Camden's next message didn't come by pigeon, scroll, or servant. It came carved into the underside of a tea saucer I nearly shattered when I set my cup down.
I recognized his script—sharp, slanted, like a blade carving each letter into skin.
> "The crypt lies beneath the old cathedral archives. Locked with a name no one dares speak."
> "You must enter during the High Bell—when even the guards kneel to pray."
> "But be warned. What sleeps below remembers."
Charming.
I tucked the saucer into my cloak, just as Dahlia entered with my dress for the Queen's tea: pale violet, high-collared, with silver embroidery shaped like storm clouds across the hem. A not-so-subtle metaphor of status. Grace laced with danger.
I'd chosen it on purpose.
---
The Queen's Mid-Spring Garden Tea was hosted in the western arboretum—an ancient stone courtyard now overgrown with white blossoms and whispering vines. Ivy coiled up cracked archways. The sun glinted through the foliage like judgment.
Only eight seats.
I arrived fifth.
Lady Marwyn of House Hargrave and Lord Sen Altros were already seated, flanked by two younger nobles I barely recognized—new players trying to gain favor.
Lady Elira smiled at me from across the table, her presence like an anchor in a shifting sea.
Then came the Queen.
She didn't glide in—she arrived. Tall, silver-haired, and sharp-eyed, Queen Amelthea wore mourning black despite the spring blooms around us. Her expression was a mask carved from stone.
"Let us begin," she said, with no warmth.
---
The first hour was civil, all clipped smiles and subtle jabs dressed as compliments. The Queen listened as the nobles discussed festival arrangements, trade routes, and floral themes as though the kingdom weren't rotting at its roots.
Then, halfway through a discussion on wheat levies, the Queen turned her gaze on me.
"Lady Vale," she said, "we've heard of your recent… renewal."
Every head turned.
"New staff. New routines. A fondness for shadowed places. And, of course, your curious bond with my future daughter-in-law."
Elira flinched.
The Queen's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Tell us, what drives this sudden transformation?"
I sipped my tea calmly.
"I was bored of playing the part I was cast in," I said. "I decided to become the author instead."
That drew a few sharp inhales. Marwyn blinked. Sen Altros smirked behind his cup.
The Queen arched a brow. "And what story do you intend to write?"
"One where truth is no longer treated as treason," I said. "And where the crown doesn't hide behind old ghosts."
Silence.
Then the Queen smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of lips. "Careful, child. The ghosts of this court do not take kindly to being disturbed."
"I'm counting on it."
---
After the tea, as nobles filtered away in pairs and whispers, Elira brushed my hand with a folded paper. She didn't speak. Just gave me a look of quiet urgency before vanishing behind her guards.
I waited until I was back in my chambers to read it.
> "They know about the crypt. The Queen has ordered it sealed permanently. Tonight."
I stood there, staring at the words, heart pounding.
They were moving. Fast.
And if I didn't get there before the High Bell, the truth would be buried forever.
---
Meanwhile, in the royal council chamber, Prince Kael interrupted a budget meeting to raise a seemingly innocuous point:
"The Vale estate was accused of treason twenty-seven years ago… based on a document that no one has seen in nearly a decade. I request a formal review of its authenticity."
The High Cardinal—seated in shadow, face calm—tapped his silver ring once.
> "Be careful, Your Highness," he said. "Some stones are best left unturned."
Kael met his gaze with steel.
"Then I suppose I'll just have to turn them all."
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