The west tower was silent when Elara returned. The guards stood stiff in the torchlight, their faces pale in the cold glow of the moon. One saluted quickly when she approached.

“Has anyone entered?” she asked.

“No, Your Highness,” the guard said. “He has not made a sound.”

Elara studied the heavy door. Iron bars cut across its frame like the ribs of some dead beast. The silence behind it felt too deep, too patient.

“Unlock it,” she said.

The guard hesitated, then obeyed. The iron groaned as the door swung inward.

Kael sat where she had left him, shackles biting into his wrists, head bowed slightly. When he looked up, his gaze met hers with the same calm that unsettled her before.

“You should be sleeping,” Elara said.

“I doubt I would wake if I did,” Kael replied.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The torchlight flickered against the walls, throwing long shadows that seemed to crawl like living things.

“Speak,” she said. “Why did you come? What game are you playing?”

“No game,” Kael said. “I came because war is a fire that will never stop feeding unless someone smothers it.”

“And you expect me to believe you are the one to do that?”

“I expect nothing,” Kael said softly. “But I hoped you might listen.”

Elara paced slowly before him, boots echoing against the stone. “You killed my men. Do not pretend your hands are clean.”

“I gave no such order.” His voice sharpened, the first crack in his calm. “I told them to hold back. They disobeyed me. They wanted blood. Perhaps they wanted mine too.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why risk coming at all? You should have known you would not leave these walls alive.”

Kael’s lips curved in a ghost of a smile. “Perhaps I was ready for that.”

The words struck her harder than she expected.

Before she could speak again, a sound sliced through the silence. A faint scrape, like steel whispering against stone.

Elara’s head snapped toward the corner. The shadows shifted. Something moved.

She reached for her dagger an instant before the figure lunged.

The assassin came fast, blade flashing in the torchlight. Elara met him with steel, sparks flying as the clash rang out in the cold room. He was quick, stronger than she expected, his hood shadowing his face.

Kael rose halfway before his chains yanked him back.

“Elara!” His voice was sharp, warning her as the assassin struck again.

She dodged, slammed her shoulder into the attacker’s chest, and drove her dagger upward. The blade found flesh. Hot blood spilled over her hands. The man gasped and staggered back, clutching his side.

Elara did not hesitate. She wrenched the dagger free and struck again. This time the assassin fell, his body crumpling against the stones like a sack of grain.

Breathing hard, she stared at him as the torchlight painted his blood across the floor. Slowly, she reached down and tore the hood away.

The face beneath was young, hard with anger even in death. But what made her freeze was the crest etched into the leather at his shoulder.

The royal crest of Arkena. Her father’s mark.

Elara’s stomach turned to ice.

Kael spoke, his voice low but cutting through the stillness. “So. It seems I am not the only traitor in these walls.”

She looked at him, chest heaving. “You think this proves anything?”

“It proves enough,” Kael said. “You spared my life, and yet someone in your court does not want me breathing. Ask yourself why.”

Elara’s thoughts raced. The note. The whispers. And now this.

She wiped the blood from her dagger and stepped toward him, eyes hard. “Do not speak of my court. Do not speak of my father.”

Kael met her gaze without fear. “Then find the truth before it finds you.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the door banged open. Two guards rushed in, faces white as they saw the body on the floor.

“Your Highness,” one stammered. “What happened?”

Elara’s voice was steady, though her pulse thundered in her ears. “A traitor. Drag him out.”

The guards obeyed, hauling the corpse into the hall. When the door closed again, the tower seemed darker than before.

Elara looked at Kael one last time. His eyes followed her like shadows, calm and unyielding.

“Sleep, if you can,” she said coldly.

“I will try,” Kael murmured. “Though I imagine you will not.”

She left without answering.

Outside, the corridor stretched long and empty. The walls felt too close. Her father’s crest burned in her mind like a brand.

As she reached the stairs, another thought struck her, sharp as any blade. If the assassin had succeeded, Kael would be dead, and no one would have questioned it.

Someone wanted him silenced before dawn. And now she needed to know if that someone was her father.