CHAPTER 200: YOU KNOW SOMETHING

Liora stepped forward before she realized it, her voice shaking. "Then... then we can’t stay here. If the king sent them once, he’ll send them again. We need to..."

Her voice broke as Lucien’s eyes locked with hers, raw and burning. He looked at her as if she were both an anchor and a blade at his throat.

"No," he said, voice low, iron-willed. "We don’t run. Not anymore."

Rowan tilted his head, studying him. "Then you mean to fight."

Lucien turned his face toward the dripping forest, toward the castle that loomed invisible beyond the night. "I mean to uncover everything. The lies. The betrayals. The blood he spilled to sit his throne. If he wants me erased, then I’ll carve my name into stone he can’t shatter."

Liora’s breath caught in her throat. For the first time, she saw not just the disgraced prince who carried his exile like a second skin, but a man preparing to tear open the very heart of the kingdom.

The king had drawn first blood. Now Lucien meant to answer.

And as the rain hissed in the distance, Rowan spoke the thought that none of them dared name aloud until now.

"Then this," Rowan said, his voice a razor in the night, "is war."

The city spread out before them like a glittering beast, every tower and street a rib in its endless cage. By the time they reached the outer gates, dawn had burned away the last of the night’s chaos, but its silence felt deceptive...an exhale before a storm.

Lucien’s cloak was drawn high, concealing both his face and the blood still drying along the seam of his jaw. Rowan, in contrast, walked with brazen ease, tossing silver to the guards as if he were nothing more than a noble on late business. Beside them, Liora kept her eyes lowered, the hood of her borrowed cloak shading the bruises along her temple.

"Your faces are too well-known," Lucien muttered as the gates clanked open. "We risk much by entering like this."

Rowan smirked. "And yet we pass. Sometimes audacity hides better than silence."

Liora’s pulse quickened as the three of them stepped through into the city proper. The streets were hushed, but banners snapped from balconies, gold and crimson, the royal colors. A festival day was near, she remembered, though the weight in the air felt anything but celebratory.

"Where to?" she asked softly.

Lucien’s eyes scanned the rooftops before he answered. "The eastern quarter. Rowan has a place there, hidden, if he’s maintained it well."

"A shrine, technically," Rowan said lightly. "Though I doubt the goddess minds what I keep beneath her altar."

Liora gave him a sharp look. "You keep secrets even from the gods?"

"Especially from the gods," Rowan replied, his grin thin as paper.

They wound their way deeper into the city, ducking through alleys and keeping to the narrow lanes where few dared wander. But the deeper they went, the more Liora noticed it: the way eyes followed them from shuttered windows and the way certain corners were too quiet.

"Lucien," she whispered, tugging at his sleeve. "We’re being watched."

He had felt it too. The hair along his neck prickled, and the hand on his sword never strayed far.

Rowan stopped at a nondescript shrine wedged between a baker’s shop and a stonecutter’s guild. Its paint was peeling, its incense sticks long since burned to ash. He knelt with exaggerated reverence, pushing aside the offering bowl and pressing a sequence of hidden catches beneath the altar. With a faint grind, the stone shifted.

"After you," Rowan said, bowing mockingly.

Lucien ushered Liora inside first, then followed, his body taut with suspicion. The passage was narrow, damp, and steep, but at its end lay a chamber lit by oil lamps. Maps papered the walls, alongside coded notes and red strings pinned between names Liora barely recognized.

It was a web of conspiracies.

Her eyes widened as she stepped closer. On one wall, the Blackthorne crest was crossed out in red. Beside it, scribbled notes spoke of the Queen Dowager, of Alden, and of trade routes corrupted with bribes.

And then her own family’s name, Miral, was circled, with lines leading to names she did not know.

Her knees weakened. "My family... why are they here?"

Rowan’s voice, for once, was without jest. "Because they were not merely cruel to you, Liora. They are tied into something far greater and far uglier."

Lucien’s gaze hardened as he stepped forward. "Speak. Now."

But before Rowan could reply, a sharp whistle echoed down the tunnel. The sound of boots thundered toward them.

Rowan’s expression flickered. "They found us faster than expected."

The door above slammed open, and shadows poured down the stairs.

Lucien drew his blade in one smooth motion, his eyes cold steel. "So be it. Then the den will taste blood before it yields its secrets."

The silence that followed was not peace. It was the kind of silence that clung to the bones, heavy, jagged, and waiting to splinter.

The chamber reeked of blood and smoke, but beneath it all lay something more dangerous: unspoken words.

Lucien stood with his blade still slick, his jaw rigid. He hadn’t moved since the last body hit the ground. Rowan leaned against the wall, breathing hard, one hand pressed to a cut at his side. Liora clutched the dagger Lucien had thrown her earlier, her fingers trembling around the hilt.

None of them spoke. Not yet.

It was Rowan who finally broke the quiet. His voice was raw, tinged with something close to disbelief.

"You should not have survived that," he said, staring at Lucien as if he could strip him bare with his eyes. "And yet here you stand. Again."

Lucien’s lips curved in something that was not a smile. "Perhaps death has poor aim."

Rowan gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Or perhaps someone tampered with its mark."

That made Liora’s head snap toward him. "What do you mean?"

Rowan’s gaze flicked to her, sharp but not cruel. "Do you truly think this was random? That assassins strike the disgraced prince in his own hall by chance?" He shook his head slowly. "No. This was orchestrated. As much as what ruined him years ago."

Her stomach twisted. "You know something."