Only then do they truly listen."
Ian leaned against the doorframe, hands clasped behind him. "Alise…"
She turned. "My lord?"
"Come by my office later. I have an errand for you. Cedric, you're with me."
He paused, gaze sweeping the room. "We have suspects, evidence, a dead maid, and a deadly court lady who tried to kill my wife. Half the puzzle is laid out—now we find the rest before someone else falls silent or I unleash a bloodbath."
Sir Cedric fell into step beside him. "And the Council?"
"I'll give the Emperor a sanitized version: 'The maid suffered a rare, chronic illness.' Between us, we'll call this… 'Chapter One.'" Ian's grin was a blade's edge in the gloom. "Every great story needs a collapse."
-------
The arcane chamber welcomed Inès with its customary hush—yet tonight that silence felt oppressive. Tendrils of incense curled through the torchlit gloom like restless spirits, and every rune carved into the marble floor throbbed in time with her quickening pulse. At the heart of the room hovered the violet orb, its surface roiling with shifting sigils—an elegant threat. Normally, Inès would have embraced the challenge. Tonight, the memory of the maid collapsed in the east wing clawed at her resolve.
A distant drip echoed, interrupting her thoughts. Her fingers itched; she traced the first rune in mid-air. "Remember context, not casualties," a dispassionate voice intoned. Her breath caught. Her hand wavered. The glyph flickered—and the orb spat a violet spark that sizzled across the stone.
"Focus," the Archmage commanded. "One misstep, and we'll be clearing these floors of your ambition." A slight edge of humor in his warning. Inès swallowed hard, pressing her palms together as if to smooth away the image of the maid's lifeless eyes.
"Begin again." Those two words landed like a gravestone. She drew in a steadying breath, inhaled the acrid scent of past failures, lifted her chin—and began the incantation anew. Runes flared, dancing in an intricate weave of light. For a fleeting heartbeat, hope warmed her chest. Then the runic line splintered, a hairline crack blossoming into utter collapse.
The orb detonated. Violet shards exploded outward, etching angry scars into the marble and igniting loose scrolls. Ash drifted like sorrowful confetti. Inès staggered back, hands pressed over her ears against the ringing void. Her knees hit the floor with a hollow thud.
"Failure offers its own lessons," the Archmage observed, calm as ever. "You're learning—just not as you planned." Flames licked at the hem of her robe. She slapped them out, muttering a quip about his new signature scent: "burnt ambition."
Silence reclaimed the chamber. Smoke curled upward, promising headaches to come. Inès's chest heaved; the poor maid's hollow plea for water haunted her. Guilt settled cold against her spine. She knelt, fingertips tracing the charred runes. In every fracture, she saw her own: fear, doubt, and compassion fused into one.
"Stand," the Archmage said, emerging through the haze like a living shadow. His boots clicked on scorched stone. The runes dimmed under his scrutiny, unwilling to glow. "Every collapse is progress. You felt compassion—that can be a weapon, too. Next time, wield it."
On legs that trembled, she rose. Torchlight flickered across her face, haunted but determined. The orb's remnants lay cold and dark, violet stains marking where its power had bled away. Inès brushed a finger through the ash. "Next time," she whispered—half vow, half prayer.
Beyond the chamber door, midnight corridors stretched empty. Each torch along the walls reminded her: magic could save lives… or shatter them. Tonight she'd shattered her confidence, but within that ruin lay the blueprint for rebirth. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she allowed herself a wry half-smile.
With shoulders squared by newfound resolve, Inès stepped into the darkness. The Archmage's final words trailed after her: "Don't worry—marble can always be polished." In that grim but hopeful promise, she found a spark worth chasing.
-----
Late that night, Inès slipped into Prince Ian's study, the door slamming softly behind her. He looked up from the scrolls scattered across the desk, his eyes bright in the lantern light.
"What a surprise!" he teased. "Do you miss the glamorous company of your prince, or have the corridors finally bored you?"
Inès crossed her arms, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Neither. I've heard rumors of some discovery regarding the maid, would you care to tell me?"
He shook his head. "Right to business, as always. Still a mystery. No known toxin, no wound—she simply collapsed, and the runes in her blood remain unexplained."
Ian leaned back, steepling his fingers.
"Alise caught Sister Brunhilde just this afternoon, mixing a… let's call it an 'unfortunate medley.' Water, apple seeds, lily of the valley, lavender oil—and enough of that cerulean pigment to tip a sip from sedative to lethal."
Inès sat up so abruptly her chair protested. "Me? They meant to kill me?"
"Apparently," Ian confirmed. "Alise nearly stopped it in time, but the nun admitted she was told the draught was for you—'to ease your burdens,' her words."
Her pulse quickened.
Inès ran a hand through her hair. "So we have an unknown death and an attempted assassination. Fascinating."
Ian stood up and walked over to her, his voice gentle. "You won't be facing this alone. Starting tomorrow morning, Alise, one of my aides, will be stationed outside your chambers, cloak, braid, and all. She will be your shield and your aide at court until we solve at least the attempted assassination."
Ines tilted her head, her lips trembling. "So in addition to being a prisoner of this palace, I will now also have my own prison guard."
His smile was slow and warm. "Ines, ours may be a contractual marriage but I don't want to become a widower. Black doesn't suit me so well."
Inès nodded. "Yes, in fact I don't see you in black, but you can always try a black eye, which I will give you if you continue!"
Ian laughed, looked at his companion with the temptation to make her even more nervous but he held back. "The other night we said we were friends, trust your friend who wants to save your life. It's a small sacrifice that you will have to make for a while and then I'm sure you will quickly become friends with Alise"
Thought for a couple of seconds
Ian watched Inès nod and walk toward the door. The lamplight caught the soft rustle of her nightgown, rendering the fabric almost translucent as it brushed against her skin. His eyes lingered on the dark curls that trailed down her exposed back. When the door clicked shut behind her, Ian realized that beyond the worry of his papers, he now had a far more personal reason to lie awake all night.