The black feather lay across Elara’s palm, gleaming under the torchlight like a piece of night torn from the sky. She closed her fingers around it, but the chill sank deeper than her skin.

The Crow Hand. She had not seen their mark since the night her mother died.

The wind howled through the courtyard as she turned toward the west tower. Every step felt heavier than the last.

The guards at the door straightened when she approached. One was Darius, his shoulders square, his eyes sharp beneath the rim of his helm.

“Report,” she said.

“No movement inside, Your Highness,” Darius replied. “He has been quiet.”

Elara studied him for a breath longer than needed. Darius was loyal. He had served her family since she was a child, and his blade had never faltered. Yet something in his gaze tonight was not simple obedience.

“Keep it that way,” she said and entered the cell.

The door shut behind her with a heavy thud.

Kael sat on the bench, chains coiled at his wrists. He looked up as she entered, and his dark eyes flicked to her hand.

“What is that?” he asked.

Elara opened her fingers. The feather glimmered between them. “Tell me what you know of this.”

Kael’s expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. “The Crow Hand.”

Her grip tightened. “You know their name.”

“Everyone who has bled in these wars knows their name,” Kael said. “They are no kingdom’s soldiers. No banner binds them. They serve only coin.”

“They killed my mother,” Elara said. The words left her before she could hold them back.

Kael’s gaze darkened, but his voice stayed calm. “Then you know what they are. They are vultures. They circle where the dead will fall. And someone here wants more dead than there already are.”

“Who?” Elara’s voice cut sharp.

Kael shook his head slowly. “I could guess. But guesses are as dangerous as blades when thrown in the dark.”

Elara moved closer, the feather still in her hand. “Do they serve Solvane?”

“No,” Kael said. “They serve the one who pays highest. Which means they are likely serving both.”

The thought burned like acid. “Both?”

“Yes,” Kael said. “War is a market. Peace is the enemy of men like that.”

Elara turned away, pacing the narrow length of the cell. The torch hissed behind her, spitting sparks into the shadows.

Her mother’s face came back to her, soft in the lamplight the night before she died. The memory tightened her throat until it hurt to breathe.

“Why did they mark me?” she asked.

Kael’s voice was quiet, almost too quiet. “Because you are next.”

The door opened before she could speak again. Light spilled in, cutting across the floor.

Darius stood in the doorway, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His eyes moved from her to Kael and back again.

“Your Highness,” he said. “The king requests your presence. At once.”

Elara studied him, then nodded. “Tell him I will come.”

Darius hesitated. “It sounded urgent.”

“Tell him,” she repeated. Her tone left no room for argument.

When he left, she turned back to Kael. “You will stay alive until I say otherwise.”

Kael gave a faint smile. “I believe you. The question is whether your father does.”

She ignored the twist of heat that rose at his words and walked out without looking back.

The corridor was quiet except for the distant hiss of the wind. Her boots rang against the stone as she crossed toward the council wing. Torches guttered in their brackets, their flames bending like they feared the dark.

As she reached the corner, voices broke the silence. Low. Urgent. She stilled, pressing herself to the cold wall.

“…before the summit,” one said. Smooth. Confident.

Serin.

“If it must be done, it will be done,” said another, rougher, edged like a blade.

Elara moved closer, silent as breath. The voices came from behind the half-open door of the war chamber.

“The Crow Hand does not fail,” the rough voice said.

Serin’s reply was silk on steel. “See that they remember that. The princess must not leave the summit alive.”

The words struck like a sword in her chest.

She stepped back, her breath sharp in her throat. The feather in her palm felt heavier now, slick with the weight of truth.

The door creaked as if stirred by the wind. Elara slipped into the shadows before it opened.

She did not hear the rest. She did not need to