CHAPTER 202: THE PALACE SUMMONS.

Liora’s breath caught, her fists curling. "What are you saying?"

Lucien’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t intervene. Rowan pushed himself off the wall, wincing from the pain, and took a slow step forward.

"You know your parents’ deaths were no accident."

The words struck like a blade to her chest. Liora froze, eyes widening.

Her voice trembled. "What do you know about my parents?"

Rowan tilted his head, almost pitying. "Only that the same web that strangled them is the one wrapped around him"...he nodded at Lucien..."and now around you."

Lucien moved before she could demand more, his cloak whispering like shadow. He grabbed Rowan by the collar and slammed him back against the wall, steel in his eyes. "Not another word."

Rowan coughed, but his smirk didn’t falter. "You can’t keep her ignorant forever, Lucien. She’s in this whether you like it or not. And the truth always cuts its way free."

The room pulsed with silence again, broken only by Liora’s unsteady breathing. She stared at Lucien, searching his face, searching for anything, denial, anger, truth.

But he only looked at her once, and in that fleeting glance, she saw it: the weight he carried, the shadow that chained him, and the knowledge that her life was no longer hers to control.

Outside, thunder rolled again. Not distant this time, closer, echoing through the night like a warning.

The courtyard was littered with broken arrows, blood stains smearing across stone tiles still wet from the morning drizzle. Lucien’s sword dripped crimson as he lowered it, his breath measured, but his eyes restless, still scanning shadows for threats.

Rowan stood a step away, cloak torn, one hand pressed against a shallow gash across his ribs. Despite the wound, his smirk lingered, sharp and knowing, as if the fight had only confirmed what he already expected.

Liora, chest heaving from the frantic clash, kept her dagger raised. Her knuckles ached from gripping the hilt too hard, yet she didn’t dare loosen it. She could feel the lingering presence of danger, like a hand poised above her neck.

"Too clean," Rowan muttered finally, voice low. He kicked aside one of the fallen assassins. "They moved with discipline, but they weren’t meant to kill us outright."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "You’re suggesting they were here to test us."

Rowan’s smirk deepened into something darker. "Not a test. Measure. Whoever sent them wanted to know how you fight now, Lucien. Whether exile dulled your blade or honed it sharper."

Liora glanced between them, tension pulling her brows together. "You mean... someone close to the palace."

"Closer than that," Rowan replied, his tone almost taunting. His eyes flicked to Lucien, studying him with a predator’s patience. "You already know whose signature this reeks of."

Lucien’s silence was heavier than denial. His hand flexed on his sword, and for a fleeting moment, Liora saw not the disgraced prince but a man balancing on the edge of fury and restraint.

Rowan stepped closer, his voice dropping. "The queen dowager. Lilian doesn’t trust shadows she cannot cast herself. This was her way of reminding you that even in disgrace, your life is hers to take."

Liora’s blood ran cold. Queen Dowager Lilian, her aunt’s whispered name for the iron hand behind half the palace’s secrets. The one Evelyne Miral had appealed to, trading her away.

Lucien finally spoke, his tone as sharp as steel drawn from its sheath. "If Lilian thinks she can play me like a piece on her board, she’s miscalculated."

Rowan’s gaze lingered, unreadable. "Or perhaps she hasn’t. Perhaps she’s always known which string to pluck. The only question is..." He turned his eyes on Liora, the weight of his stare like a blade against her skin. "...how far she’ll use you to keep Lucien bound."

Liora stiffened, every instinct screaming at the insinuation. She wanted to deny it, to throw Rowan’s words back at him. But the silence between Lucien and Rowan told her something far worse: they had both considered it already.

Before she could speak, the sound of distant horns echoed across the estate walls, three sharp calls, urgent and official.

Lucien straightened, expression hardening into command. "The palace summons."

Rowan’s grin returned, but it carried no warmth. "So soon. She doesn’t waste time."

Liora’s grip tightened on her dagger. She didn’t know if the queen dowager was summoning them for protection... or for the noose.

And in that moment, under the chill sky and fading mist, she realized their fight had only just begun.

The summons arrived before dawn, carried by a palace courier whose cloak was still wet from the night’s rain.

Neither Lucien nor Liora needed to read the seal pressed into the wax to know who it came from.

The serpent entwined around a crown. Lilian’s mark.

By the time the palace gates loomed before them, the air was already heavy with expectation. The corridors they once knew as cold stone now felt like a gauntlet, lined with whispering courtiers who peered at them from behind half-drawn fans and silken sleeves.

Liora kept her head lowered, but her hand brushed the back of Lucien’s, a fleeting gesture that steadied them both.

Inside the Queen Dowager’s audience chamber, everything was arranged for spectacle.

Lilian sat beneath a canopy of embroidered velvet, her posture regal, her eyes sharp as glass. Around her, the elder council and chosen nobles filled the chamber like silent vultures, each waiting for a sign of weakness.

"Prince Lucien," Lilian’s voice cut across the chamber, smooth as poured wine, "and his... concubine."

Her gaze slid to Liora, lingering long enough to sting.

Lucien bent into a stiff bow, his tone clipped.

"You summoned us, Your Majesty."

"I did." Lilian leaned forward, her jeweled fingers tapping the armrest of her chair. "Your survival in the storm was... impressive. But survival is not proof of worth. Today, you will be tested in truth."

A ripple went through the chamber. Liora felt it in her bones.

"What test?" Lucien asked, though his jaw was tight.

Lilian’s smile was almost kind.

"One of loyalty. One of trust."

Her attendants stepped aside. Servants brought forth a tall, draped frame, its velvet cover concealing whatever was beneath. With a flick of her wrist, Lilian signaled, and the cloth fell away.

Beneath it stood a relic of the palace’s darkest history, an ornate chest bound with iron clasps, the lock engraved with the royal crest.

"The Trials of Oath," murmured one of the councilmen, his voice betraying unease.

Lilian’s eyes glinted.

"You will open this chest together. What you find within will demand a choice. One of you must speak truth. The other must bear silence. If either falters, if trust breaks, the consequences will be... absolute."

The chamber stilled, all breath held.

Liora’s fingers curled against her skirts. She could feel Lucien’s gaze flick toward her, heavy with meaning, before he masked it again.

Lilian only smiled, as though she had already won.

The attendants set the chest upon a pedestal of black marble. Its weight seemed to reverberate through the floor, the clasps gleaming like hungry teeth. Every eye in the chamber fixed on it, and the silence pressed closer, thicker, as if the very stones of the palace were listening.

"Approach," Lilian commanded.

Lucien moved first, his boots striking sharply against the marble. Liora followed, her breath shallow, her fingers brushing the edge of her skirt to ground herself. The chest loomed before them, more menacing than any weapon.

Up close, she saw the faint etchings along the iron , words carved in the old tongue, ones she half-remembered from her childhood lessons. To open is to bind. To bind is to bleed.

The lock clicked open under the steward’s key, and the chest’s lid creaked back, revealing not gold or jewels, but a mirror. Its polished surface gleamed unnaturally bright, though no candle touched it.

Gasps rippled through the chamber. The Oath Mirror.

Lilian’s voice carried over the murmurs, smooth and merciless.

"This relic has bound kings and broken queens. It does not lie. It shows truth unmasked, no matter how deep you bury it. One of you will speak an oath into it. The other must swear silence, no matter what is revealed."

Lucien’s jaw clenched, the cords of his neck taut. Liora’s stomach knotted. To speak, to reveal something of herself before the court, before Lilian , could be ruin. But to stay silent while Lucien was forced to bare his truth? That could be worse.

"Choose," Lilian said. "Who will give their voice, and who will give their silence?"

The words fell like a blade.

Lucien turned to Liora, his eyes locking onto hers. For an instant the mask he wore cracked, and she saw the storm raging beneath. His hand twitched as if he meant to reach for her, then stilled.

"I will speak," he said, his voice low but firm.

The chamber rustled, hungry for scandal. Liora’s lips parted, but no sound came. He had decided , not out of pride, but protection. She could feel it in the weight of his gaze.

The steward stepped forward with a silver dagger, its blade glinting cold. "Blood must seal it," he said.

Lucien took the dagger without hesitation and drew it across his palm, crimson welling bright. He pressed his hand to the mirror, and the surface rippled like water, pulling the blood into its depths.

"Speak, Prince Lucien," Lilian urged, her smile like a noose tightening. "Give us the truth you have buried."

The mirror flared, light spilling across Lucien’s face. His voice emerged, steady but raw, carrying through the chamber.

"I am not guilty of the treason they name me for." His words struck like thunder. "The blood spilled that night was not mine to claim. I was framed by one who sits in this very hall."

The chamber erupted, courtiers gasping, whispers flying. Lilian’s smile faltered, sharpness hardening in her eyes.

The mirror pulsed, hungry, demanding more.

Lucien’s voice deepened, his gaze sweeping the hall. "And if truth damns me further, so be it. But I will not let silence choke her..." He cut off, his eyes flicking to Liora, the words swallowed before they could break her vow of silence.

The mirror darkened, sealing his truth within, and the chest slammed shut with a ringing finality.

The chamber was chaos, but Lilian only rose slowly, her composure tight as a bowstring. "So the disgraced prince names shadows and conspiracies," she said coldly. "Very well. We shall see what the truth brings."