Chapter 3
The footsteps passed without slowing.
Seren stayed frozen against the wall until the sound faded completely, then released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Her mother’s warnings echoed in her head. Never wander. Never linger.
She’d done both.
She turned to retrace her steps but the corridor looked different now. The torchlight seemed dimmer, casting shadows that moved wrong. She counted the doors as she passed them—one, two, three—but they were all identical, unmarked. Servants’ doors had scratches and wear. These were too clean, too deliberate.
This wasn’t a servants’ corridor at all.
She walked faster, trying to find the turn she’d taken, but the passages twisted in ways that didn’t match her mental map. Left should lead back to the gallery. Instead it opened into another narrow hallway, this one sloping slightly downward.
The palace was too quiet here. No footsteps overhead, no distant voices, no sounds of life. Just her breathing and the soft rustle of her skirt against stone.
She should turn back. Find a guard and admit she was lost. Better to face embarrassment than whatever waited in these empty passages.
But turning back meant passing the King’s chambers again. Meant risking another encounter with Princess Elowen or explaining to the steward why a simple medicine delivery had taken so long.
She kept walking.
The corridor opened into a wider passage, this one lined with doors on both sides. Still no markings. Still no sound. She picked one at random and tried the handle.
Locked.
The next three were the same. Locked tight, the metal cold under her palm.
The fifth door moved.
Just slightly, the handle turning under her grip. She pulled her hand back like it had burned her. This was worse than being lost. Locked doors stayed locked for reasons. Opening them without permission was grounds for dismissal at best.
She moved on quickly, but the corridor dead-ended twenty paces later.
Seren turned around. She’d have to go back, try a different route. But when she reached the unlocked door again, she stopped.
Voices drifted through the wood. Low and male and laced with something she couldn’t quite name. Not anger. Something colder.
She pressed her ear to the door before she could stop herself.
“—three more days at most,” one voice said. Level, controlled.
“The healer said a week.” This voice was sharper, impatient.
“The healer is being optimistic.” A third voice, quieter than the others but somehow more commanding. “We need to be ready p>
“We’ve been ready p>
“Have we? Because last time you said that, we nearly lost the eastern border p>
“That wasn’t my fault p>
“I didn’t say it was. I’m saying we can’t afford mistakes p>
Silence. Then the controlled voice spoke again. “What about the servants p>
Seren’s heart stopped.
“What about them?” the sharp voice asked.
“They’re talking. About the bodies. About the killings p>
“Let them talk. Fear keeps them obedient p>
“Or it makes them desperate. Desperate people do stupid things p>
The third voice cut through. “Then we handle it. Same as we handle everything else p>
More silence. Seren knew she should leave. Every second she stayed was a second closer to being caught. But her feet wouldn’t move.
“Someone’s out there,” one of them said suddenly.
Her blood turned to ice.
Footsteps approached the door. Fast. She jerked away and ran, not caring about the noise anymore. The corridor blurred past. She took the first turn she found, then another, her breath coming in gasps.
Behind her, a door opened. “Who’s there p>
She didn’t stop. She ran until the passages grew lighter, more familiar. Until she heard voices and footsteps and the normal sounds of palace life.
Only then did she slow, pressing her hand against her chest to calm her racing heart.
She’d heard them. The triplets. Had to be. Three voices, three men, talking about the King’s death like it was already decided. Talking about bodies and killings and handling problems.
And they’d known someone was listening.
Seren forced herself to walk normally as she made her way back to the servants’ quarters. She kept her eyes down and her expression neutral. Just another servant going about her day.
But her hands were shaking.
And she couldn’t stop wondering what they’d meant by “handling” desperate servants.
When she finally reached her room, her mother was asleep. Seren sat on her own cot and stared at the wall, replaying every word she’d heard.
The King was dying faster than anyone admitted. The triplets were preparing for something. And somewhere in the palace, people were being killed.
She thought about the guards she’d overheard. Third body in two weeks. Throats torn out.
She thought about Princess Elowen’s words. Traitors in the palace.
And she thought about those three voices, cold and certain, discussing it all like a military strategy.
Outside her window, the sky had turned grey. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon.
The palace felt coiled, Lysa had said. Like something about to break.
Seren lay down and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come.
She’d wandered. She’d lingered. She’d listened to things that weren’t meant for her ears.
And tomorrow, she’d have to go back to the King’s chambers and pretend none of it had happened.