Chapter Three: A Warning Written in Blood

The photograph remained beneath Silas's pillow.

He had not slept.

Not because he was frightened.

Fear was an old companion, one he had learned to recognize without allowing it to make his decisions.

He was awake because someone had entered his bedroom.

Someone had crossed the palace's security.

Someone knew his identity.

And someone wanted him to understand that his presence in the palace had not gone unnoticed.

Silas sat on the edge of his bed, examining the photograph beneath the dim light of his bedside lamp.

His childhood home.

The eastern balcony where his mother used to sit.

The garden where his father had taught him to ride.

The windows through which he had watched his family disappear into smoke.

Six months had passed since that night.

Six months since he had watched soldiers drag his father away.

Six months since he had promised himself that the men responsible would eventually suffer.

He turned the photograph over.

HE KNOWS YOU ARE HERE.

Silas ran his thumb over the handwriting.

"Who?"

The question disappeared into the silence.

He placed the photograph inside the lining of his mattress and stood.

There was work to do.

And if someone had decided to threaten him, they had made one very unfortunate mistake.

They had reminded him why he had come.

At six thirty, Cassian received an unexpected visitor.

"Your Highness."

His personal guard, Commander Rowan, entered without waiting for an invitation.

Cassian looked up from his breakfast.

"What?"

"We found something."

"Where?"

"In the west wing."

Cassian put down his knife.

"What did you find?"

"A guard unconscious outside the servants' staircase. His uniform is missing."

Cassian's expression changed.

"How long?"

"Approximately twenty minutes."

"Was anything taken?"

"We're still checking."

Cassian stood.

"Seal the palace."

Rowan bowed.

"Already done."

"Nobody enters or leaves until I give the order. Search every room, every corridor, and every servant's quarter."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Cassian reached for his sword.

Then he stopped.

"Where is Silas?"

"His bedroom, I believe."

"Take me there."

Silas was brushing his hair when the bedroom door opened.

He didn't turn immediately.

"Good morning, Your Highness."

Cassian stood in the doorway with two guards behind him.

"Get dressed."

Silas looked at him through the mirror.

"Good morning to you, too."

"Now."

Silas put down the brush.

"What happened?"

"Someone entered this wing last night."

Silas's expression remained calm.

"How unfortunate."

"Did you see anyone?"

"No."

"Did you hear anything?"

"No."

Cassian studied him.

"You're lying."

Silas turned.

"Then why are you asking?"

The prince approached.

"Someone has been moving through my palace without authorization. A guard has been attacked, and your room is closest to the eastern staircase."

Silas looked at the two guards.

"Are they here to protect me or arrest me?"

"That depends on your answers."

Silas laughed quietly.

"How romantic."

Cassian's eyes narrowed.

"Search the room."

Silas immediately stepped forward.

"No."

The guards stopped.

Cassian looked at him.

"Move."

"Absolutely not."

"Silas."

"Your Highness, you may have purchased my freedom of movement, my clothes, and whatever else your money has bought. But you will not have strangers searching through my belongings while I stand here."

Cassian took one step closer.

"You're making this difficult."

"Then perhaps you should stop making it easy."

Their eyes met.

The tension between them was immediate.

Cassian eventually turned toward the guards.

"Wait outside."

"Your Highness—"

"Outside."

The guards obeyed.

Silas watched the door close.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet."

Cassian walked toward the wardrobe.

"Did anyone give you anything yesterday?"

Silas's heartbeat changed.

Only slightly.

"Food. Clothes. A room."

"Anything else?"

"No."

Cassian turned.

"Look at me."

Silas did.

For several seconds, the prince examined his face.

Then he reached for his wrist.

Silas pulled away.

"Don't."

Cassian's hand stopped.

Something passed between them.

A momentary reminder that not every person responded to his touch with obedience.

"You're hiding something," Cassian said.

"Perhaps I have secrets."

"Everyone has secrets."

"Then why are you so interested in mine?"

Cassian didn't answer.

Instead, he moved toward the door.

"Nobody leaves this wing until the intruder is found."

Silas smiled faintly.

"How reassuring."

Cassian stopped.

"And Silas?"

"Yes?"

"If anyone approaches you, you tell me."

Silas tilted his head.

"Is that an order?"

"It's a warning."

"To whom?"

Cassian looked directly at him.

"Anyone who thinks they can hurt you."

For the first time that morning, Silas had no clever answer.

By midday, the palace was in chaos.

Servants were questioned. Guards were replaced. The eastern staircase was sealed, and the royal council was postponed.

Silas spent most of the morning observing.

He had discovered something interesting.

Cassian did not trust his own servants.

He trusted Rowan, but even that trust appeared limited.

And whenever someone mentioned the western corridor, the prince's expression changed.

There was something there.

Something important.

Silas was considering how to investigate it when Daniel appeared with a tray.

"Your lunch, sir."

Silas looked up.

"Daniel."

"Yes, sir?"

"Come here."

The servant approached.

Silas pointed to the chair opposite him.

"Sit."

Daniel hesitated.

"Sir, I shouldn't."

"You say that frequently."

Daniel glanced at the door.

"His Highness might not like it."

Silas smiled.

"His Highness doesn't like many things."

Daniel sat cautiously.

Silas poured him a glass of water.

"Tell me about the western corridor."

The servant's fingers tightened around the glass.

"Why?"

"Because everyone becomes uncomfortable whenever I mention it."

Daniel looked toward the window.

"That part of the palace has been closed for years."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Do you believe that?"

Daniel said nothing.

Silas leaned forward.

"Daniel, I don't need you to lie for me."

The servant swallowed.

"People say the late king kept something there."

Silas's interest sharpened.

"What?"

"I don't know, sir. Only that nobody is allowed inside."

"Not even Cassian?"

Daniel immediately stood.

"Please don't ask me that."

Silas watched him.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

That evening, the prince attended a royal dinner.

Silas was expected to remain in his quarters.

He had other plans.

He entered the dining hall shortly after the first course had been served.

Conversation stopped.

Cassian looked up.

Silas wore a dark wine-coloured shirt, black trousers, and a silver chain around his neck.

He looked entirely too comfortable for someone who had been explicitly told not to attend.

"You're late," Cassian said.

Silas glanced at the table.

"I wasn't aware we had an appointment."

A few nobles exchanged uncomfortable looks.

Cassian gestured to the empty chair beside him.

"Sit."

Silas did.

Lord Adrian sat across from them.

His expression was particularly unpleasant.

"Your Highness," Adrian began, "I must confess that I find the arrangement rather unusual."

Cassian continued eating.

"Which arrangement?"

"The presence of a former slave at royal dinners."

Silas lifted his glass.

"Former?"

Adrian looked at him.

"Excuse me?"

Silas smiled.

"I was simply wondering whether you consider me a former slave or a current one. The distinction seems important to you."

Cassian placed his fork down.

"Lord Adrian, I suggest you concentrate on your meal."

Adrian bowed his head.

"Of course."

Silas looked at the prince.

"You're defending me."

"I'm preventing an unnecessary argument."

"How disappointing. I was beginning to feel special."

Cassian leaned closer.

"Don't test me in front of the council."

Silas lowered his voice.

"Then don't give them reasons to think you cannot control me."

Cassian looked at him.

Silas smiled.

The prince returned to his meal.

But his hand remained unusually close to Silas's beneath the table.

The trouble began during dessert.

A young nobleman named Lord Matthias approached their table.

He was handsome, wealthy, and apparently convinced that his position gave him permission to behave however he pleased.

"Silas Vey."

Silas looked up.

"Yes?"

"I've heard quite a lot about you."

"How unfortunate."

Matthias laughed.

"You have a sharp tongue."

"I find it useful."

The young nobleman leaned against the table.

"Would you care to join me for a walk after dinner?"

Before Silas could answer, Cassian spoke.

"No."

Matthias turned.

"Your Highness?"

"I said no."

Silas slowly put down his spoon.

"How interesting."

Cassian didn't look at him.

"Return to your seat, Matthias."

The young nobleman bowed.

"Of course."

When he had gone, Silas turned toward the prince.

"That was rude."

Cassian continued eating.

"He was being inappropriate."

"He asked me to walk."

"He doesn't need to walk with you."

Silas smiled.

"Are you jealous?"

Cassian's knife stopped.

"No."

"Your answer was remarkably quick."

"Silas."

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Finish your dessert."

Silas laughed softly.

He had discovered something.

Cassian could command soldiers, terrify nobles, and silence an entire council.

But jealousy made him careless.

And Silas intended to remember that.

At eleven forty-five, Silas was finally alone.

He had barely removed his shoes when someone knocked.

Three times.

He crossed the room.

"Who is it?"

A folded note slipped beneath the door.

Silas stared at it.

He waited.

Nothing.

He unlocked the door and looked into the corridor.

Empty.

He picked up the note.

There was only one sentence.

THE PRINCE DID NOT KILL YOUR FATHER. ASK HIM WHO DID.

Silas stopped breathing.

He read it again.

Then again.

His father.

The man whose execution he had witnessed from the courtyard.

The man whose final words had been a warning to run.

For six months, Silas had believed Cassian's family had ordered everything.

But the message suggested something else.

A different murderer.

A different betrayal.

And possibly an entirely different reason for the destruction of House Vey.

His fingers trembled.

He hated that.

He folded the note and placed it in his pocket.

Then he walked straight toward the prince's private study.

Cassian was still awake.

He stood behind his desk, reading a military report when the door opened.

He looked up.

"Silas?"

Silas entered and closed the door.

"Did you kill my father?"

The report slipped slightly in Cassian's hand.

For several seconds, neither man spoke.

Then Cassian slowly placed the document on the desk.

"Who told you that?"

"Answer me."

"Silas—"

"Did you order his execution?"

Cassian's expression became unreadable.

"Your father was accused of treason."

"That wasn't my question."

"He was involved in a conspiracy against the crown."

"That wasn't my question either!"

The words echoed through the study.

Cassian stared at him.

Then he walked around the desk.

"No. I did not kill your father."

Silas swallowed.

"Did you order it?"

"No."

"Did you know?"

Cassian was silent.

That silence hurt more than any answer.

Silas stepped backward.

"You knew."

"I knew something was happening."

"And you did nothing?"

"I was not king."

"You're the crown prince!"

"I was twenty-four years old, Silas. I had no authority over my father's private orders."

Silas laughed bitterly.

"How convenient."

Cassian's jaw tightened.

"You don't understand what happened."

"Then explain it."

"I can't."

Silas stared at him.

"Can't or won't?"

Cassian reached for him, but Silas stepped away.

"Don't touch me."

The prince stopped.

For a moment, something painfully human crossed his face.

Then it disappeared.

"Someone is manipulating you."

"Perhaps. But at least someone is telling me something."

Cassian's eyes darkened.

"Who gave you the message?"

Silas said nothing.

"Silas. Look at me."

He did.

Cassian's voice dropped.

"Whatever you have been told, whatever you believe, I need you to understand one thing."

"What?"

"Your father was not the only person who disappeared that night."

Silas went completely still.

"What does that mean?"

Cassian looked toward the window.

"It means there are things about House Vey that even you don't know."

Silas's heart began pounding.

"Tell me."

"I can't."

"Then we're finished."

Cassian looked back at him.

"Don't say that."

Silas laughed without humour.

"You don't get to decide when I stay and when I leave."

The prince moved closer.

"You're right."

The unexpected agreement silenced him.

Cassian stopped a few feet away.

"But I am asking you not to leave this palace tonight."

Silas searched his face.

"Why?"

Cassian hesitated.

Then he said something that made the blood drain from Silas's face.

"Because the man who ordered your father's death is inside this palace."

Silas stared at him.

"Who?"

Cassian's expression hardened.

"Someone you have already met."

Before Silas could respond, the study doors burst open.

Commander Rowan entered, his sword drawn.

"Your Highness!"

Cassian turned sharply.

"What?"

"We found the intruder."

"Where?"

Rowan looked at Silas.

Then at Cassian.

His expression was grim.

"In the west wing, Your Highness."

"Who is it?"

Rowan swallowed.

"The former royal physician."

Cassian went completely still.

Silas recognized the name when Rowan whispered it.

Dr. Elias Vey.

His father's younger brother.

His uncle.

The man who had supposedly died in the fire.

Silas's knees nearly gave way.

And then Cassian said the words that changed everything.

"Bring him to me."