Lila
Since returning, I’d been walking through the halls like I was made of glass: all shine on the outside, all shatter just beneath.
We hadn’t had another trial yet, which only ratcheted up my anxiety around being discovered. I wandered the gardens the first day, then decided I needed some sort of back up plan for when things inevitably fell apart.
A map of the Pack territories lay open in front of me on the library table, its corners weighted down with books I didn’t plan to open. I traced the outlines of borders with my fingertip, memorizing political alliances like they might one day save my life.
Because they actually might.
If my father came demanding more, if Damon decided I was not worth protecting once he knew; if someone–Vanessa–decided my identity was worth outing.
I had no safety net. Just a string of lies and a slowly unraveling thread of trust.
I leaned back in the wooden chair, gazing over the ledger beside the map. There were notes in a familiar hand, but I couldn’t place it. Someone else had been here before me and they wanted me to see this.
The ink marked key figures in the Northern Coalition. Pack hierarchies, weaknesses. Shifting loyalties. I recognized a small symbol from one of the older treaty scrolls… it might be in Ronan’s handwriting. I wasn’t sure of it though.
But the message was clear. Someone was helping me. Quietly. Secretly. Not pushing, just… opening some kind of a door.
And this time, it didn’t feel like a trap. I couldn’t find any strings. Yet.
I flipped the page, finding another note tucked beneath it. A list of names. Candidates. Power ratings. Favorability with court figures.
My name had been moved lower. Dropped from second to sixth.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I had left. I had vanished at a crucial time and was no longer the whisper on everyone’s lips–I was a fading threat.
Vanessa was third on the list now. I’m sure she was delighted.
I closed the book slowly and tucked it beneath my arm. As I stood, I could feel the tingle of eyes on me from behind one of the marble pillars near the exit, but I just walked out, spine straight, mouth neutral.
If Vanessa wanted me gone, she could drop my name in a single ear. I had a feeling at this point, she wanted me to sweat not knowing one way or another.
I walked the halls collecting fragments of overheard conversations like petals in a bowl. Most were harmless gossip. Som
d threads of strategy.
The longer I listened, the more I saw how fragile the palace really was. Every alliance built on vanity and fear. Every rivalry sharpened like a blade just waiting for someone to hand it over.
I didn’t belong here. And yet, I was learning how to survive here in a completely different way that I had survived back home.
The next trial was still two days away. I’d need more than intuition to make it through. I needed leverage. Something to trade.
Because when Damon finally decided what I was–when he finally looked me in the eye and demanded truth–I needed more than the scraps I’d been handed.
I reached the stairwell that led to the cast tower and paused. Something sat in the middle of the third step. A folded parchment. No seal.
I bent to pick it up and unfolded the noté.
1/3
Chapter 60
Check the ambassador wing archives. South corridor. Left file room. Behind the ledger titled “Territorial Restructure, 2243.
There was no signature.
I folded the note, heart beating hard in my chest. A breadcrumb. Another shadow behind me, but this time, it felt a little like protection, Or maybe I was reading more into it than it was.
I slipped the parchment into my pocket and turned away from the tower. If someone wanted to help me, I’d take it. Because I needed all the help I could get.
And when the moment came–when it all broke open–I needed to be ready.
The ambassador wing was colder than the rest of the palace, tucked away behind long halls rarely used by anyone but visiting dignitaries and overworked clerks. The light glowed lower here. The silence was denser.
If the main palace was a stage, this wing was a backstage door–hidden, hushed, and full of secrets.
I moved quickly, the soles of my boots whispering across the stone floor as I counted off the doors. South corridor. File room. Left side.
The door creaked as I pushed it open, the scent of old parchment and ink wafting up in a thick wave. It was empty, dust motes swirling in shafts of afternoon light. Dozens of shelves lined the walls, each one packed with ledgers, scrolls, binders that hadn’t been touched in years.
I scanned the spines quickly until my eyes landed on it–Territorial Restructure, 2243.1 pulled it free, dusting off the cover.
Behind it, tucked between the shelf and the back panel, was another folder. Smaller. Unmarked.
I slid it out with cautious fingers, my heart was already starting to race.
Inside were records. Royal financial allocations, letters of trade intent, a notation for Pack treaty amendments that hadn’t yet been passed. A list of council hopefuls–five of them with marks beside their names.
Henry Ashford was one of them.
I felt my stomach drop. My father’s reach was here, inside this palace, inside the Crown’s inner web, deeper than even I suspected. His name wasn’t just a threat whispered through a mind–link. He was actively being considered.
One of the other names was circled in red.
I didn’t recognize it. But I had a feeling I would.
A soft noise pulled me from the page. Just the echo of a step outside the door. I tensed, slipping the file under my cloak, spine straightening.
No one entered.
Still, I knew I wasn’t alone.
The air shifted when I returned to the main halls, and not in a way I could explain. Maybe it was Damon’s absence–still cold still distant–or maybe it was just me growing too paranoid. But I could feel it: the eyes, the weight, the subtle tug of someone watching with intent.
Not every shadow was trying to hurt me anymore.
Some were trying to help.
th
But the distance around Damon had grown harsh. I’d seen him twice since that initial encounter when I returned. Both times from a distance. And both times, something in him looked… wrecked.
And I didn’t know if I was the cause or the casualty..
Vanessa lingered at the edge of every corridor, her gaze sharp, curious. As if she knew something had shifted but hadn’t yet figured out what she wanted
Chapter 60
to do about it.
She watched me with suspicion and the frustration of someone trying to find the missing piece of a puzzle that wouldn’t cooperate.
I smiled when she passed me near the gardens. Didn’t flinch when she brushed too close. If she wanted a reaction, she’d have to work for it now.
I was too busy collecting secrets, finding a way to save my mother if all this crashed down on me. Like the folder now hidden beneath my mattress. And the whispered note that led me there.
At dinner that night, I sat six chairs from Damon. His eyes didn’t meet mine.
But Ronan’s did. Just for a heartbeat.
He looked at me like someone who saw the whole board. Who had seen the trap I walked into the day I stepped into the palace and was now trying to teach me how to walk around it.
Or maybe he was just curious how far I’d go before I fell in.
Either way, I wasn’t playing to survive anymore.
I was learning how to win.
