6. Knives Behind Smiles

Castle Veilridge woke up under a dull gray sky, the Grand Conclave’s banners flapping like uneasy birds in the cold wind. The council room smelled of wet rock and candle smoke, heavy with the weight of too many arguments packed into one early morning.

Queen Mother Elara presided at the head of the long oak table, her silver hair pinned high, her eyes sharp despite the hour. Ministers went on and on about tariffs and trade routes, their voices a full wave against the storm brewing outside the castle walls.

Halfway through a tedious debate about grain shipments, Anna excused herself with a bow and a soft apology. “A slight headache, Your Majesty. The torches from last night’s feast were stronger than I expected.”

Elara’s gaze followed her future daughter-in-law as she turned for the door. “Anna, dear,” the queen called gently.

Anna paused, hands folded at her waist. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

The queen rose, silks whispering across the floor. “Child, you're leaving so quickly, are you certain you’re well? I will send for the physician immediately”

Anna said smoothly just as the queen turned to give orders to a guard. “It's only a mere touch of smoke, Your Majesty. Fresh air will cure it. I promise it’s nothing more.”

“Even so,” Elara said, stepping closer, “Master Bernard is already in the keep. He could attend to you in your chambers. He’s discreet and quick.”

Anna offered a graceful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You are too kind, but truly, it will fade with a quiet hour. Let the good physician save his skills for someone in real need.”

Elara laid a cool hand on Anna’s arm, motherly concern softening her regal bearing. “You must keep your strength, my dear. One day you’ll preside over these very meetings. They can drain more than a little smoke from the torches, I assure you.”

Anna inclined her head, her voice a warm, careful chord. “Your faith honors me, Your Majesty. I promise I’ll be ready when that day comes.”

“See that you are.” The queen’s eyes searched hers, steady as a hawk’s. “Rest, and return to us when you’re yourself again. I would have you at the table, not hidden away.”

“You will, soon enough,” Anna said, curtsying deeper this time. “Your care means more than I can say.”

Elara released her with a light squeeze of the hand. Anna slipped from the chamber, her footsteps nearly silent on the marble floor. The migraine was a lie, of course, but a useful one. What she needed was privacy - and Owen. Yet the queen noted the subtle haste in her stride, the whisper of urgency beneath the mask of elegance.

The doors closed with a muted thud. Elara lingered a moment longer, gaze fixed on the empty space where Anna had stood, a slight wrinkle in her brow. Whatever called the young woman away, it was no simple headache - and the queen mother, wise to the language of haste, tucked that knowledge carefully behind her composed smile before turning back to the restless council.

The sunlit room where she’d arranged their meeting smelled faintly of cedar and secrecy. Heavy drapes shut out the pale morning light. Owen Tucker leaned against the carved fireplace, broad-shouldered in a charcoal jacket, every inch the predator who knew how attractive he looked.

“You’re punctual,” Anna said, letting the door click shut behind her.

“I’m curious,” he replied, voice low with a velvety baritone. “You rarely request secrecy without dangling a prize.”

Anna poured herself a cup of bitter Veilridge tea, steam curling like question marks. “I need leverage. The Viremonthe heir is a problem.”

Owen’s mouth curved, amused. “Because your prince looked at him like he’d been struck by lightning? I noticed too.”

She arched her brow. “Observation is part of your salary.”

“Seduction isn’t - though I’m open to hazard pay.” He pushed away from the fireplace, grin sharpening. “You want me to charm him.”

“Charm him. Shadow him. Break whatever holds his interest,” she said, each word clipped.

“You do realize he’s engaged.”

“So is Leo,” Anna replied evenly. “Power bends vows like tall grasses. I expect results.”

Owen stepped closer, a hint of challenge in his smile. “What if I fall for him?”

“Then you’ll make my job easier,” she said with a cool smile. “Just deliver, Owen.”

He gave a slow, mocking bow. “Your wish, Your Ambition.”

Across the castle’s eastern wing, the ring of steel on steel echoed through a narrow practice chamber. Cris met Lori’s blade in a hiss of sparks, his parry half a heartbeat late.

“You’re distracted,” Lori said, driving him back with a flourish.

“Maybe I’m just humoring you,” he shot back, breathless.

She laughed, feinted left, and smacked his sword aside. “Humor doesn’t make you miss three blocks. What’s his name?”

Cris blinked. “What?”

“Please. I’ve known you since we were knee-high. That look at the Conclave feast? Classic ‘I met someone dangerous’ face.”

“You mean reckless.”

“That too. So…” she circled, blade tip skimming the floor. “...is this mystery someone tall, dark, and Thornvale?”

“Maybe,” he muttered.

Lori’s grin turned foxlike. “Good. I was worried you’d stay faithful to our fake engagement out of politeness.”

“It’s not fake. The Council-”

“-wants a leash,” she cut in. “We both know it’s political theater. You like men, I like women. We smile for the elders, and keep our own beds warm. Easy math.”

Cris tried for sternness but snorted. “You’ve planned this.”

“Of course. I’m not marrying anyone with a Y chromosome. You, meanwhile, are busy moon-eyeing Prince Brood-and-Smolder.”

Heat crept up his neck. “You’re impossible.”

“Completely,” she agreed, tapping her blade to his with a teasing clink. “But someone has to warn you: Thornvale plays nice while sharpening knives behind the wine casks.”

“You sound like my father.”

“I sound like someone who’d rather not see you gutted over moonlit eye contact.” She lunged suddenly. Cris barely parried, sparks spraying.

They fought in silence for a few breaths, blades clashing like arguments too sharp for words.

When they finally lowered weapons, Lori smirked. “So… does he brood as well as he smolders?”

Cris wiped sweat from his brow. “Maybe.”

“Careful,” she said, voice softening beneath the sarcasm. “Dangerous men make addictive habits.”

That night, the Conclave library lay draped in velvet silence. Shelves of ancient treaties towered like silent judges. Owen Tucker stepped from the shadows as if he belonged there.

“Prince Orven,” he said smoothly, offering a half-bow. “I hoped for a word.”

Cris turned, every instinct alert. The man was striking - tall, immaculate, eyes the color of gathering storms. “And you are?”

“Owen Tucker. Thornvale’s diplomatic adviser.” His smile was easy, practiced. “Perhaps we might discuss… mutual interests. Travel. Strategy. Anything but politics.”

“That sounds suspiciously like politics,” Cris replied.

“Or friendship,” Owen countered, a glint of challenge in his gaze. “Sometimes they’re the same.”

Cris felt Lori’s earlier warning prickle at the back of his mind. “I’ll think about it,” he said, brushing past.

“Do,” Owen murmured to the empty aisle, his smile sharpening. Anna would be pleased.

Later that evening, Owen found Anna on a shadowed balcony overlooking the torch-lit courtyard.

“He’s cautious,” Owen said. “But curious.”

Anna’s lips curved in approval. “Curiosity opens doors. Keep knocking.”

“And if the door opens all the way?” Owen asked, half-teasing.

“Step through,” she said, eyes like polished obsidian. “And leave it ajar for me.”

Owen chuckled. “You always did like a good game.”

“This isn’t a game,” Anna replied, her voice soft but edged with steel. “It’s survival.”

Far above, in a tower chamber open to the storm, Leo gripped the cold stone rail. The dream had returned: fire, a woman’s voice, a promise burned into bone.

He found us.

The words pulsed through him like a heartbeat. Somewhere in the depths of Castle Veilridge, Cris Orven was awake - and that knowledge tugged stronger than any crown or vow.

Thunder growled across the mountains. Lightning flashed white against the banners, and Leo’s breath caught. The storm was coming, and it carried a name he could almost remember.