Maelin heard it before it reached the court.

That was how these things worked.

Not through proclamations. Not through guards. Through the quiet network of hands that carried trays, swept floors, and stood just out of sight long enough to see everything.

A maid found her first.

Breathless. Pale.

“My lady…” she whispered, too quickly. “In the outer courtyard… I saw…”

Maelin caught her wrist gently.

“Slowly,” she said. “Start again.”

The girl swallowed.

“There was a blade,” she said. “Thrown. I didn’t see who… but it would have…” She stopped, shaking. “It would have struck Her Majesty.”

Maelin’s grip tightened just slightly.

“And?” she asked.

The girl hesitated.

“…it didn’t,” she said. “The new guard… he stopped it.”

Silence.

Maelin exhaled, slow and steady, grounding herself before the fear could take root.

“Did anyone else see?” she asked.

The girl nodded.

“Enough.”

Of course.

Maelin released her.

“Say nothing more of it,” she said quietly. “Not unless you are asked.”

The girl bowed and fled.

Maelin remained where she was.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then…

“…thank the heavens,” she murmured.

But she didn’t mean Heaven.

The palace did what it always did.

It whispered.

From maid to eunuch. From eunuch to attendant. From attendant to concubine. From concubine to advisor.

Each retelling shifted slightly.

A blade became three.

A shadow became an assassin.

A near miss became divine intervention.

But one detail remained consistent.

The blade had been meant for her.

And.

It had not reached her.

By the time it reached the officials, the story had already begun to settle into something more dangerous.

Not chaos.

Pattern.

They did not panic.

Not outwardly.

They gathered.

Quietly.

Privately.

Without the Emperor.

The chamber was sealed.

No attendants. No scribes. Only those who understood the weight of implication.

The Imperial Astrologer stood at the center once more.

Older than he had been before.

Or perhaps simply more aware.

“You felt it,” one of the ministers said.

Not a question.

The Astrologer inclined his head.

“Yes.”

“And?”

The old man’s gaze lowered.

“The alignment has not shifted,” he said.

A pause.

“That is not reassuring.”

“No,” the Astrologer agreed. “It is not.”

Another voice, sharper…

“This was not random.”

“No.”

“Then what was it?”

The Astrologer lifted his gaze.

“A deviation.”

Silence.

Someone shifted.

“From whom?”

That was the question.

Not spoken loudly.

But felt.

The Astrologer did not answer immediately.

Because the truth was…

He did not know.

And that frightened him more than anything written in the stars.

In the training courtyard, Zarek moved.

Not for show.

Not entirely.

But the effect was… noted.

Steel did not clash. There were no opponents. Only motion, controlled, deliberate, repeated.

His body remembered what his power could no longer provide freely.

That was… inconvenient.

Internal force must be precise, he reminded himself.

Too much, and it would surface.

Too little, and it would fail.

He adjusted.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The air shifted slightly with each movement, just enough to suggest something beneath control rather than strength.

The court ladies had begun to gather.

At a distance.

Of course they had.

Zarek was not unaware of his appearance.

He simply did not prioritize it.

Still…

A glance here. A pause there.

A flicker of attention.

He caught one maid staring.

Wide-eyed. Unsubtle.

Zarek tilted his head.

Then.

Very slightly.

Winked.

The girl nearly dropped the tray she was holding.

“I assume you’re aware of the spectacle you’re creating.”

Zarek did not turn immediately.

Seraphae stood at the edge of the courtyard, expression composed, tone edged with something sharper than irritation.

He finished the movement before answering.

“They are watching,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied. “That tends to happen when you behave like that.”

He turned then.

“Like what?”

She gestured vaguely.

“That.”

“Training?”

“That is not the part I was referring to.”

Ah.

Zarek’s gaze flicked once toward the retreating maid.

Understanding.

“And what part,” he asked mildly, “was objectionable?”

Her expression did not change.

“Crudeness,” she said.

Zarek considered that.

Then almost smiled.

“You disapprove.”

“I find it unnecessary.”

“And yet you noticed.”

A pause.

Not long.

But present.

Seraphae’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I notice everything,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied.

That, at least, he did not challenge.

She turned away first.

Of course she did.

But something lingered.

Not quite annoyance.

Not quite dismissal.

Something… sharper.

More personal.

Zarek watched her go.

Possession, he noted.

Not romantic.

Not yet.

But there.

Faint.

Interesting.

Rosaline did not hear it first.

Which irritated her.

By the time it reached her chambers, it had already passed through too many mouths, too many interpretations.

A blade.

An attempt.

Stopped.

Her fingers stilled against the silk of her sleeve.

“Leave us,” she said.

The attendants bowed and withdrew.

Her personal guard remained.

Of course.

Rosaline turned slowly.

“I did not order this,” she said.

Not a question.

The guard inclined his head.

“I am aware.”

“Good.”

A pause.

“…is it contained to her?” she asked.

The guard did not answer immediately.

“I do not yet know.”

Rosaline’s gaze sharpened.

“Find out.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

She turned back toward the mirror.

Her reflection remained flawless.

Untouched.

Unaffected.

And yet…

Something beneath it shifted.

If Seraphae could be targeted.

Then so could she.

The thought did not frighten her.

Not entirely.

Fear was only useful when directed.

And this.

This could be used.

If danger existed…

Then Edric would not be allowed to drift.

He would remain where he belonged.

With her.

Rosaline adjusted her sleeve.

Rose silk, soft and controlled.

Perfect.

“Discreetly,” she added.

The guard bowed.

“Always.”

The palace did not break.

It adjusted.

Which, as it would soon learn…

Was far worse.