Chapter 72

Ember

I do my best to keep my composure as I head toward Kaine’s office. My breathing is even and my expression is blank. I nod to the other guards as I pass acting as if nothing has changed. To them it hasn’t.

Only Jake knows how hard I’ve been working to bring down Lady Chantarelle. Even he doesn’t know my reasons, doesn’t know that I’m counting the weeks in my head, estimating how much time I have left before I have to leave.

Kaine is already inside when I arrive. He stands near the window, arms folded, a folder tucked underneath on arm. He doesn’t turn when I enter, just says, “Close the door.”

I do. Then I take my usual seat without a word. He takes one last glance at the window before joining me.

We’ve gotten good at this game. We speak plainly, formally, never letting our emotions show. We don’t talk about his engagement to Bianca, or my recent coldness. Everything said is about the case.

“We’ve compared the forged records from the palace and the estate to older records held at consulate nearest the property,” I say, flipping open the file. “The discrepancies are consistent with what you flagged. Jake followed up yesterday.”

He nods, taking the papers from me. Our fingers don’t touch.

“He spoke to one of the estate stewards. Turns out Lady Chantarelle’s father is still listed as the legal owner of the property.”

His pen pauses mid-note. “That estate was supposed to be under her name for nearly a decade.”

“I know.” I say sitting forward. “The original title was never formally transferred.”

“And he was exiled,” he says. “Why would they leave the property in his name?”

I don’t answer right away. “Because no one was meant to look that closely.” Kaine’s goes to the window for a moment before returning to the table.

I lean back in my chair, nausea curling behind my ribs. The idea that this man, her father, could still be involved, could have retained influence from afar, makes everything we’ve uncovered feel more pressing, more dangerous.

“Why was he exiled again?” I ask, though I already know. I want to hear Kaine say it.

Kaine meets my eyes for a fraction of a second. “Suspected involvement in my mother’s death. The council didn’t have enough evidence to formally charge him. The exile was political, a compromise.”

“So he was quietly moved out of the picture.”

Kaine nods, his expression unreadable.

The silence between us is thick. I write down the steward’s statement, the estate details, and cross-reference it with a note I’d left in the margin of an older report. I shouldn’t be thinking about anything but the facts, but my heart aches for Kaine.

We continue planning for another twenty minutes. The work comes quickly, methodically, but the air between us is never easy. Kaine keeps glancing at me. I avoid his eyes.

We move on to witness follow-ups, targeting old council members and anyone who might have been close to the investigation before the exile. I suggest a few names, and Kaine agrees. He doesn’t question my decisions.

The longer we talk, the more I feel the familiar tug of the bond, pulling me into Kaine’s orbit. I push it down. I keep my calm, professional, even as my heartbeat refuses to slow.

Kaine doesn’t mention the banquet or how I left early. He doesn’t bring up the way I’ve avoided him since, but I feel the accusation of it in every word he doesn’t say.

When the meeting ends, I gather my notes and step out into the hallway without looking back. I walk quickly, needing distance. I tell myself it’s just for a little longer.

Third Person

Robert delivers the sealed envelope in silence, as he always does. He bows as the Queen takes it from his hand, then steps back.

She opens it slowly. Her expression is composed, almost bored, but as she reads the final line, her eyes pause, only for a second. She folds the paper and sets it aside.

Robert remains still, waiting for instruction.

The Queen rises and walks to the window. “Ember McMann,” she says softly. “I thought she had stopped digging around.”

Robert doesn’t respond. He’s been serving her long enough to know when silence is best.

She turns back toward the desk. “We knew there was a possibility that they would find a connection, but Kaine was supposed to let it go. He was supposed to focus on the kingdom, not the past.”

Still, Robert says nothing.

The Queen’s voice sharpens slightly. “Arrange for the former Captain to be released. Quietly. It is to look like an escape.”

Robert lifts his gaze just enough to acknowledge the command.

“In exchange for his freedom,” she continues, “he will perform one final task.”

Her eyes are flat, cold. “Poison the Crown Prince.”

Kaine

I finish my meeting with Jake late in the evening. My head pounds. The work on the Chanterelle case, the connection to my mother, the engagement, everything has felt like too much lately.

I pour myself a drink needing something, anything to take the edge off. I know it shouldn’t but it’s only me and Jake around. I’ve only had a few sips when my vision starts to blur.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a drink, but a few sips shouldn’t do me in like this. I sniff the glass. It smells slightly off, sweet.

Before I can place it, my hand starts to tremble and glass slips from my hand and shatters on the floor.

Jake’s voice cuts through the fog. “Kaine! Are you alright?”

I blink slowly. I go to take a step forward and stumble, crashing into the side of my desk.

Jake is across the room in three strides. He throws my arm around his neck with one arm and with the other he grabs the decanter and sniffs it. He swears under his breath.

I try to speak, but my tongue is slow, my throat thick. My limbs feel heavy. Too heavy.

“You’ve been poisoned,” Jake says grimly. “Come on.”

I barely register the hallway. The next thing I remember is the healer’s voice and then something cold and thick being forced down my throat.

I wake hours later in a dark room. My head throbs, but my thoughts are clear.

Jake sits beside the bed. When he sees my eyes open, he exhales slowly.

“You’ll live,” he says.

I nod, throat dry.

“It was the wine,” he adds. “I’ll track the source.”

I close my eyes again. I don’t answer because the only thing I can think about is Ember and her sudden change in behavior. Her refusal to meet my eye, the coldness in her voice, the refusal to speak unless absolutely necessary reminds me of something.

I was only a child when it happened. My old caretaker, a woman I loved, had betrayed me.

She used to hum to herself in the corridors. Then one day, she didn’t. She began acting distant, distracted. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

The next week, I drank from a silver cup and woke in agony. They found her the next day, fleeing the southern border.

I don’t want to believe Ember would do this. I don’t want to believe that after everything, she could betray me like that, but the signs are there.

I trusted her more than anyone. Now, I don’t know if I was wrong, and that uncertainty is worse than anything else.