Chapter 14: The Crack in the Foundation

The Kings did not make mistakes.

That was the city's gospel, what their enemies feared and what their subjects relied on like scripture.

But standing in the heart of their empire, I was beginning to find the heresy in the truth.

The security briefing room was cold. Intentionally so. Cold rooms keep minds sharp and pulses low, a subtle psychological edge the Kings had perfected over decades.

Lucien stood at the head of the glass table, sleeves rolled once at the wrist, tablet in hand. He was a machine, precise, unreadable, utterly focused.

Elias leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, his eyes drifting away from the monitors to study the faces in the room instead. Always watching. Always reading.

And Rowan.

Rowan stood behind me. Didn't touch me. Didn't speak. Just there, a constant, heavy shadow I could feel against my spine like heat from a furnace.

The screen flickered to life, displaying grainy surveillance footage from the docks. The failed shipment ambush from two nights ago. Gunfire strobed against dark shipping containers. Chaos. Smoke. Bodies.

Three of our men were dead on that asphalt.

One was missing.

"Rewind," I said. My voice sounded brittle in the sterile air.

Lucien didn't hesitate. He swiped back ten seconds.

"Freeze. There." I pointed.

On the far edge of the frame, barely visible through the haze of a thermite grenade, one of our armored SUVs pulled a hard U-turn. It wasn't retreating toward the extraction point. Wasn't advancing toward the line of fire.

It was simply leaving.

Lucien zoomed in. The license plate was a ghost, blurred by heat distortion and digital noise.

"That vehicle was assigned to Team Delta," Lucien said, his voice flat.

"Delta's report claimed they were cut off on the east end by enemy fire," Elias added, his eyes narrowing.

"They lied," I said.

The word dropped like a stone into deep water.

No one corrected me.

Rowan finally stepped forward, moving to stand beside me. His shoulder brushed mine, brief, grounding contact that felt less like an accident and more like a warning.

"Delta's captain?" Rowan asked.

"Marcus Vale," Lucien answered.

A flicker of recognition sparked in my chest. Marcus had been in the foyer the night I returned. He'd bowed his head lower than the other captains. Avoided my eyes while everyone else stared.

"He was nervous," I whispered.

"Everyone was nervous that night," Elias countered gently.

"No." I shook my head, staring at the frozen screen. "He wasn't afraid of the Kings. He was afraid of being seen."

Marcus Vale arrived within the hour.

He walked into the lower interrogation chamber with a terrifying level of composure. No sweat. No fidgeting. I watched him through the mirrored glass, my breath fogging the surface.

Rowan stood behind me, hands clasped behind his back, a predator watching bait.

Inside the room, Lucien sat across from Marcus. Strategic positioning: Lucien's cold logic against Marcus's silence.

"Three men died under your command, Marcus," Lucien began, sliding a thin file across the table.

Marcus nodded once. "A tragedy of the trade."

"You deviated from the assigned retreat path."

"No."

Lucien slid a high-resolution print of the SUV turning away. "This suggests otherwise."

Marcus looked at the photo for a long moment, then exhaled a slow, almost bored breath. "The plate's unreadable. Smoke interference. Anyone could assume that's Delta. It's a reach, Lucien."

He was good. He wasn't playing the victim. He was playing the professional.

"What do you think?" Rowan's voice was a low vibration near my ear, close enough to feel.

I studied Marcus's posture. His shoulders were relaxed. Too relaxed.

A man falsely accused shows indignation. A guilty man shows fear.

Marcus showed preparation.

"He knew," I said quietly. "He didn't just expect to be caught—he prepared for this exact conversation."

Inside, Lucien leaned back. "You've been transferring funds, Marcus. Small increments. Offshore accounts."

Marcus smiled faintly. "For my retirement. A man in our line of work has to plan for the sunset early."

A cold knot tied itself in my stomach.

This wasn't a man caught in a lie. This was a man who'd already moved on to the next phase of the game.

Rowan moved.

Without a word, he left the observation room and entered the interrogation chamber. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees the moment he stepped inside.

Marcus's back straightened.

Finally, a crack.

Rowan didn't sit. He loomed over the table. "You were loyal to my father, Marcus."

"I was."

"And to the crown."

"Yes."

Rowan leaned down, his face inches from the captain's. "Then why are you digging an exit tunnel?"

The air thickened.

Marcus swallowed, his first sign of genuine nerves. "It isn't a crime to want out, Rowan."

"It is when you pay for your ticket with our blood," I said, stepping into the room.

All three men turned.

I didn't wait for permission. I walked right up to the table. "If this was just a retirement plan, you would've been insulted that we questioned your loyalty. Instead, you're debating the quality of the evidence. You're talking like a lawyer, not a soldier."

Marcus looked at me, and his composure didn't just crack, it shattered.

"You don't know this world," he spat.

"I know people," I replied evenly. "And I know when someone's holding a winning hand they didn't earn."

Marcus looked at Rowan, ignoring me entirely. "You've changed since she came back. You're distracted. The Council is uneasy."

The Council.

The word hit the room like a physical blow. Lucien's eyes sharpened into blades.

"What Council?" I asked, my voice dropping.

Marcus's smile returned, jagged and real this time. "You really don't know, do you? They brought the lamb back to the slaughter and didn't even tell her why."

"Careful," Rowan warned, his voice a low growl.

"I'm not your enemy, Rowan," Marcus said, leaning back. "I'm just the first one smart enough to leave before the floor falls out."

"Then who is the enemy?" I demanded.

Marcus's gaze slid to mine. "You are. Your existence is a breach of contract."

He looked at Rowan one last time as the guards approached. "You should ask them about the inheritance, girl. Ask them what was promised to the Council if you stayed dead."

The heavy steel door clicked shut.

Silence so thick it felt like drowning.

I turned slowly to face Rowan and Lucien.

"Inheritance?" I asked.

Lucien looked at Rowan. Rowan looked at the floor.

That hesitation, that split second of silence, was the loudest thing in the room.

"There are things," Rowan said, his voice strained, "that we were going to tell you when the time was right."

"When?" I snapped. "After the Council decides to 'fix' the breach of contract? After I'm back in the ground?"

Rowan's jaw tightened. "That won't happen. I won't let it."

"You don't even know who they are, do you?" The realization washed over me, cold and sickening. "The enemy isn't at the gates, Rowan. They're at the table. And I'm sitting in the wrong chair."

Rowan looked at me then.

For the first time, he didn't look like a King.

He looked like a man watching a fuse burn down on a bomb he didn't know how to disarm.

He wasn't sure if I was the prize they were fighting for, or the spark that was going to burn the whole empire down.