Lessa kneeled on the cold marble floor, the weight of the throne room pressing down on her as heavily as the silence that followed her arrival. Before her sat the Emperor and Empress, their expressions conveying confusion about the urgency of being rushed at midnight.
Her hands trembled where they rested against her thighs, hidden beneath the folds of her cloak. How could she even begin to speak the words that burned at the edge of her throat? How could she explain the unthinkable—that the crown prince had been taken, stolen from her under her watchful eye?
Elzar knelt beside her, equally silent, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the floor. The presence of his stillness did nothing to ease the storm raging within her. Her heart pounded with each echoing heartbeat, and still, she could not find her voice.
"Can you explain why you have summoned us from our slumber at such an ungodly hour?" The Emperor's voice cut through the hush, each syllable edged with something cold. His dark and commanding eyes bore down on Lessa with the weight of sovereign expectation.
Leesa's lips parted, breath catching her throat as she raised her gaze just slightly enough to meet the Emperor's narrowed eyes, where concern flickered beneath a mask of composure.
"Your Majesties," she began, her voice filled with hesitation. "Forgive me for disturbing your rest, but… I bring you grave news."
Besides her, Elzar shifted almost imperceptibly, as though bracing for the blow about to fall.
"The Crown Prince…he's gone," Leesa spoke hoarsely.
The Emperor's countenance darkened, and his voice rose like thunder in the grand chamber. He was acutely aware of Flavian's reckless schemes. "Where, pray tell, was he wandering at this hour?"
"His Highness desired to witness the festivities, Your Majesty. However, he did not venture forth alone. He was accompanied by myself and a select few guards, for we deemed it prudent that a smaller company would draw less attention. I believed it to be wise, given the heightened patrolling that occurred throughout the grounds of the Chorus."
The Emperor's eyes sharpened, cutting through the space like steel. His fury wasn't for Leesa, but for the shadows who had taken his son.
"Then how is he gone?" he barked, an edge of disbelief laced with fury. "You were there, and yet my son vanished into the night? Explain yourself!"
The Empress's hand rose slightly, a subtle gesture of restraint, but she said nothing—her gaze remained fixed on Lessa, cool and unreadable.
Lessa's breath hitched, but she did not look away. She couldn't. Not now.
"Your Majesty," she said, addressing the Emperor directly, "all was proceeding without incident throughout the day's festivities. The Prince was in high spirits. But as dusk fell and the crowd began to thin, I stepped away—only for a brief moment—to summon the royal carriage. When I returned, he was gone."
A hush fell over the chamber.
"I called for the guards at once," she continued, her tone faltering only slightly. "They had all been attacked—wounded and dazed, struggling to rise."
The empress's eyes narrowed as she spoke quietly, yet with an unmistakable steel beneath her words. "There are no courtiers here, no advisors to murmur their doubts," she said, her voice smooth as glass. "Just us."
Her gaze remained fixed on Leesa, unblinking.
"And yet… even in this silence, your tale does not rest easily on my ear."
She rose, slow and deliberate, the train of her gown whispering against the stone as she stepped down from the dais. She moved not like a mother grieving her son, but like a queen scenting deceit.
"You say you stepped away for but a moment, and in that breath of time, my son—strong, guarded, vigilant—vanished." She paused. "Without a sound. Without a struggle. Without a witness."
She circled Leesa now, like a falcon drifting on a current above its prey.
"No guards remain standing. No enemy corpse lies at your feet. Nothing left behind but silence and blood." Her voice dropped a pitch. "That is not a tale. That is a riddle."
Then she stopped just behind Leesa, her presence coiled and close.
"Tell me again, Lady Marlene," she murmured, "this time without the calm of practised words. Tell me, what do you think truly happened there?" as she slowly returned to her seat.
Elzar finally lifted his head beside her, his voice gravelly as he defended. "With respect, Your Majesties," he said, "What happened was no accident. This was no random ambush. This was orchestrated. And if there's blame to be cast, it should fall not on her shoulders, but on whoever fed the enemy our route."
"You speak well, Sir Amadori," she said softly, without looking at him. My instincts rebel against this tale, Lady Leesa. It offends my mind that my son could vanish under your watch."
Her gaze sharpened, but her tone lowered.
"And yet… if what you say is true, if this was indeed no accident but a design, then Lady Marlene… you shall bring him back. Prove your innocence. Find my son. Or do not return," declared the empress in her final words.
The Empress's words lingered in the chamber, echoing like a final judgment. The fire snapped quietly in the hearth, its embers casting flickering shadows across the Emperor's face.
He had been silent as she spoke. His fury was leashed but simmered beneath the surface. His hand gripped the armrest, then he slowly released it. His shoulders dropped, just enough for those watching to notice. He gulped once, barely audible. The tension carved into his brow eased as though her wrath had drawn the storm from him.
"This was not chaos. It was designed," called the Emperor. His eyes, dark as tempered iron, fixed on Leesa—not with suspicion, but with a weighty trust.
"Someone within these walls knew our plans. Knew our route. Knew precisely when to strike." He glanced toward the dark corners of the room, as if betrayal might step forward from the shadows. "That someone still walks through these halls."
He rose to his feet, the folds of his robe falling heavy around him.
"You will go, Lady Marlene," he said, his voice low and resolute. "You will find him. And when you return, we will deal with the traitor."
Then he looked once more at the Empress, and in that fleeting glance, there was no crown—only a man who feared for his son, and perhaps, feared his wife just a little more.