Maeve faltered, her gaze flickering to Arin, then back to Caldan. "Your Highness, I... I merely reported what I saw. The girl, she was... distraught. Roen was... was injured." Her voice was a thin thread, already fraying. She was lying, of course. Arin could taste it in the air, a metallic tang of fear and deceit.
"Distraught?" Caldan's voice was quiet, too quiet. It sent a shiver down Arin's spine. "And Roen? You called his thigh wound an 'injury' when he'd just whipped a girl until she bled?" His eyes narrowed, chips of molten gold. "Did you think me a fool, Maeve?"
Maeve wrung her hands, her eyes wide with a desperate plea. "No, Your Highness, never! It's just... Prince Roen. He has a temper. He said... he said if I breathed a word, he'd have me flayed. He has connections, Your Highness, even among the Queen Dowager's guard."
Caldan laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that scraped against Arin's ears. "Roen?" He took a slow step toward Maeve, his presence suddenly massive, suffocating. "You feared Roen? A whelp who still cries to his mother when he scrapes his knee? You feared him more than me?"
Arin watched, fascinated and disgusted. The subtle shift in Caldan's demeanor was chilling. He wasn't just angry; he was betrayed. Maeve's fear was real, but her mistake was unforgivable in this court. This was the true face of power in Drakoryth—not just dragons and titles, but the absolute, terrifying demand for loyalty.
"Your Highness, please!" Maeve's voice rose to a whimper. "He threatened my family! My sister serves in the kitchens, my nephew in the stables. He swore he'd see them ruined, cast out into the ash-fields beyond the city walls if I spoke." Tears welled in her eyes, carving clean paths through the dust on her face.
Caldan's jaw clenched. "You think I would have allowed that? You think I am so weak, so blind, that I would not protect my own household?" He stalked closer, until he loomed over the smaller woman. "You thought Roen's empty threats were more formidable than my command, Maeve?"
His hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist, the other still resting on the splintered mantelpiece. For a moment, Arin thought he might strike her. The air crackled with his raw fury, a dangerous scent like ozone before a lightning storm. He was a storm, all right. A tightly coiled, deadly storm.
Arin, acting purely on instinct, reached out. Her hand closed around his fist. The skin was hot, tight over bone and corded muscle. His knuckles were raw from where he'd smashed the wood. "Caldan, stop," she murmured, her voice low, just for him. "You'll break it completely."
His gaze snapped to her, golden eyes blazing with a mixture of surprise and residual rage. His fury, which had been building like a tidal wave, seemed to falter, just for a second. The contact, the sudden intrusion, broke his focus. He looked at her, then at his hand in hers, then back at Maeve.
"She... she claimed Roen would harm her family," Maeve sobbed, her voice trembling. "I had no choice! I swear it on the Ashbride Wall, Your Highness! I am loyal!"
Caldan pulled his hand free from Arin's grasp, but the earlier, explosive energy had lessened. He ran a hand through his already disheveled silver hair, a weary, almost pained expression crossing his features before it hardened again. "Loyalty, Maeve, is not a currency you trade for protection. It is a foundation."
He stepped back, his voice dropping to a cold, razor-sharp edge that cut through the silence. "You concealed a crime committed in my wing. You allowed a maid to suffer, to be silenced, because you chose to believe the threats of a viper like Roen over the authority of your Prince."
"But Your Highness, I—"
"Silence!" His voice boomed, echoing off the high ceilings. "You have been threatened by Roen, you say? You truly believe that?" He took another step, closer to Maeve, his eyes piercing. "Do you truly think Roen could inflict more suffering than I, Maeve? Do you think he could make your life a living hell with more efficiency than I could?"
Maeve recoiled, fear contorting her face. "No, Your Highness, never!"
"Then why," Caldan pressed, his voice deceptively calm now, "did you not come to me? Why did you not trust that I would protect my own, that I would crush Roen for daring to soil my halls?" He shook his head, a gesture of profound disappointment. "No, Maeve. You kept it from me because you doubted. You feared. And in this court, that is a weakness a viper like Roen—or anyone else—can exploit."
He turned away from her, pacing the splintered floorboards in front of the cold fireplace. "You claim Roen threatened your family. But what if you were working with him? What if this 'threat' was merely a convenient excuse to hide your own complicity?" His words were laced with suspicion, the kind of paranoia that thrived in Caelvoryn.
"Your Highness, I swear by the Ember Saint, I have never—" Maeve tried again, but Caldan cut her off.
"Do not speak to me of the Ember Saint, Maeve. Your loyalty is tainted. You have seen too much tonight. You know of Roen's true nature, of the extent of his cruelty, and of my... private reactions." He gestured vaguely at the shattered mantelpiece. "And more importantly, you know of her." His gaze flickered to Arin.
Arin felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. Maeve, for all her flaws, was a piece of the puzzle, a witness. If Maeve was removed, it tightened the circle around Arin, making her even more isolated. He's making sure there are no loose threads. No one left to gossip about the commoner in the Prince's chambers. Or the Prince's rage.
Caldan strode to the bell pull next to the fireplace and yanked it, the sharp clang echoing through the room. Maeve gasped, her eyes wide with dawning horror. "Your Highness, no! Please, I beg you! My children—"
"You made your choice, Maeve," Caldan said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "You chose fear over loyalty. You chose silence over justice for a maid in my care. That is a choice that cannot be unmade."
The heavy oak door swung open again, revealing two Royal Guard officers, their armor gleaming dully in the sparse light. They were tall, imposing figures, their faces grim under their helmets.
"Your Highness," one rumbled, his voice deep. "You called?"
"Take Maeve," Caldan commanded, his voice carrying absolute authority. "Prepare a carriage. She is to be exiled from Drakoryth. Immediately. She is not to set foot in Caelvoryn ever again."
Maeve's eyes darted wildly, from Caldan to Arin, then to the guards. "Exiled? But... but where will I go? I have nothing outside these walls! Please, Your Highness, I've served this household for twenty years! I'll never speak of what I've seen! I swear it on the Blood Oath!" She sank to her knees, pleading, tears streaming down her face.
Arin watched, a strange mix of pity and a cold, calculating analysis filling her. Maeve was a pawn, just like her. But Maeve had made a fatal error: believing a lesser viper could protect her from a true dragon. Caldan was a force of nature. He would rather burn everything to ash than tolerate disloyalty, especially when it touched his own domain.
"Twenty years of service," Caldan said, his voice hard as the obsidian walls of Caelvoryn. "And in one moment, you threw it all away." He turned his back to Maeve, signaling the guards. "Take her."
The guards moved swiftly. Maeve's cries grew desperate, her pleas echoing as they hauled her from the room. "Please! Have mercy! My family! I know nothing of the commoner, I swear! My lips are sealed!" Her voice faded as they dragged her out into the silent hall.
The door clicked shut, leaving Arin and Caldan alone in the tension-filled chamber. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint sounds of the palace stirring in the distance and the lingering scent of splintered wood.
Arin's gaze lingered on the damaged mantelpiece, then shifted to Caldan. He stood rigid, his back still to her, his shoulders rising and falling with harsh breaths. The fury was still a palpable thing around him, a dark aura.
"You didn't have to do that," Arin said, her voice quiet but firm. "She was just scared. Roen is dangerous."
Caldan slowly turned, his golden eyes like chips of fire in the dim light. His jaw was tight. "Dangerous? You think Roen is dangerous? He's a spoiled pup. A flea. Compared to what lurks in these halls, what I am, he's nothing." His words were laced with a cold self-awareness.
"She was threatened, Caldan. You heard her." Arin crossed her arms, her chin jutted out. "She chose her family. Most people would."
"Most people do not serve the Kaerythene Dynasty," he snarled, taking a step toward her. His voice was low, dangerous. "And most people do not understand the consequences of choosing fear over fealty in Caelvoryn. She compromised my wing. And worse, she put you at risk."
"Put me at risk?" Arin scoffed, a dry, sarcastic laugh escaping her lips. "I'm already at risk, Prince. I was stolen from my home, brought here like a common thief, and ordered to fake your murder. My life has been one big risk since the moment your guards dragged me away from my village."
He stopped a few feet from her, his head tilted, studying her. "You are here because you are useful, Arin. Because you are clever. And because I needed someone who wasn't already entwined in the webs of this court." He took another step, his presence dominating the small space between them. "You are here to stage my death. Nothing more. So stay out of my affairs. Stay out of what does not concern you."
His voice, though quieter now, was condescending, dismissive. It grated on her. Stay out of his affairs? He'd dragged her into the very heart of them! The injustice, the blatant disrespect, flared her own temper. She was Arin, village-born, street-smart, and no high-and-mighty prince was going to yell at her or talk down to her. Not after she'd just seen him lose control.
"Stay out of your matters?" Arin's voice rose, cutting through the heavy air, sharp and clear. "Prince, when you decide to smash the furniture in your own chambers, when your family vipers come looking for blood, and when your head maid is dragged away screaming for her life, it becomes my matter! Especially when I'm the one who's supposed to help you fake your own death in this viper pit!"
She took a step closer, matching his intensity, her gray eyes blazing. "And if you think for one moment that I'm just some witless commoner you can order around, you're more deluded than I thought! I'm here because I'm good at what I do, and you need me. And believe me, Prince Caldan, I don't give a damn about your royal temper tantrums."
Her voice dropped, cold and laced with venom. "Because if you break your hand," Arin said, gesturing to his still-bruised knuckles, "you won't be able to hold a sword. And then who will protect you from the vipers in your own family... when I'm gone?"
Caldan stared at her, his golden eyes wide, unblinking. His jaw, which had been clenched, seemed to slacken. The storm in his eyes, so wild moments before, faded, replaced by something unreadable, something akin to stunned silence. He was utterly still.
A soft knock sounded on the heavy oak door.