Right as things were finally starting to add up for Gai, another thought muscled its way in—who was the woman with the hood? He ran through every detail he could remember, restless and uneasy. What exactly was her place at court, and if his instincts weren’t lying, what business did she have prowling around and attacking people after dark?

  He glanced back to where he’d last spotted her by one of the side tables, half-hoping for a sign, but she was already gone. Vanished quick as anything. He forced his eyes across the crowds, scanning every shadow and archway in the hall, but the ensemble of fluttering nobles and sharp-eyed retainers blurred together, none of them carrying the tell-tale stiffness or quiet hunger he’d learned to spot on the city streets. The music resumed its bright, oblivious strain, and with it, the general mood crept back toward ease—at least above the surface. But the muscles in Gai’s neck stayed tight, the way they did before a storm. If there was mischief planned for tonight, it would come when everyone else let their guard down.

  He found Anders along the far wall near a tray stacked with empty goblets; his friend was already deep in smirking conversation with an underfoot wine steward. Gai sidled up and propped a shoulder next to him.

  Anders didn’t look over, but his smirk widened. “You look like a man forced to eat his own boots. Bad wine?”

  “Not the wine,” Gai muttered. He kept his focus on the restless movement near the servants’ entrance. “Did you see the hooded woman earlier?”

  Anders shrugged, still not making eye contact. “Saw her. Saw you staring hard enough to burn through the stone.” He let the wine steward slip away, then sighed, finally glancing sideways at Gai. “Why do you ask?”

  Gai lowered his voice. “I’m sure she’s the same one from Old Town. The one that nearly carved us up.”

  Anders’ brow creased. He set his goblet aside, all the humour dropping from his face. “You’re certain of that?”

  “Not certain,” Gai admitted. “But if I’m right, she’s not here to toast the princess.”

  Anders worked his jaw, then nodded once, sharp and deliberate. “You want to follow her. I’ll watch the floor. Go.” He tapped Gai’s arm and turned his back, grabbing two new goblets from a passing tray and making a show of it, as if their talk was nothing more than a bet over cheap wine.

  Gai slipped away through the crowd, moving with a purpose that was easy to mistake for a servant’s errand. On the way, he flagged down a junior guard—one of the recruits who looked up to Anders with something close to hero worship—and told him to hold the post by the main doors. The kid nodded, wide-eyed, and Gai ducked through the nearest servants’ corridor before anyone else could notice.

  The back passages of the castle were a rabbit warren, but Gai knew their rhythm by now—the way the stones changed underfoot, the places where the light from the grand hall filtered in as a pale, wobbly stain on the wall. He kept low, footsteps measured, trusting memory and instinct more than sight.

  At the first turn, he caught the faintest scrape of leather against stone. He ducked behind a tapestry and peered out. The hooded woman was moving fast, but not panicked; she walked as if she owned the halls, the kind of glide you only picked up from a lifetime of dodging trouble. She doubled back toward a side stair, and after a quick listen for pursuit, Gai followed.

  She almost lost him on the second floor, where the stairs split and the light faded to near-darkness. The only sounds were the distant hush of music and Gai's shallow, cold breaths. At a blind corner, he nearly missed her—but luck, or something like it, urged him forward just in time to catch the sweep of her cloak as she ducked through an unmarked door.

  He paused, counting three steady breaths before slipping after her.

  Inside was a small landing overlooking the banquet hall. From here, Gai could see the entire sweep of the great room: nobles raising glasses, messengers darting to and fro, and a handful of guards ringed at the edges. The woman stood at the railing, her hood still up, scanning the crowd below. Gai kept to the shadows, watching and listening for her next move.

  She lingered only a moment before striding the length of the balcony with restless, predatory energy. Stopping at a marble bust tucked in a carved alcove, her hands moved with quick expertise, tugging apart the ornamental laurel at the statue's crown. Something small and folded—paper, perhaps—slipped free, nearly invisible against the pale stone. Without hesitation, she tucked it under her sleeve, smoothed her cloak, and turned back toward the stairs.

  There was no noise, no signal. Anyone glancing up might have seen a shadow where none belonged, but the trick was over in a blink. Gai pressed himself flat against the wall as she swept past, the wake of her movement cold and oddly electric. The floor beneath them groaned, a complaint so soft only Gai seemed to notice.

  She took the stairs down, vanishing into the tangle of servant corridors below. Gai hesitated, weighing whether to tail her further or intercept her in the open. The note nagged at his mind—whatever was written, it wasn't meant for the banquet guests. His jaw set. He would find out where she was going, and if he couldn't intercept her, at least he'd know what game she was playing.

  This time, she took a corridor that Gai knew led back toward the main stairs and the feasting tables.

  He shadowed her, keeping two doorways behind, and when he reached the threshold of the grand hall he saw her already in position, drifting along the wall toward the head table. In a smooth, practiced gesture, she slid between two ponderous courtiers, then took a seat at the very end of the dais—unremarkable if you didn’t know to look for her.

  The next seat over was occupied by a man in black robes, gold thread webbing up his sleeves in tight, arcane patterns. He didn’t look up at her approach, but his fingers drummed on the table in a pattern Gai recognized from old watch codes—a sign to keep quiet, eyes forward. She obeyed.

  The man leaned in, murmuring something low enough that Gai couldn’t make out a single word—wrong angle, wrong timing. The hall erupted in applause for another toast, swallowing up the sound entirely. Still, the way the man held himself put Gai on edge. He recognized the quiet command in his posture, the same careful weight his father used with visiting dignitaries—a kind of control that demanded attention without asking for it. Gai had seen hints of it in drill sergeants and ranking officers, but this was sharper somehow, more practiced. It brought back those nights when he’d overheard grown men trade secrets meant to be forgotten. A chill crept up Gai’s spine; suddenly, he felt like a boy again—outmatched, overlooked, and very much aware that there were rules here he didn’t know how to play by.

  The woman’s gloved hand passed a slip of paper under the table. The man took it without hesitation, barely glancing down before folding it once, then tucking it inside his sleeve.

  It struck Gai then—not just the secrecy, but the confidence. Whoever these two were, they weren’t here to play games or trade empty threats; whatever was on that note mattered more than court gossip or petty revenge.

  The man turned. For a flash, Gai saw his face in profile—a hooked nose, black eyes that glittered flat even in the candlelight. Then, just as fast, those eyes found Gai in the crowd. He smiled—not unkindly, but with the unbothered patience of a man who believed himself untouchable.

  Gai’s skin prickled. He almost looked away, but the man’s gaze held him fast. A second later, the smile widened to a thin, private joke, and the man tapped the hooded woman’s wrist.

  She didn’t turn, but she nodded once—to Gai, not to her companion. It was a dare, or a warning, or maybe just recognition that the hunt worked both ways.

  The toast ended. Plates clattered and servants swept through with new trays. For several minutes, the head table resumed its careful theatre; the hooded woman and her handler became just another pair among dozens, their roles vanished in the pageant of status and appetite.

  Gai drifted back to his post, mind racing. He needed to get word to Anders—needed, more urgently, to puzzle out what link Elle had to all of this. Had she noticed the exchange? Was she, with her own crown and secrets, part of the same shadow game, or just another pawn in someone else’s?

  He found Anders just as the music paused for the hour’s bell. Gai relayed what he’d seen in a rush of low words; Anders listened, not interrupting, then set his jaw.

  “Sounds like a master from the academy,” he muttered, glancing toward the dais. “Not a commoner’s game, this one. You want to follow up after the feast?”

  Gai nodded. “If we can catch one alone, maybe we’ll get a straight answer.”

  “Doubt it,” Anders said, but his smirk was back. “But gods know, it’s more interesting than standing guard.”

  The rest of the night blurred together: speeches, songs, a round of staged duels that drew easy laughs from the assembly. Through it all, Gai kept an eye on the head table. The woman never so much as flicked her gaze his way again, but the man—he caught Gai’s eye every few minutes, always with the same little smile, like he was waiting for Gai to make his move.

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  It was past midnight when King Reynard rose, goblet in hand, and signalled for attention. The hall fell silent. His speech was all gratitude and cleverness, the kind of polished sincerity that nobles ate up by the spoonful. But in the second row, Elle turned and pinned Gai with a long, steady look.

  He tried to read it—challenge, amusement, warning? Maybe all of them. She lifted her glass, barely tilted it in his direction, then turned back to the king.

  The crowd thinned fast after the toast. Nobles drifted off to private rooms, merchants to their own corners to haggle over the day’s deals. Gai waited at his post until the last of the assembly was gone, then made a slow circuit of the hall. He found the man in black by the far hearth, surrounded by a knot of private guards and a few hangers-on from the city’s smaller houses.

  The woman was nowhere to be seen.

  He edged closer, trying to catch a thread of conversation, but the man spoke only in low, clipped tones, never raising his voice above the general song of the gathering. When the group broke up, Gai hung back, watching as the man in black walked the length of the hall, pausing every so often to study the shadows along the wall.

  He stopped at the base of the stairs, right beneath the gallery where the woman had been posted earlier.

  “Nice trick,” the man said, without turning. “But you’ll have to do better if you want to follow me.”

  Gai hesitated, then stepped forward. “You’re not exactly subtle yourself.”

  The man laughed, soft and genuine. “No, I suppose not. But I’m not the one sneaking around.” He turned at last, eyes flat and alive. “What do you want, Guardsman?”

  Gai considered lying, but something told him it wouldn’t fly. “What was on the note?”

  The man considered him in silence, then gave a slow shake of his head. “You overestimate your place, child. Go back to your post, and let the real business of the city continue.”

  Gai bristled. “If your business gets people killed, it’s my place.”

  The man’s smile faded. “You don’t have the faintest idea what’s coming,” he said. “But you will. Soon.” He adjusted his sleeve, then brushed past Gai with a last, unreadable look.

  He was left at the foot of the stairs, hands chilled and empty, the echo of the man’s words rattling around in his chest. Gai watched the last of the black cloak sweep through the side door, then listened for movement until the hush of the hall told him he was truly alone. He forced himself to break the spell, setting off in search of Anders.

  He found him on the north landing, propped beside a battered suit of ceremonial armour and squinting at the late moon through a dust-caked window. Anders didn’t look over as Gai approached, but he shifted just enough to signal he'd been waiting.

  “Lose your mark?” Anders asked, voice pitched low.

  Gai shrugged, folding his arms tight. “They know we’re watching. Said I’d figure it out soon enough.”

  Anders snorted. “That’s the thing about these types—they love the sound of their own riddles.” He straightened, brushed dust from his sleeves, and rocked on his heels. “Nothing more to see here for tonight. Unless you want to check the kitchens for leftovers, or patrol somewhere more interesting?”

  Gai chewed his lip, then nodded down the corridor toward the east gallery. “Let’s sweep the gardens. I could use some fresh air”

  Anders grinned. “Now you’re thinking like a proper guard.” He fell in step beside Gai, their boots thumping a steady rhythm as they descended the stair, through the spill over of blue moonlight and the faint aroma of crushed thyme rising from the cracks in the flagstones.

  The castle’s east gardens were a ghost of their summer self: bare-limbed arbours draped in frost, gravel walks etched with the fading prints of the day’s pageantry. Most of the lamps were out, leaving the hedges and statuary cast in bruised shadow. Somewhere nearby, a late servant was emptying slops, the splash of the bucket echoing off stone. Otherwise, the world was theirs.

  They walked the edge of the gardens, boots crunching over gravel, neither of them feeling much like talking. The cold in the air seeped into their joints, and every so often Anders would huff out a sigh that said plenty. By the time they circled back toward the gate, both of them were wound tight. The iron hinges protested as the gate swung open, and from the shadows beyond, someone stepped into view—slow and careful, as if they’d been waiting for just this moment.

  Elle’s hair was loose now, white-blond and almost blue in the moonlight, her cloak replaced by some delicate wrap that did nothing to hide the impatience in her stride. She didn’t look at Anders at all, but her eyes found Gai with such force that he felt the air change between them. She stopped just short of the hedged path, arms folded, the soft lines of her face set in an expression that refused to be read.

  “Lady Elle,” Anders said, offering her a showy bow that was more mockery than manners. “Out enjoying the moonlight? Or shall we call for an escort to keep the wolves at bay?”

  Elle didn’t so much as glance at him; her eyes stayed locked on Gai. “Walk with me.” Her tone left no room for argument.

  Anders glanced at Gai, eyebrows up. “You want me to tag along?”

  Elle answered for him. “I’d prefer a private word.”

  Anders gave a little whistle, but his smile was all teeth and no warmth. “Take your time,” he said, then vanished up the gravel walk, hands thrust in his pockets, humming a little tune that faded as soon as he was out of sight.

  Elle waited until the echo of his steps was gone, then turned down a narrow path between the bare rosebushes and motioned briskly ahead. She kept her silence until the path turned them out of view from the main windows. The cold here was sharp, biting; in the dark, the world felt stripped to bone. She stopped in a patch of silvered grass, arms still folded, and finally looked at him not as a fellow conspirator or peer, but with the full, ancient weight of someone who belonged to the world’s oldest lines.

  “Is it a problem for you?” she asked, all at once. “That I’m a princess.”

  The question caught him off guard, enough that whatever rehearsed speech he’d been knitting together unravelled completely. “What?”

  She huffed, something halfway between annoyance and relief. “You keep looking at me like you’ve only just figured it out. I thought it might matter.”

  He fumbled for words, the cold now a distant second to the heat rising in his face. “I—no, it doesn’t. You’re still the same person.”

  “Don’t,” she said, sharper. “Don’t do that. Pretend it’s the same. You’re not even sure what to call me now.”

  He tried to think about it—her name in his head, how it sounded when she was just Elle, how it sounded now with the title pressed up against it. “You’re right,” he admitted, voice blunt. “I don’t know if I should bow or just—” He trailed off.

  “Just what?” she pressed.

  “Or just talk to you like I always did. Like you’re not… all that.” He gestured vaguely, because to say ‘not royalty’ felt like an insult and ‘not above me’ felt even worse.

  Elle let the silence stretch. “I’d prefer that. But I need you to understand something.” She stepped closer, keeping her voice low and precise. “The people in that room? None of them care if you find out their secrets. They’ll kill you or worse if you get too close.” She looked at him, searching his face for a response, then glanced away. “You’re good at noticing things, Gai. Better than anyone else I’ve met here. But you’re not invincible. You’re not even safe.”

  He considered the words, feeling them slot into place with everything else he’d seen tonight. “You’re worried,” he said, surprised by how much it rattled him to see real fear in her eyes.

  “I’m realistic,” she corrected. “And if you go poking at the wrong walls, you’ll bring them down on your head. I can’t shield you from that. Even if I wanted to.”

  He almost laughed—a short, raw sound, edged with disbelief. “So what, I go back to pretending none of it matters?”

  Her expression softened, a little. “I’d never ask you to pretend.” She reached up and, after a pause, brushed the edge of his jaw with a cold, careful hand. “Just—don’t be reckless, but don’t walk blind, either. There’s a way to get at the truth without ending up at the bottom of the river.”

  He tried to grin, but it came out thin and ragged. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

  She ignored the attempt at levity. “I don’t have to,” she said, voice steady. “There are eyes on you now, and not just from court. If you want to find out who the hooded woman is, you’ll need help—and not just Anders, not this time.”

  He squinted at her, fighting down the flush in his cheeks and the urge to look away. “You know her, don’t you?”

  Elle’s lips pressed together, pale against the dark. She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not by name. But I know what she is. What she’s after.”

  He waited, silent, until she spoke again.

  “She’s after something that’s not supposed to exist,” Elle said, her voice low and clipped. “It was stolen from Esbuenesia a long time ago. I always thought it was just a story until we actually found proof in the library, but tonight—” She glanced over his shoulder, eyes sharp and wary. “Tonight I caught her watching the king. Not me. Not any of the lords or ladies. Him. And when she handed off that note, it wasn’t for his benefit—it was a test run. They’re checking to see who notices.”

  Gai took that in, his mind catching on every detail. “The man in black—”

  “Is Master Elementalist Zephyrian,” Elle finished, voice flat. “Most trusted advisor to King Reynard. Supposedly.” The word carried a bitterness he’d not heard from her before.

  He frowned, replaying the patterns of the evening in his head. “And you think—what? That she’s working for him? Or against?”

  Elle’s eyes flashed, catching the sliver of light. “She’s no one’s pawn, but Zephyrian? He’s clever enough to put her to work anyway—and that makes her twice as dangerous.” She stepped in, close enough for Gai to catch a chill off her hair and that sharp, unfamiliar scent she always carried. “Watch them both. Careful, though—don’t let either suspect you’re onto them. Not yet.”

  Gai nodded, the weight of her warning finally registering. His thoughts spun back to his tense exchange with Zephyrian—the man’s slick answers and veiled threats suddenly felt less like bravado and more like warning bells.

  “I already confronted Zephyrian about the note,” Gai said quietly. “He danced around everything I asked.”

  Elle’s mouth tightened in worry. “Well, that just makes things messier. Did he slip up? Anything useful?”

  Gai shook his head. “Not really. But the whole thing stank—he was covering for more than a message.”

  “You’ll help me, right?” He hated how desperate it sounded, but there it was—too late to hide it now.

  Her features softened, looking momentarily older and tired. “Of course. But we need an actual plan this time.” She tipped her chin at him, eyebrows arched with challenge. “You’ve got a head on your shoulders—try using it before you charge face-first into another disaster.”

  He scowled but couldn’t argue; she’d see through any bluff.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “A plan. But I’m not just going to stand by while they plot.”

  “Good,” Elle replied with a quick nod and something almost like approval in her eyes. “Especially since you’ve got a tourney in two days—and if you manage to make a spectacle of yourself out there, all this goes straight to ruin.”

  He managed to get the words out, even if his brain felt stuck. “I’ll be all right,” he said, and to his own surprise, it didn’t sound like a lie. “Honestly, if I get tossed out early, it’s not like I signed up for this circus anyway.”

  Elle’s eyes narrowed, a warning flicker sharpening her expression. “You’re missing the point. This isn’t a lark, Gai—the whole court’s gossiping. They all want to know if the captain’s little project can actually deliver, or if you’ll flop when it matters.” She shot a quick look toward the dais, then met his gaze again. “You’re not just out there for yourself. You’re carrying every single hope that says skill might count for more than family name.”

  He swallowed the sarcastic comeback on his tongue—something about being an expert in letting people down. Instead, he kept it simple, because Elle never let him get away with deflection. “And after the tourney? Maric practically has me on a leash, and Graeme’s always lurking. If you need me in the library again, I’ll need something—some way in.”

  “I’ll handle Maric and Graeme,” Elle said, voice steady, a hint of dry amusement threading through. “They like to act untouchable, but trust me—they’re not. I’ll make sure you have a way in.” She didn’t elaborate; instead, she gave Gai a look that softened just enough to leave him off-balance for a heartbeat. Then she melted back into the shadows, pale against the frostbitten hedges—never one for lingering or explaining more than she had to. He found himself wondering if she actually preferred the cold, or if it was just easier for her to speak plainly when nothing else got in the way.

  He stayed still until she’d slipped out of sight beneath the archway, alone now with the promise buzzing under his ribs: he’d do what she asked, and if he was honest with himself, he wanted to see what would happen next.

  Finding Anders again was easy; he was loitering at the end of the row of dead rosebushes, looking as if he’d spent half the night there out of stubbornness. Gai nodded; Anders replied with a shrug, and they fell in step without a word toward the barracks. The castle had gone quiet—just guards making their rounds and kitchen hands cleaning up after everyone else’s good time.

  They cut through the side hall, passing under strips of moonlight from tall windows. Their boots echoed in the emptiness. Not until they reached the stairwell and its circle of lamplight did Gai finally speak.

  “She’s not who I thought,” he muttered, almost too low for Anders to catch.

  Anders made a noise halfway between agreement and exhaustion. “Who is? You look ready to snap in half. What did she say?”

  Gai paused before answering; lying felt pointless with Anders. “She told me to keep my eyes open but not get stupid about it. She knows something’s coming, and…she’ll help.”

  Anders let out a long sigh and clapped Gai on the shoulder—a little rough, but meant to reassure. “That’s about as good as we’re going to get tonight. Go sleep while you can—you’ll need it.”

  At the stairs they split off—Anders heading for bed, Gai climbing up to the watch room alone, to report to Graeme.

  At the stairs they parted ways—Anders giving a half-hearted wave as he made for his bunk, Gai starting the slow climb up to the watch room and Graeme’s perpetual scowl. Each step, he picked over what he’d say: just enough to satisfy Graeme, nothing extra to spark more questions. By the time he reached the heavy door at the top, his story was trimmed down to the bare bones. He drew in a breath, squared his shoulders, and went in, ready to give Graeme the short version and deal with whatever fallout followed.

  AdventureGai's Discord