CHAPTER 186: LOSE SOMETHING?

The parchment sat unopened on Lucien’s desk, its seal like a crimson eye staring back at all of them. No one spoke at first. The fire in the grate hissed softly, and the scent of damp leather from Lucien’s coat lingered in the air.

Liora stood to the side, her arms folded, trying to ignore the way her pulse thudded. The two strange guards waited near the door, their faces impassive, their armor marked with a faint black-and-gold insignia, one she didn’t recognize.

Lucien didn’t move until Rowan stepped forward. "Are you going to read it, or shall I?"

That earned him a sharp look, but Lucien finally broke the seal. His eyes flicked over the contents, and for the briefest moment, a shadow crossed his face, gone almost before she could register it.

"It’s a summons," he said flatly. "The Queen Dowager requests my presence. Alone."

"Requests?" Rowan arched a brow. "That word doesn’t appear in her vocabulary."

Liora shifted uncomfortably. "Do you think it’s about..."

Lucien’s gaze snapped to hers, cutting her off. "It’s about politics. It’s always about politics."

But she noticed how his hand tightened on the parchment until the edges curled.

Edgar appeared in the doorway with a low bow. "The carriage has been prepared, my lord."

Lucien nodded once, already moving toward the door. "Rowan, keep watch here. No one comes in, no one leaves."

His eyes flicked briefly to Liora; it was an instruction she couldn’t decipher, and then he was gone, the sound of his boots fading down the corridor.

As the door shut, Rowan leaned against the desk. "If she’s calling him in now, it’s because something’s changed." His eyes were unreadable as they met Liora’s. "And when things change at court... blood follows."

She tried to steady her breathing, but the feeling in her chest only grew heavier.

It wasn’t just Lucien walking into danger...this summons would ripple outward, and she had no idea how far the waves would reach.

The palace had a way of swallowing sound. Even the steady clatter of the carriage wheels faded into a hush by the time Lucien stepped into the Queen Dowager’s receiving hall. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and something sharper, maybe a clove or cardamom, an intentional blend meant to soothe and unsettle at once.

The chamber was vast; its high arched windows filtered through gauzy silk that made the light appear soft and almost unreal. Courtiers lingered along the edges like shadows draped in fine fabric, their murmurs dying as Lucien entered. Every eye followed him, weighing and measuring.

At the far end of the hall, upon a carved throne of pale wood, sat the Queen Dowager. Her age had not dulled her presence; if anything, it had honed it. She wore silver and midnight blue, her hair bound with pearls, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

"Lord Lucien," she greeted, her voice carrying easily, cool and measured. "It has been too long since you graced these halls."

Lucien bowed, a movement more respectful than deferential. "Your Majesty."

Her lips curved faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "I imagine you are wondering why I have summoned you with such urgency."

"I had my suspicions," he replied, his tone even.

"Good. Then I won’t waste our time." She gestured to a servant, who stepped forward carrying a tray draped in crimson cloth. The servant set it on a low table before Lucien and stepped back.

With a flick of her fingers, the Queen Dowager revealed what lay beneath: a broken medallion, its once-perfect crest splintered cleanly in two.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. "Where did you get this?"

"It was found," she said, "at the edge of the northern wood. Near the old watchtower. I believe you will recognize the insignia."

Lucien did. It was the mark of his personal guard, one that should never have left his estate.

A murmur rippled through the gathered courtiers, sensing the undercurrent of threat in the room.

The Queen Dowager leaned forward slightly. "Your enemies grow bold, Lucien. Bold enough to trespass. Bold enough to leave their... trophies where I might find them."

Her gaze locked with his. "I summoned you because you have a decision to make. You can either move first... or wait to be struck."

The silence between them stretched, heavy with the weight of unspoken consequences.

Back at the estate, the corridors felt different without Lucien’s presence felt emptier, but somehow sharper at the edges, as though the walls themselves were listening. Liora tried to busy herself in her chamber, but the unease wouldn’t fade. Rowan had posted himself near the front hall, his casual posture belying the way his eyes flicked to every movement, every sound.

It was near dusk when she caught a sliver of movement in the courtyard below her window. A figure in a hood, lingering too long near the stables, glancing up toward her rooms. She stepped back from the lattice, heart pounding, and pressed against the wall where she could watch unseen.

The hooded figure produced a small roll of parchment and tucked it between two loose stones in the wall before slipping away toward the servants’ gate.

Liora didn’t hesitate. She pulled on her shawl and made her way down the side stair, keeping to the shadows. The stable yard smelled of hay and damp earth, and her footsteps were muffled by the packed dirt as she approached the wall.

Her fingers found the loose stones, prying them back just enough to retrieve the parchment. It was bound with plain twine, no seal, the paper rough and worn from handling. She unrolled it quickly under the fading light.

Three names were scrawled there.

Hers. Rowan’s. And Lucien’s.

Beside each, a mark she didn’t understand: a circle for hers, a cross for Rowan’s, and a jagged line for Lucien’s.

"Lose something?"

She spun, clutching the paper to her chest. Rowan stood a few steps away, one brow raised. His tone was light, but his eyes went straight to her hands.

"I found it," she said quickly.

He studied her for a moment, then stepped closer, his voice dropping. "That was meant to be collected tonight. Whoever left it will know it’s missing."

Her stomach twisted. "What do the marks mean?"

Rowan glanced toward the gate, then back at her. "Targets. Or priorities. Depends on who’s paying the spy."

The weight of the parchment in her hand felt heavier with every second. Somewhere out there, someone was tracking them, and they were organized enough to have a list.

"We need to show Lucien," she whispered.

Rowan’s mouth pressed into a thin line. "He’ll want proof of the spy, not just a list. And I think I know how to get it."

As the last light bled from the sky, Liora felt the threads pulling tighter around all of them. Somewhere, the trap was already being set.

The sound of hooves announced Lucien’s return long before the gates opened. By the time the riders entered the courtyard, torches had been lit, casting the stone walls in shifting gold and shadow. Liora stood just beyond the archway, the parchment hidden inside her sleeve, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears.

Lucien dismounted with the same quiet control he always carried, handing the reins to a waiting groom. His gaze swept the yard once, taking in faces, posture, and mood, and then it found her. For a moment, something unreadable passed between them, as if he already sensed the urgency in her stance.

Inside, in the privacy of his study, she laid the parchment on the desk between them. The candlelight made the ink look darker, almost wet.

"Where did this come from?" His voice was low and dangerous.

"I saw someone leave it in the stable wall," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Rowan thinks it’s a spy’s message. The marks..."

"I know what the marks mean." His interruption was sharp enough to make her flinch. He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking at her again. "The Queen Dowager summoned me today. She showed me this." He reached into his coat and produced a broken medallion, its crest splintered, identical to the one Liora had seen in his possession before.

"She told me my enemies are moving openly now. And she’s right." His gaze dropped to the parchment again. "This... proves they know exactly where to strike."

Liora hesitated. "Then we strike first."

That earned her the faintest flicker of a smirk, but it vanished almost instantly. "Easier said than done. Whoever left this didn’t expect it to be intercepted; they’ll realize soon it’s gone. That means they’ll be changing their plans, maybe even accelerating them."

Rowan entered without knocking, closing the door behind him. "Then we give them something to bite and choke on." He tossed a small bundle onto the desk. Inside was a scrap of dark cloth embroidered with a barely visible sigil. "Found it snagged on the stable wall. Belongs to the palace’s shadow guard."

Lucien’s eyes sharpened. "Which means this isn’t just a spy," he said slowly. "It’s someone with royal sanction."

The room fell into silence, thick with the weight of that truth.

Liora realized, with a slow chill down her spine, that this was no longer about whispers and stolen notes. They were already in the game, and the other side was playing for blood.