Chapter 48

I finalize the security plan the evening before the ball. The plan is simple with the the coverage layered and overlapping through the galleries and courtyard in tight rotations. I’ve reviewed each point twice, then again, making adjustments to crowd flow and guest entry routes.

Now I stand outside the Captain’s office, plans in hand. I knock once.

“Enter.”

He glances up as I step inside. He waves me forward and for once I don’t sense any hostility from the man.

“You’re here about the security layout?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “Per protocol. You’ll find my breakdown of posts and patrol timing included. I’ve also accounted for blind spots along the north terrace and courtyard wall.”

He takes the packet and flips through the first few pages. There’s a long silence, and I wait for a critique. Instead, he gives a short nod.

“Looks solid.”

My shoulders stiffen slightly. “You’ve accounted for the stairwells?” he asks, still reading.

“Yes. Two guards rotating at each major stairway, with substitutions set every two hours to avoid fatigue.”

He nods again. “And guest access?”

“All nobles will be vetted at the main entrance by paired guards. Staff entrances are posted with confirmed uniforms and passcodes.”

There’s a pause. Then, unexpectedly, he closes the folder and sets it down.

“You’ve come a long way, Ember.”

I don’t answer, still waiting for the sharp edge I’ve come to expect from him, but it doesn’t come. He stands and extends the folder back to me.

“Approved. Good work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I turn to go, my thoughts racing. I don’t know what’s changed, but something about his sudden cooperation feels too easy. Still, I walk out with the approval I came for.

The palace glows under dozens of golden chandeliers. Crystal flickers along every wall. The anniversary ball is in full swing, and everything has gone according to plan.

Guards report to their stations, keeping to the edges and standing stiff and alert. I do a slow lap of the ballroom, checking that everyone is where they are expected. So far, everything is as planned.

I remain tense for the first hour, memories of the engagement banquet rehearsal still fresh, but no last-minute announcements and no hidden threats materialize.

The event is loud, but not chaotic as the wine flows and laughter drifts through the air. Slowly, I let myself breathe.

The King and Queen are seated near the dais, and Jasper flits about the room, flirting with noble women and avoiding my eye.

Prince Kaine is speaking with a visiting dignitary near the gallery entrance. I catch his eye. He nods once, before resuming his conversation.

I almost let myself relax when a blur of motion catches my eye. A sharp voice cuts through the music, and I catch a glimpse of two nobles arguing near the center of the ballroom. One of them shatters a glass and several heads swivel in their direction

I make my way toward the commotion calmly, but quickly. I place a hand on the shoulder of the noble closest to me and speak quietly. The tension eases and he allows me to guide him to the side of the ballroom.

The other noble mutters something under his breath but does not follow. Crisis averted.

I turn back, surveying the space. The Queen is still seated, the Alpha King hasn’t moved, and guests are returning to their conversations. Prince Kaine’s gaze follows me across the room.

His expression is unreadable, but something in his posture shifts. I keep walking.

I don’t realize anything else is wrong until I hear someone gasp. A woman doubles forward, clutching her stomach. I rush to her side, thinking she’s been injured, but when she turns her face up to mine, her eyes are wide with pain and panic.

“I—I think I’m in labor,” she whispers.

My thoughts stall. The woman grips my forearm tightly, breathing fast. Several guests nearby are frozen in place, unsure whether to move closer or away.

I call over my shoulder, trying to keep my voice level. “Someone get the healer.”

No one moves for a second.

“Now,” I bark, and a guard bolts from the room.

The woman clutches me harder. “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t.” My voice sounds strained even to my own ears and I do my best to shake it off. “You’re going to be fine.”

I drop to my knees beside her, steadying her shoulders as another wave of pain ripples through her. Her cry echoes off the polished marble. I try to keep her calm, pressing a hand to her back, but the air around us is stifling. There are too many people and too much noise.

My chest tightens and I do my best to swallow the panic that floods my system. Not here. Not now.

Nara doesn’t speak, but I feel her hovering, alert and ready to take control if I lose myself to the panic. My hands tremble despite myself.

My mother died giving birth to me. I’ve heard the story more than once, often spoken with resentment. It’s followed me my whole life. The thought of witnessing someone else die this way-

The healer arrives and crouches beside me. He examines the woman quickly.

“We can’t move her,” he says. “The baby’s coming now.”

The healer calls for towels and water and two maids exit quickly to gather the supplies. I help guide the woman down as carefully as I can, my palms sweating.

“You’re safe,” I murmur. “You’re doing well.”

The woman groans again, pain twisting across her face. The labor is fast, panicked, and far too public. A few guards form a loose wall to shield us from view. I keep holding the woman’s hand, whispering reassurances I can barely hear myself say.

The baby comes quickly and the healer remains focused, working without pause. Finally, he gives a nod.

The baby cries. A girl. The mother cries too.

The healer wraps the child and signals for two maids to help move them. They are taken to a private chamber to recover from the ordeal. I sit there for a moment longer, stunned by the silence that follows.

Sweat clings to my back beneath the formal uniform. I wipe my palms against my jacket and slowly rise to my feet.

The music has resumed. It seems that the Queen is not going to let the ordeal ruin her evening. Guests return to their conversations.

I walk toward the edge of the ballroom. My heart still thuds in my chest and I feel like I am going to be sick.

Prince Kaine finds me before I can fully spiral. He takes one look at my face and says quietly, “Come with me.”

I follow him through a side passage. It’s quiet here, the walls muffling the sound of the ball. We stop once he’s sure we’re alone.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

I don’t answer right away. He doesn’t press, but his eyes stay fixed on mine.

“She went into labor right in front of me,” I say. “I didn’t even realize what was happening at first.”

“You handled it.”

I shake my head. “My mother died giving birth to me. I don’t talk about it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I just kept wondering if the same thing would happen again. I didn’t know what I’d do if…”

“You stayed,” Prince Kaine says. “You helped that woman despite your fear.”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

He is silent for a moment.

“My mother died when I was six,” he says finally. “One day she was there, and the next she wasn’t. I didn’t understand how someone who had always been there could just vanish. I was too young to really understand.”

I meet his eyes. “You miss her.”

“Every day.”

Neither of us moves. For a moment, we are not prince and guard. We are two people standing in the wake of grief, trying to make sense of what it leaves behind.

Prince Kaine doesn’t speak again, and neither do I, but when we walk back toward the ballroom, I am bolstered by the support, and understanding of a friend.