Chapter 5: The Anatomy of a Swan

The crisis with the Southern Delegation had been a cacophony of bruised egos and diplomatic posturing, but Althea had handled it with the cold efficiency of a diamond saw. She had smoothed over the Duke’s insults, reaffirmed the trade borders, and dismissed the council—all while a singular, burning thought occupied her mind: the man in the gallery.

When she finally pushed open the heavy oak doors, the silence of the Gallery of Antiquities felt like a physical weight.

"Observer?" she called out, her voice echoing against the marble.

No answer. The gallery was empty. The window at the far end stood open, the heavy velvet curtains dancing in the night breeze. He was gone.

Althea felt a sharp, unexpected pang of disappointment. She had met hundreds of "lords" tonight, yet the only one who didn't make her feel like a prize to be won was a man who vanished into the shadows.

She walked toward the astrolabe where they had stood. She expected to find nothing but dust and the lingering scent of woodsmoke and ozone that had clung to him. But then, a flash of silver caught the moonlight.

She knelt, her fingers trembling slightly as she picked up the object.

It was a cufflink. A swan, its wings arched in a defiant, graceful sweep.

Althea didn't just look at it; she studied it. She rose and carried the piece to a nearby desk where a powerful magnifying lens sat atop a stack of manuscripts. She placed the swan under the glass.

"Guards," she said, not looking up.

Lord Corvis appeared at the door. "Majesty? We should return you to the ball. The guests are wondering—"

"Cancel the rest of the dances," Althea said, her voice tight with focus. "Tell them I have been taken with a... sudden scholarly inspiration. And bring me my metallurgical kit from the study. Now."

Corvis sputtered, but one look from Althea silenced him. He bowed and retreated.

Left alone, Althea peered through the lens. What she saw made her breath hitch.

Most jewelers used a stamp to mark their work—a blunt instrument that left a muddy impression. This was different. The feathers on the swan weren't just etched; they were layered. Under the magnification, she could see that the "Cigna" mark on the back wasn't a stamp at all. It was a series of microscopic, interlocking lines that formed a geometric pattern.

"It’s not just a signature," she whispered. "It’s a blueprint."

She took a small needle and gently probed the underside of the swan’s wing. She felt a tiny, mechanical resistance. With a soft click, a small compartment in the base of the cufflink popped open. Hidden inside was a tiny scroll of vellum, no larger than a grain of rice.

She carefully unfurled it. On it was written a single line of numbers: coordinates.

Althea leaned back, her heart racing. The man hadn't just been an observer. He was a master of a craft the world thought had died with the Silas family. He had left her a puzzle, whether he intended to or not.

"You aren't a lord," she murmured to the empty room, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. "Lords buy beauty. You create it."

She looked at the open window. He had a head start, and he was likely hiding in the labyrinth of the city. But he had forgotten one thing: Queen Althea didn't just rule the kingdom; she knew its history. Every forge, every mine, every ledger was under her purview.

She didn't need a search party. She needed a library.

"The hunt begins," she said, clutching the silver swan in her palm.

The Queen’s Research Notes :

• The Metal: High-purity silver with a trace amount of palladium. Rare. Only three mines in the southern ridge produce this specific alloy.

• The Technique: Micro-mechanical engineering. This isn't the work of a hobbyist. It requires a specialized forge—one with a high-precision bellows and a jeweler's lathe.

• The Clue: The coordinates on the vellum. They don't point to a location; they point to a volume in the Royal Archive.