THE PRICE OF A SECRET

Elara Vance

The morning after the banquet, the palace felt like a funeral parlor. The silence was so heavy I could hear the dust motes dancing in the light.

Caspian had not been arrested—not yet. He was too well-connected for that. Instead, he had been "confined to his quarters" while Lord Valerius sent a fast rider to the King. But I knew Caspian. He wasn't a man who waited for a cage to close.

I was standing in the garden, trying to calm the shaking in my hands, when a shadow fell over me.

"You look quite pleased with yourself, sister."

I turned. Lyra was standing there. She wasn't crying anymore. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was twisted into a mask of cold, adult fury.

"You ruined everything," she whispered, stepping closer. "Caspian was going to take us to the capital. He was going to make us queens. And you threw it away for what? To impress a Duke who smells like blood and old iron?"

"He was going to kill me, Lyra," I said, my voice flat. "And he would have killed you too, once you were no longer useful."

Lyra laughed—a sharp, jagged sound. "I don't care about 'useful.' I care about power. And since you took mine away, I think I’ll take something of yours."

She lunged at me, but she didn't use her nails. She pulled a small, glass vial from her sleeve—the same shape and color as the one that had held my poison in the future. She tried to smash it against my face.

I dodged, the glass shattering against the stone bench behind me. The liquid sizzled, eating into the rock. Acid.

"Lyra, stop!" I shouted, grabbing her wrists.

"Enough!"

A voice like a falling mountain echoed through the garden. Kaelen was standing at the archway, his hand on the hilt of his blade. He looked like he was ready to execute a child.

Lyra froze, her "angel" mask trying to slide back into place, but it was too late. She had been caught in the act. She burst into fake sobs and ran past him toward the palace, screaming for our mother.

Kaelen didn't chase her. He walked to me, his eyes scanning the broken glass on the bench.

"Your family is a nest of vipers," he said. "I'm leaving for the Northern Border in an hour. My business here is done."

My heart plummeted. If he left, I was dead. Caspian would find a way out of his room, and Beatrice would ensure I didn't survive the night.

"Take me with you," I said. It wasn't a plea. It was a command.

Kaelen paused, a slow, mocking smile spreading across his lips. "Take you? To a frozen wasteland full of rebels and monsters? Why would I do that, Lady Elara?"

"Because I have a contract for you," I said, stepping closer to him until our chests almost touched. I reached up and pulled aside my collar, showing him the red mark—not as a curse, but as a sign of my resolve.

"I will give you the names of every traitor in the King's court. I will tell you where the gold is hidden and which generals will turn their backs on you in the coming war. I will be your greatest weapon."

Kaelen’s eyes darkened. He reached out, his gloved fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "And what do you want in return?"

"Your name," I whispered. "Marry me. Not for love, but for survival. Give me the protection of House Thorne, and I will give you the world."

The air between us charged with a sudden, electric tension. Kaelen looked at me—really looked at me—as if he were seeing a reflection of his own dark soul.

"A contract of blood and secrets," he mused. "Very well, Elara Vance. But know this: in my house, we do not divorce. We only bury."

"I've already been buried once," I said, my voice steady. "It didn't stick."

Just as he was about to speak, the silver bell rang in my head.

“Ting.”

“Task Four: To seal the contract, you must obtain the ‘Duke’s Blood’—willingly given. If the marriage is not sealed by blood before you reach the border, the carriage will become your hearse.”

Kaelen pulled a small dagger from his belt and held it out to me, handle first. It was as if he had heard the Archivist himself.

"If we are to be partners," Kaelen said, "let's make it official."

He sliced a small line across his palm and waited. I took the blade, my hand trembling only slightly, and did the same. We pressed our palms together, the warm, sticky blood sealing our fates.

But as we turned to leave, I saw someone watching from the balcony above.

Caspian was standing there, his face half-hidden by the shadows. He wasn't angry anymore. He was smiling. He held up a single jasmine flower and let the petals fall into the wind.