Chapter 6: The Taste of Ashes

The cold steel of the blade pressed against my throat, and the familiar scent of sandalwood and rain cut through the panic swirling in my mind. I knew that scent. I had memorized it in the quiet hours of the night, when I had lain awake in my lavish prison, dreaming of a life that wasn’t mine.

"Your Grace," I whispered, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart. "I did not send that message."

Prince Kael’s eyes—the color of a storm-tossed sea—burned with a fury I had never seen. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought the bone might shatter. The dagger in his hand didn't waver. "Do you think me a fool, Lady Elara? The seal is yours. The handwriting matches the letters you send to your mother. And the message—" His voice cracked, a sound so raw it nearly broke me. "It speaks of my father's death as if it were a celebration."

"Because it's a trap," I pleaded, daring to raise my hands, palms open. "Someone is setting me up. Why would I write a letter confessing treason and then leave it in my own chambers for you to find? It's too convenient."

"Perhaps you grew careless. Or perhaps you wanted me to find it, to see the truth of your loyalty." He pressed the blade closer, and I felt the sting of a pinprick, a single bead of blood sliding down my neck. "You have been in the palace for three months. Three months since your father’s rebellion was crushed. Tell me, Lady Elara, was your sweet submission merely an act?"

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. My father’s face flashed before my eyes—proud, defiant, and ultimately broken. I had been sent to the palace as a hostage, a token of peace. And I had tried, gods above, I had tried to play my part. But I had never expected to fall in love with the prince who was supposed to be my enemy.

"Test me," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Search my rooms. Question the staff. The real traitor is still here, in this castle, laughing at us as we tear each other apart."

Kael’s breath hitched. For a moment, the mask of the avenging prince slipped, and I saw the man who had kissed me beneath the willow tree just last week, who had promised to show me the stars from the highest tower. But the moment passed. His eyes hardened once more.

"I will do more than search," he snarled, sheathing the dagger with a violent motion. "You will be confined to your chambers. No visitors, no letters, no proof of your innocence. If my father takes a turn for the worse, I will have you tried for high treason. And I will swing the sword myself."

He turned, his black cloak swirling around him like a shroud. I reached out, my fingers brushing his sleeve. "Kael, please—"

He flinched as if burned. "Do not call me that. You lost the right the moment my father collapsed at breakfast."

The door slammed behind him, and the lock clicked with a sound that echoed like a death knell. I slid to the floor, my hands trembling as I touched the thin line of blood on my neck. The urgency of the situation clawed at me, but I forced my mind to calm. I had to think.

The letter. The seal. The handwriting. It was all too perfect. Someone had access to my private chambers, to my desk, to my ink. There was only one person with such free rein—my lady’s maid, Rosalind. She had been assigned to me by the Queen herself. And she had been unusually absent all morning.

I scrambled to my feet, pounding on the door. "Guards! I demand to see the Queen! I have information about the true traitor!"

Silence. Then, a muffled voice from beyond the wood. "Her Majesty is with the King. She sends her regrets."

The King. The poison—if it was poison—was slow-acting. He was still alive, clinging to life. That gave me time, but not much. I pressed my forehead against the cool wood, my mind racing. The message was meant to be found. But it wasn't meant to be found by Kael. It was meant for the King. To make him doubt me, to isolate me, and to leave me helpless when the true blow fell.

And I knew, with a chilling certainty, who the true blow was meant for.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor. Then a soft whisper through the keyhole. "My lady? Are you there?"

It was Rosalind.

I dropped to my knees, pressing my ear to the lock. "Where have you been? Who gave you the day off?"

"It was the Prince," she breathed, her voice quivering with fear. "He dismissed me before the King's collapse. He said I was needed in the kitchens to prepare a special supper. I thought it was a favor to you."

My blood ran cold. The Prince. Not Kael—the *Crown Prince's* younger brother, Prince Adrian. The one who always smiled too sweetly, who lingered too long at my side, who had once said that a woman like me was wasted on a man who ruled with his heart.

Adrian had set the stage. And if the King died, the succession would be contested. Kael, the eldest, was favored by the people. But Adrian had the Queen's ear, and the Queen had never loved her stepson.

"Rosalind," I said urgently, "you must go to the King's chambers. You must warn him—"

A scream tore through the castle, high and keening, cutting off my words. The sound of grief, of absolute devastation. My heart stopped.

The King was dead.

And in the chaos that followed, no one would believe a word I said.