The balcony doors opened silently as Cael pushed through, Rhosyn at his side, breath quiet, steps light. The night air hit them—cool and sharp, carrying with it the perfume of garden roses and the distant drone of the ballroom.
There, beneath the moonlight and flanked by a pair of ornate marble columns, stood Maire.
Her silver-white hair caught the moonlight like frost, her dress cut in sharp lines like armor disguised as silk. In front of her stood Princess Thalia, posture poised, but her hands subtly clenched in unease.
"Maire," Cael called out, voice low but firm.
She turned halfway, eyes narrowed. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you," he replied, stepping closer. "Not like this."
Maire didn't move from her position. "She's a shardbearer. We don't get to ask them to come with us. You should know that."
"She's not the only one," Cael said. "There's another. A servant. And more than that—rebels are inside the palace. Armed. Coordinated. They're planning to strike during the king's speech."
Thalia's eyes widened, but Maire only furrowed her brow. "I don't care about rebels. I care about the mission."
"You care about completing the mission your way," Cael snapped. "But that gets her killed. Or taken. Or worse."
"She's more valuable to the Hold than to a tomb," Maire said coolly. "If I let her slip away, it could mean the False Flame gains another vessel."
"We're not letting that happen," Cael said, stepping fully between her and Thalia. "But we do this together. We protect her."
Maire's expression didn't change, but she glanced once toward Thalia—who, to her credit, remained quiet and alert, observing them like a noble watching wolves circling one another.
Then Rhosyn stepped up, arms folded, expression unreadable.
"I'm coming with you," she said.
Maire blinked, as if only now noticing her. "The thief?"
Rhosyn smiled without warmth. "You've got a princess and a band of rebels on the hunt. You're going to need more than a sword and a fancy mission."
Cael turned to her. "You don't have to. This isn't your fight."
Rhosyn held his gaze. "No. But I've got my reasons."
Cael frowned. "What reasons?"
She gave him a long, measured look. But she didn't answer
Cael paused, caught off guard by the honesty behind her eyes. There was pain there—real, not dramatized.
After a moment, he turned back to Maire. "We can fight later. Right now, we need to get Thalia somewhere safe."
Maire sighed through her nose, and for once, the edge in her tone softened.
"Fine. But if this goes wrong," she muttered, "you'll regret not letting me take her when we had the chance."
Cael nodded.
"Let's move."
The halls beyond the balcony were quieter now, the sounds of the party muffled by distance and thick stone. Cael led the way, his hand hovering near his sword hilt. Behind him, Maire moved like a ghost, eyes scanning each shadow for movement. Thalia walked between them, her pace swift, regal—but increasingly restless.
They turned a corner, slipping down a servant stairwell.
"We need to get you out," Cael said quietly to Thalia. "There's a garden exit behind the west wing. It'll take us out past the wall and into the river paths."
"We're not leaving," Thalia snapped. "Not yet."
Cael stopped mid-step. So did Maire. Rhosyn, just behind, raised an eyebrow.
Thalia turned to them, the faintest tremor in her voice beneath her composure.
"My parents. The king and queen. They're still up there. If there's truly an attack coming, I need to warn them."
"No," Maire said flatly.
"You can't," Cael added, a bit more gently. "If we show up there with you now, they'll ask questions. The wrong ones. You don't know who to trust. And neither do we."
"You're speaking like fugitives," Thalia said, narrowing her eyes. "Like you've done this before."
Rhosyn winced slightly, but didn't speak.
Thalia's gaze moved between Cael and Maire, realization inching closer behind her eyes. "Who are you two?"
Cael didn't answer. Neither did Maire.
The silence only made it worse.
"I'm not abandoning them," Thalia said, taking a step forward. "They're my blood. If this is a plot to isolate me—"
"It's not," Cael cut in, his voice suddenly firm. "But if you go up there now, with us, you put yourself in the open. And if they don't believe you—we'll be in jeopardy and we won't be able to protect you."
For a moment, the only sound was the faint torch flame crackling on the wall nearby.
Then Rhosyn stepped forward.
"I'll do it."
All eyes turned to her.
"I'll warn them," she said. "Just tell me what to say, where to go, and how to address them without getting my head chopped off. I've moved through tighter places with more eyes and better knives than this."
Thalia looked at her, surprised. "Why would you do that?"
Rhosyn gave a wry smile. "Because I'm already neck-deep in this, apparently. And because you clearly won't listen to reason."
Thalia's lips parted, but no retort came.
"I'll get in," Rhosyn continued, her voice softening. "I'll tell them danger's coming. No names. No explanations. Just enough to make them tighten the perimeter."
"And what if they detain you?" Maire asked, eyes narrowing.
Rhosyn smirked. "Then I'll do what I do best. Slip out."
Cael looked at her. "You sure?"
She met his eyes. "I said I had my reasons, remember? Maybe one of them is that I don't like seeing a girl forced to choose between her life and her family."
A beat of silence passed between the four of them.
Then Cael gave her a short nod. "Go. Be fast."
Rhosyn winked. "Always am."
And with a final glance at Thalia, she turned and melted into the shadows of the corridor, headed back toward the throne room.
The three of them moved quickly through the narrow passageways beneath the palace, the sound of distant music behind them beginning to fade into something more ominous—silence.
Thalia's heels clicked softly against the stone floor, no longer confident and regal, but uncertain. Her sharp eyes watched Cael and Maire like a noble judging strangers at court. She hadn't pressed for more answers—not yet—but the weight of unasked questions clung to her like her satin cloak.
"You're both hiding something," she said quietly as they reached a small wooden door. "Something bigger than just an attack."
Cael looked back at her, his expression unreadable. "Right now, the only thing that matters is getting you out alive."
She hesitated—then gave a short nod. No more protests, no more arguments. Just quiet, brittle trust.
They stepped through the door into the open.
The palace gardens stretched before them like a dream fractured by moonlight. Neatly-trimmed hedges cast long shadows over gravel paths, and the soft rustle of trees gave an illusion of peace.
But it didn't last.
Maire's hand went up, motioning for them to stop.
Ahead—past a thicket of roses and an old stone arch—they saw them.
The rebels.
At least a dozen, maybe more. Moving quietly. Coordinated. Armor hidden beneath cloaks. Some carried torches, dimmed by rags. Others had crossbows slung over shoulders. They were spreading out—forming a perimeter around the garden entrance to the palace's eastern wing.
And they were waiting for a signal.
Cael's breath caught in his throat.
"They're further along than I thought," he whispered.
Maire stepped forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "They're not rushing. They're prepared. This wasn't just an opportunity. This was planned with someone inside."
Thalia's face had gone pale, her gaze locked on the crest one of the rebels wore—a burned, half-scorched sunburst.
"That sigil," she whispered. "That belonged to my uncle's old banner… he died ten years ago."
"Not all of them did," Cael said grimly.
Thalia turned to him. "You were right. This isn't about just me. They're here for the whole line."
Cael nodded. "Which is why we move. Quietly. No fighting unless we're cornered."
Thalia gritted her teeth, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. "I'll follow."
They ducked into the hedges, moving along the farthest path away from the rebels' formation. Moonlight flickered over marble statues and garden benches, the scent of lilacs masking the stench of something older—blood, perhaps, dried and hidden.
And all the while, Cael's hand hovered near his blade, Maire's eyes swept every corner, and Thalia's breathing stayed just shallow enough to mask her fear.
They were close now.
Too close.
To both escape… and war.
Rhosyn slipped through the palace like a whisper between cracks in marble. The halls leading back toward the throne room had grown louder—music swelled again, servants scrambled in tight formations, and nobles clustered near arched windows with wine and gossip heavy in hand.
The closer she got, the more guards she saw. They were subtly posted, polite but tense. They knew something was wrong. Maybe not everything, but enough to tighten their belts and keep one hand near the hilts of their blades.
Good, Rhosyn thought. Makes the truth easier to swallow.
She moved to the edge of the throne room, slipping behind a line of musicians. The great chamber still shimmered with golden chandeliers and floor-length banners. The king and queen sat side by side beneath the twin thrones of Vaelthra, their faces proud, unreadable. Princess Thalia's absence had not yet been noticed—or at least, not publicly acknowledged.
Rhosyn hesitated.
This wasn't like slipping a gem from a noble's pocket. This was walking straight into the den of lions and telling them the fire was already in the walls.
She took a breath, adjusted the brooch at her throat to mimic the servant crest she'd lifted earlier, and approached the stairs below the thrones.
A guard blocked her immediately.
"Servants are not permitted this close to—"
"I bring urgent news," Rhosyn said, lowering her voice to something half-breathless, half-humble. "About the princess."
The guard's brows furrowed, uncertain. "What sort of—?"
"Tell them there's a threat in the palace," she cut in. "A real one. From within. The princess is safe for now, but the royal family is being targeted by people inside these walls."
She spoke fast but controlled, eyes darting up to the king—who had noticed the exchange and now watched them with silent scrutiny.
Another guard leaned toward the throne. The queen inclined her head, lips tight.
Finally, the king raised a hand.
"Let her speak," he ordered.
Rhosyn stepped forward, her boots echoing far too loudly on the polished stone floor.
She met the king's gaze—a man born of command and caution—and dipped her head respectfully.
"Your Grace. Forgive my intrusion. I don't serve the court directly, but I come with urgent warning. There are rebels within your halls, dressed as staff and retainers. They plan to strike during your speech. I've seen them. Armed. Coordinated. You and your family are the target."
A long pause followed.
Whispers rippled through the nobles.
The king did not blink. "And how do I know you speak truth?"
"You don't," Rhosyn said plainly. "But if you wait for proof, you may not live to regret it."
Another silence—tense, brittle, and deadly.
Then the queen leaned in and whispered something to the king.
He finally spoke.
"Summon the Master of Arms. Quietly," he told a steward. "Seal the east and southern wings. Let no one pass without verification."
Rhosyn let out a slow breath.
She had done it. For now.
But as she turned away to disappear back into the crowd, something in her chest tensed. A sense she didn't yet understand.
Someone else knew.
Someone in this room.
The garden was alive with danger now—though silent. Rebel silhouettes moved with purpose across the hedges and along the stone paths like wolves closing in, but their voices were hushed, their blades still sheathed. They were waiting for a signal Cael hoped never came.
Thalia moved ahead, breath tight, hand clenched around the folds of her dress as she led them through the overgrown hedgerow maze. Finally, she stopped beside an ivy-wrapped statue of a stag rearing toward the stars.
"Here," she said, and knelt beside the base. With practiced hands, she pulled aside a flat stone panel covered in moss, revealing a narrow crawlspace sloping downward beneath the statue.
Maire raised an eyebrow. "Convenient."
Thalia shrugged. "I used it to sneak out of the palace when I was younger. For games. To ride. To breathe."
Cael crouched beside it, inspecting the slope. "Where does it lead?"
"To a tunnel that spills out near the river," Thalia replied. "Far from the gates, and beyond the guards' eyes."
Maire nodded, already moving forward. "Then let's go."
But Cael didn't move.
Thalia noticed first. "What's wrong?"
He glanced back toward the darkened treetops, toward the marble halls they'd left behind.
"…Rhosyn," he muttered.
Maire turned. "She knew the risk. She volunteered."
"That doesn't mean we leave her behind," Cael replied.
"She's a thief," Maire said. "We can't risk Thalia's safety for her."
"She warned the crown for us," Cael snapped. "She could've run, but she didn't."
Thalia looked between the two, eyes narrowing slightly, reading the unspoken tension.
"I know how to bar the tunnel from inside," she said quietly. "We can wait. Not long—but long enough for her to catch up."
Cael's eyes met hers—this girl who had been skeptical of him not minutes ago, now trusting him with a secret escape. She nodded once.
Maire huffed, arms crossed. "If we get caught because of this, I'll drag her soul back to the Hold myself."
"We wait," Cael said.
He turned his gaze to the stone corridors beyond the hedges, eyes sharp, sword ready. The moonlight flickered through leaves above as tension thickened like fog.
Rhosyn was still out there.
And the moment to move was coming fast.