When Adya took possession of the throne, it was behind closed doors. Most people believe that the royal cabinet now acts as the ruling force in Goddard, claiming that the previous king never appointed a successor. But he did— and it took Adya by surprise.

At the time, she was just a knight, investigating suspicions that he held for his son. Quietly, he passed the mantle of leading Goddard down to Adya when she deemed the rumors true. He wasn’t sure who in his cabinet to trust. When his son’s treason became public, the king stepped down and a new cabinet took on his responsibilities— or so the townspeople thought. Only those of nobility know that she’s the true king; most of the citizens believe that she’s a duchess, promoted by the king for successfully stopping a traitor to the crown. If only it were that simple. If only the son had been locked up instead of fleeing Goddard.

Streetlamps and string lights turn on once the last of the sun’s light has disappeared from the town. Adya has no preference between civilian clothes and her more ornate lehengas, but the former certainly helps her blend in. She strides uptown, hood pulled loosely over her head. The kidnapping of Atria’s soldiers is unfortunate, but chasing the king’s son has been her priority since she took office. Maybe the two aren’t mutually exclusive.

After greeting the barmaid and accepting a glass of water and two shots from her, Adya walks upstairs to the pub’s open rooftop. They don’t open for another hour, but after years of celebratory drinks with the Goddard knights, she’s on good terms with the management. As much as she misses it, she also enjoys drinking in solitude some days. The chaos of royalty rarely gives her a moment of peace.

A figure behind her jumps between rooftops with catlike grace-- quiet enough to remain unheard, quick enough to remain unseen. It’s a miracle that she’s never fallen and broken her head open. She lands on the rooftop with a gentle thud. When she pulls the hood from her head, the knives hidden in her gauntlets shine in the lamplight. She fixes her head of short, blonde hair with one quick stroke.

“Ever the entrance, Caelius,” Adya says without turning around. 

“Only the best for Her Royal Highness,” Caelius says. Adya doesn’t need to look at her to feel the obnoxious grin plastered to her face. She sits beside her and claims one of the shots, throwing it back with a concerning amount of ease. “Stop looking like you’re deep in thought and drink. I can’t stand when you act like...”

“Nobility?”

“I was gonna say ‘a bitch’, but that works too.”

If the royal cabinet knew she’d been working with a local mercenary for the last six months, they’d kill her. The king’s son, naturally, avoids royalty at all costs; Caelius is Adya’s eyes into a world that she would otherwise have no access to. Although unbearable at times, she’s her only way of nabbing a lead.

“Atria’s patrol soldiers are going missing and nobody knows why,” Adya explains.

Caelius scoffs. “Good. They’re stuck up and think everything is their business. The army practically rules that kingdom.”

Adya partially agrees, but refuses to admit it. “I’m serious. If they point fingers at Goddard or Aleigh, they have the means to throw either of us into a firefight. I’m hoping there’s a third option.”

“You think it has to do with Prince Thorne?”

“I’m hoping it does. If not, I have to do the whole ‘act agreeable to avoid war’ thing that I’m very bad at. I’m too young to be taken seriously by anyone but my own cabinet.”

“So don’t.”

Adya turns to her acquaintance. To call them friends would be an overstatement. “Huh?”

“The people of Goddard think you’re the duchess, not the king. You can send as many diplomats and decoys as you want to do the work for you. Isn’t the entire point of holding a fake title so that you can avoid acting like your real one?”

“Just because I don’t publicize my rank doesn’t mean I’m exempt from the work.” She takes a long sip of water and listens as a gaggle of children run down the road, chased by an irritated parent. “Because everyone knows me as the person who helped discover Prince Thorne was a traitor, they trust that I’ll represent Goddard well to other kingdoms. The only thing they don’t know is that I’m much more than a diplomat.”

The barmaid silently places new glasses of water in front of the women, only Caelius’s is sparkling. Adya can’t understand how she bears the taste of it. The day-to-day life of a mercenary is an enigma to her. She’s supposed to be sending the knights to bust them; instead, she’s having a drink with one who could easily take her down and claim the throne for herself. But trust goes both ways.

“Do you ever just wanna forget all of it and get away?”

Adya’s scoff comes out more like a chuckle. “What, like you?”

“Leaving the royal guard all those years ago is the best thing I ever did.” Caelius slumps over the balcony and looks up at the stars. She rocks back and forth on the barstool and it looks like it’ll slip out from under her, but never does. “Come on, don’t try and tell me you don’t think about it. Give the crown to someone in your cabinet, run off to the countryside, buy a house with that girlfriend of yours who almost killed me that one time-- oh, sorry. That general who almost killed me that one time.”

“If it was up to Reese, you’d be dead. Consider yourself lucky.” She takes another long sip and adds as an afterthought, “Also, you have no way to prove she’s my girlfriend.”

“I always consider myself lucky, Your Highness.” Flashing that dumb, sly grin again, she takes a swig from her glass. She grimaces at the carbonation, yet continues drinking. “I’ll tell you what I heard. Last time I was at Mozelle’s, someone mentioned the soldiers who stand guard up in the hills. He made it seem like he was the one paying, not the one doing the job.”

Adya’s face contorts at the name. Mercs and lowlifes gather at Mozelle’s to exchange work and get dreadfully inebriated, all somehow without breaking any laws. King Thorne tried many times to close the bar during his rule, but to no avail. She breathes a sigh of relief knowing it’s a mercenary, at least.

“However, he also mentioned ‘keeping his nobility’. Not sure what that means, exactly.”

Adya buries her face in her hands and groans. “So I have a mole in my court. Great,” she mutters. “Do you remember what he looked like?”

“I said that I’d tell you what I heard, not what I saw.” 

Caelius ignores Adya’s glare and downs the rest of her water. She hoists herself up to a crouch on the worn, wooden balcony, tracing her fingers over its chips and carvings from years of patrons at the bar. “I’d love to stay and talk to you about diplomacy and laws and shit, but I’m sure your knight in shining armor is eagerly awaiting your return at the palace.”

“Again, you have no way of proving that.”

Before Caelius makes her leap across the street to the neighboring roof, Adya reaches for her hand in a gesture of camaraderie. “Thank you,” she says earnestly. “I owe you one for this, Cae.”

“If you find the prince, you’re gonna owe me a lot more than just one.” Caelius stands, offers Her Royal Highness an exaggerated bow as she flips her hood back onto her head. Her body becomes nothing more than a shadow, hopping from rooftop to rooftop until her silhouette melts into the night sky. A glimmer of hope finally rises in Adya’s chest; at the very least, this will be a swift end to a misunderstanding between Atria and its neighboring kingdoms. But something in her wants to believe that this will lead back to Prince Thorne. It has to.

But explaining to her royal cabinet that her informant is a mercenary is not a conversation she’s ready to have. She’ll have to do this herself.