Chapter 39

My desk is buried in old guard logs and incident records. Most of the reports are dull, rotations, late submissions, misplaced gear.

I power through anyway. I’m looking for a name, a pattern, something buried deep enough that only someone with time and reason would find it.

If Lady Chantarelle was actually involved in the assassination attempt, she would have some tie to the original mole. I keep looking, going through every document at my disposal. Alone, each document says nothing, bogether, they tell a different story.

He was frequently assigned to the East Wing during Lady Chantarelle’s first season at court. At first, the postings seem coincidental, but the dates line up.

Over a three-month span, he served in that corridor twice as often as any other guard. It isn’t just a quirk of scheduling.

I underline three entries on a copied log and start a new note on the side. If he was there consistently, he had access. If he had access, he may have been watching or relaying information, maybe both.

“He was near her often enough to know more than he should have,” I murmur, eyes still scanning the page.

The connection between Lady Chantarelle and the assassin is already established. This guard’s position makes him the link that let it happen, but I need more than suspicion.

Outside the office, voices pass through the hallway. I glance toward the door, then refocus. Since the promotion, the hallway noise has changed.

There are more pauses when I walk by, more side glances. Some guards treat me with stiff courtesy. Others don’t bother to hide their skepticism.

I keep my head down and continue the work. It helps that my office grants me some privacy. I’m not under constant eyes, but the scrutiny still lingers.

Some of them think I was pushed forward because of Prince Kaine. Others see me as a novelty, proof that the guard is changing, but not everyone welcomes that change.

Nara remains tense. She hasn’t settled fully since the title was made official. I think part of her still expects this peace to be temporary. She’s waiting for something to collapse.

I finish flagging the suspicious patrol dates and gather my things. It’s nearly time for Luna training, and as much as I’d rather keep working, I don’t want to give Bianca more reasons to snark at me.

When I enter the training room, Bianca is already seated. She turns when she sees me and offers a smile that’s just a little too slow to be genuine.

“Well,” she says. “You’ve certainly moved up quickly.”

I nod politely but don’t reply.

“Must be nice,” she adds, and her tone is lighter than usual, more pleasant, like she’s trying on friendliness to see how it fits. “It’s amazing what happens when you catch the right eyes.”

The edge behind her words isn’t sharp, but it’s there. I recognize it instantly, and so does Nara. My wolf bristles, but I push her back.

Bianca leans a little closer, her voice softer. “I saw Jasper speaking with you the other day. He’s not usually so patient. You must have made quite the impression.”

I keep my face neutral, unreadable. I don’t answer, because I can already see where this is going.

“You know,” she continues, “he needs someone who won’t fall at his feet. Someone more… grounded.”

Her words are gentle, but something lurks within her tone. I wait, keeping my expression even.

She smiles faintly. “I think it could be good for you. He’s charming, but underneath it all, I think he’s looking for something real, and you could use someone in your corner.”

It’s a performance. One carefully crafted to sound sincere. I return a polite smile and shift my gaze back to the front of the room, signaling that the conversation is over.

Nara simmers beneath the surface, but I rein her in. Bianca doesn’t speak to me again for the rest of the session.

After training, I return to my office to find a thick folder waiting on the center of my desk. Jake’s note is clipped to the front. The Prince would like your insight on these.

I open it and find a collection of land transfer reports dating back five years. The dates and locations don’t mean much at first glance, but the properties involved are familiar. Many of them were once held by families tied to Lady Chantarelle.

I take a closer look. Some of the signatures are inconsistent. One form lists two different authorizing officers. In at least three cases, final approval pages are missing entirely.

These weren’t simple clerical errors. I spend the next hour cross-referencing names and parcel numbers, grouping the suspicious records together and marking them for Prince Kaine’s review.

When I finish, I draft a short summary, careful not to overreach in my conclusions. The discrepancies are enough to raise concern. He’ll see it.

I bring the file to Kaine’s office. He looks up from his desk as I enter and motions for the report. I hand it over, then step back and wait as he reads through the first few pages.

His eyes narrow slightly when he reaches the flagged forms. He doesn’t speak until he’s reached the end.

“I’ll follow up on this personally,” he says, his voice even.

I nod once. “Understood.”

He sets the file aside and doesn’t add anything else. I take the silent dismissal and leave.

As I step into the corridor, I catch sight of Jasper near the stairwell. He leans casually against the wall and straightens as I approach, falling into step beside me without asking.

“Busy day?” he asks, voice relaxed.

“Something like that.”

He glances at me as we walk. “You always look like you’re carrying the whole palace on your shoulders.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“I’m sure Kaine appreciates it,” he says. There’s something new in his tone, something half-measured. “Though I wonder if he even sees it.”

I don’t answer.

Nara’s attention sharpens immediately, but I keep walking. Jasper doesn’t follow me far. He slows, then breaks away with a short wave.

When I reach my office, the air feels heavier, the late afternoon light angled low across the floor. I cross to my desk and stop when I notice the slip of parchment tucked under the door.

It wasn’t there when I left.

I pick it up and unfold it carefully. The paper is unmarked. No seal. No name. The handwriting is neat but unfamiliar.

Be careful who you trust. Some masks are worn too well.

I stare at the note for a long moment. The warning is simple, but it carries weight. My fingers curl around the edge of the paper, then relax.

Nara regards the note with concern, silent but present.

I set the note down beside the day’s reports and pull my chair forward. There’s still work to do.