The Sunfire Mansion never truly slept. Golden lanterns still flickered in the distant halls, casting long shadows across goldenrod drapes and polished marble floors. But here — on the high balcony overlooking the inner courtyard — silence ruled.

Fenris stood alone, his back to the heavy glass doors, cloak rippling gently in the cool wind. The courtyard below had once hosted garden duels, secret kisses, and political whispers. Now it was nothing but frost and moonlight.

Myrathis arrived, boots soft on the carved stone tiles. He didn’t speak at first — simply joined Fenris at the edge, eyes scanning the night sky.

“It was supposed to look like suicide,” he said at last, voice low and measured.
“We planned a quiet ending. Slit wrist. No poison. Locked doors. Just enough sorrow to be convincing.”

Fenris didn’t flinch. His voice came like gravel.

“It did. I surely had slid the dagger through his wrist using his hands.”

“Not anymore.” Myrathis’s lip curled, not quite a smile. “Someone rearranged the body. Wound made to look clumsy, not clean. A second wine goblet, laced.”

Fenris’s jaw tightened. “They wanted suspicion.”

“They wanted a scapegoat,” Myrathis corrected. 

"And they found one. Actually, two." Fenris said, gaze fixed on a small bird trying to hide among the trees in the courtyard.

The wind shifted, sweeping across the balcony. Somewhere in the distance, a torch flickered out.

Myrathis nodded slowly. “This wasn’t the work of an amateur. They had access.”

“Inside the palace?”

Myrathis nodded again.

And silence again, too.

Then Fenris turned, eyes like burning coals.
“Do you think they know about the heir?”

Myrathis’s smirk faded instantly.
“No. If they did, we’d be mourning both instead.”

Fenris exhaled — long and silent — then muttered,
"I wouldn't have minded that though. Given it must have been another Shadowdancer."

Myrathis tilted his head. "Who can guarantee? Empress Beatrice Moonsong was also married to the Emperor for a complete year. Plus, she didn't get assassinated that night," he leaned back over the edge of the balcony as he continued, "She lived for another 5 and a half years."

No answer.

Then, softer, "You can't jump to conclusions forever, you know."

Fenris’s eyes narrowed at the moon-drenched courtyard below.
"Someone's reaching for the crown. Also, that Aurion didn't even have the knack to fight back."

A pause.
“I did what a Crown Prince should have done. I made a choice to protect the empire, even the constitution says so.”

Myrathis asked. "And someone used that choice of yours to their advantage."

Fenris turned away. His voice, when it came, was a blade sheathed in velvet.

"And got the Nightwhispers executed for something they never did."

Myrathis adjusted his gloves and gave a slight bow.

“We still don’t know their motive. But I’m certain it isn’t a good one.”

“…Not a good one.”

The doors to the balcony closed behind him with a whisper. Fenris remained, alone with the moonlight, and the weight of a kingdom on his conscience.