Chapter Two: The Prince's First Mistake

The palace had rules.

Silas Vey intended to break every single one of them.

By seven in the morning, he had discovered three things about his new home.

The first was that the servants were terrified of Prince Cassian Vale.

The second was that nobody entered the prince's private quarters without permission.

The third was that the prince never ate breakfast with anyone.

Silas considered the third particularly interesting.

He sat before a table covered with freshly baked bread, sliced fruit, eggs, and a silver pot of tea. His hair fell loosely around his face, and he wore the black silk shirt someone had left in his wardrobe.

It was expensive.

Unnecessarily expensive.

He hated that he liked it.

"Your breakfast, sir."

Silas looked up.

A young servant stood beside the table, holding a jug of water. He couldn't have been older than twenty.

"Your name?"

"Daniel, sir."

"How long have you worked here?"

"Three years."

"Do you enjoy it?"

Daniel looked toward the door.

Silas smiled.

"That was a question, not a crime."

"I serve His Highness."

"That wasn't my question either."

Daniel lowered his head.

Silas sighed.

This palace was going to be exhausting.

"Come here."

The servant approached cautiously.

Silas picked up a piece of bread and placed it on a small plate.

"Have you eaten?"

Daniel stared at the plate.

"Sir, I cannot."

"Why?"

"Because it is yours."

Silas looked at the food, then at the young man.

"Then consider it a gift."

Daniel hesitated before accepting it.

"Thank you."

Silas watched him.

Interesting.

Even kindness was treated like a dangerous privilege here.

He wondered how long it would take to change that.

At precisely eight, Cassian entered.

He wore a fitted black uniform, his sword attached to his belt. Two guards followed him, but he dismissed them with a gesture.

His eyes immediately found Silas.

"You're awake."

Silas lifted his teacup.

"An extraordinary observation, Your Highness."

Cassian ignored the remark.

His attention moved to the second plate.

"Who gave him permission to eat?"

Daniel nearly dropped the jug.

Silas slowly placed his cup down.

"I did."

Cassian looked at him.

"I wasn't speaking to you."

"Then perhaps you should have addressed someone else."

A dangerous silence settled over the room.

Daniel stepped backward.

"Leave us," Cassian ordered.

The servant disappeared almost immediately.

Cassian approached the table.

"You seem comfortable."

"Your bed is comfortable. Your food is excellent. Your servants are frightened. Your palace is beautiful."

"And?"

Silas tilted his head.

"And you have a terrible personality."

Cassian stared at him.

Silas reached for another piece of fruit.

"Would you like some?"

"No."

"Good. I wasn't offering."

The prince pulled out the chair opposite him and sat.

For a few moments, he simply watched Silas eat.

It was an uncomfortable kind of attention.

Not the casual inspection of a master examining his property. It was something more deliberate.

Something Silas did not entirely understand.

"Why did you give Daniel food?" Cassian eventually asked.

"Because he was hungry."

"You don't know anything about him."

"Neither do you, apparently."

Cassian's jaw tightened.

"You've been here less than a day."

"And already I've learned that you frighten people who depend on you."

"Fear maintains order."

"Does it?"

"Yes."

Silas leaned back.

"Then why are you sitting here arguing with a man you supposedly own?"

For the first time, Cassian had no immediate response.

Silas smiled into his tea.

That was mistake number one.

The prince was beginning to enjoy their arguments.

An hour later, Silas was summoned to the royal council chamber.

He found six noblemen gathered around a long table. Maps covered the walls, and a large portrait of the late king hung above the fireplace.

Cassian stood at the head of the room.

"Come here."

Silas approached.

One of the noblemen frowned.

"Your Highness, surely this is inappropriate."

Cassian didn't look at him.

"Did I ask for your opinion, Lord Adrian?"

"No, Your Highness."

"Then keep it."

Silas glanced at the nobleman.

Lord Adrian.

He recognized the face.

Not personally, perhaps, but from the documents he had memorized before his family was destroyed.

Another name.

Another piece of the past.

His expression remained perfectly calm.

Cassian noticed.

"Do you know him?"

Silas looked at the prince.

"No."

"Then why are you staring?"

"Because he's staring at me."

Lord Adrian shifted uncomfortably.

Cassian almost smiled.

Almost.

"Silas will remain in this room."

The noblemen exchanged glances.

"Your Highness," another man began, "with respect, this meeting concerns military affairs."

"Then perhaps you should discuss military affairs instead of my guest."

Silas lowered his eyes to hide his amusement.

Guest.

That was an interesting choice of word.

Cassian gestured toward an empty chair beside him.

"Sit."

Silas sat.

The meeting continued.

At first, he paid little attention. There were discussions about northern territories, supply routes, military spending, and a dispute between two provincial governors.

Then Lord Adrian mentioned the western estates.

Silas's fingers stopped moving.

"The remaining properties of House Vey should be transferred to the crown," Adrian announced. "There is no reason to preserve land belonging to a disgraced family."

Silas felt something cold settle in his stomach.

He slowly lifted his eyes.

Cassian was studying the map.

"House Vey has no living heirs," the prince said.

Silas nearly laughed.

No living heirs.

He was sitting less than three feet away.

Lord Adrian nodded.

"Exactly."

Cassian picked up a document.

"Then the matter is settled."

Silas stood.

Every head turned.

"Not quite."

Cassian's eyes moved to him.

"Sit down."

"No."

The room became silent.

Silas looked directly at Lord Adrian.

"Before transferring another man's property, shouldn't you establish whether he is actually dead?"

Adrian's face changed.

"Watch your tongue."

"Why? Does the truth offend you?"

"Silas."

Cassian's voice was low.

Silas turned toward him.

For a moment, the prince's expression warned him to stop.

But Silas had spent six months dreaming about this room.

He would not leave without making someone uncomfortable.

"Your Highness, I believe the council has made an unfortunate mistake."

Cassian put down the document.

"What mistake?"

Silas smiled.

"Assuming that the dead cannot return."

The meeting ended twenty minutes later.

Cassian dismissed everyone except Silas.

When the doors closed, the prince turned.

"What was that?"

"A discussion."

"Don't play games with me."

Silas walked toward the windows.

"Your council is careless."

"Explain."

"Lord Adrian wants House Vey's properties. He seems remarkably eager to acquire land belonging to people he claims are dead."

"Why do you care?"

Silas looked outside.

"Perhaps I dislike theft."

Cassian approached him.

"You're a slave."

The word landed between them.

Silas's shoulders stiffened.

Cassian noticed immediately.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Silas turned.

"Yes. Apparently."

Something about his expression made Cassian's eyes narrow.

"Who were you before the auction?"

Silas smiled faintly.

"A man."

"Your family?"

"Dead."

"All of them?"

"Does that disappoint you?"

Cassian studied him.

"You're hiding something."

"So are you."

The prince stepped closer.

"Be careful, Silas."

Silas didn't retreat.

"You're always telling me that."

"Because you seem determined to forget where you are."

Silas looked up at him.

"And you seem determined to forget that I am not afraid of you."

Cassian's gaze dropped briefly to his mouth.

It was an almost invisible movement.

But Silas saw it.

His heart gave one unexpected beat.

He hated that, too.

"Go back to your rooms," Cassian said.

Silas walked past him.

At the doorway, he stopped.

"Your Highness?"

"What?"

"Tell Lord Adrian that House Vey isn't finished."

Cassian's expression darkened.

"Why?"

Silas smiled.

"Because I said so."

Then he left.

That evening, Cassian found himself unable to concentrate.

He had read the same report four times.

He had dismissed two secretaries.

He had sent a messenger to investigate Lord Adrian.

And he had spent an unreasonable amount of time wondering why Silas had looked so angry when House Vey was mentioned.

There was something familiar about the name.

Something he couldn't quite place.

"Your Highness?"

His personal guard stood in the doorway.

"What?"

"The prisoner has requested permission to visit the gardens."

Cassian looked up.

"The prisoner?"

"Silas Vey, Your Highness."

Cassian closed the report.

"What did you tell him?"

"That you hadn't granted permission."

"And?"

"He said he would go anyway."

Cassian stared at him.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

"Bring him to me."

Silas arrived fifteen minutes later.

He wore a dark shirt and fitted trousers, his hair loosely tied behind his neck.

Cassian stood beside his desk.

"You wanted something."

"The gardens."

"You can see the gardens from your window."

"I want to walk in them."

"Why?"

Silas sighed.

"Must every request become an interrogation?"

"With you? Yes."

Silas folded his arms.

"Then interrogate me while we walk."

Cassian studied him for a long moment.

Finally, he reached for his coat.

"Five minutes."

Silas smiled.

"How generous."

"Don't push your luck."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

They walked through the eastern gardens under the watchful eyes of several guards.

The night air was cold, and the fountains reflected the moonlight.

For a while, neither man spoke.

Then Cassian asked, "Did you always behave like this?"

"Like what?"

"Impossible."

Silas considered the question.

"No."

"What changed?"

Silas looked at him.

"Someone taught me that being agreeable doesn't save you."

Cassian's expression became unreadable.

"Who?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

Silas stopped beside a fountain.

"Would you like to know something, Your Highness?"

"What?"

"I used to believe that powerful men protected people."

Cassian said nothing.

"I thought wealth meant safety. I thought family names mattered. I thought that if someone followed the rules, the world would reward them."

Silas looked down at the water.

"I was very young."

Cassian stood beside him.

For once, he didn't interrupt.

Silas turned.

"Do you believe in anything?"

Cassian looked at him.

"Power."

"That sounds lonely."

"It keeps me alive."

"Perhaps that's not the same as living."

Cassian's eyes remained fixed on his face.

Then he reached out.

His fingers touched the loose strand of hair near Silas's cheek.

Silas went completely still.

It wasn't a command.

It wasn't a punishment.

It was a strangely gentle gesture from a man who seemed to have forgotten how to be gentle.

Cassian withdrew his hand.

"Go inside. It's cold."

Silas watched him.

"Are you worried about me?"

"No."

"Shame."

Silas walked ahead.

Cassian remained beside the fountain, watching him disappear beneath the archway.

Later that night, Silas returned to his bedroom.

A small envelope had been placed beneath his door.

No name.

No seal.

He picked it up and opened it.

Inside was a single photograph.

His father's estate.

Burning.

On the back, someone had written four words.

HE KNOWS YOU ARE HERE.

Silas's fingers tightened around the photograph.

For the first time since entering the palace, his confidence faltered.

Someone knew.

Someone had recognized him.

And someone was watching.

He crossed to the window.

Across the courtyard, a light was still burning in Cassian's private study.

Silas stared at it.

Then he folded the photograph and slipped it beneath his pillow.

His revenge had just become more dangerous.

And somewhere inside the palace, another person had decided that Silas Vey should never have been allowed through its gates.