Chapter 8 - The Hollow Threads

  The morning after the feast arrived shrouded in stillness.

  Golden light spilled through the eastern wing’s tall, arched windows, catching on frost-ced panes in glistening halos.

  Lilienne stood barefoot on the stone balcony outside her guest chamber, hands cupped around a steaming porcein mug of tea. The crisp air stung her lungs, a clean cold that bit deeper than she expected. But she stayed.

  The silence felt sacred.

  And yet, the ache in her chest hadn’t loosened.

  Even after the grand feast st night, the elegant dancing, the clinking of goblets, the quiet changes in conversation, it wasn’t the luxury she remembered. Not even the scream. Not even the silence that came after. It was something gentler.

  Ravien’s voice.

  The way he had stepped beside her, his presence gentle but sure, offering his arm with no hesitation. The way he had led her away from the growing unease. Not to dismiss it, not to belittle it, but to shield her from it. To preserve her.

  He hadn’t ignored the scream.

  He had protected her from what followed.

  She remembered the way his hand had hovered near hers as they walked, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat. She had felt... safe.

  Not watched. Not judged. Not even comforted in the patronizing way nobles often comforted. Just... understood.

  And then there was the other presence still lingering in her mind. Cooler, more elusive.

  Solenne of House Lysarian.

  A muse, the nobles had whispered. A rare one. Sent from a family that rarely moved its pieces, but when it did, it meant something. House Lysarian had sent Lilienne letters. Warnings. Messages draped in careful poetry and riddled phrasing. She had never known the sender, only the seal.

  Until now. Perhaps.

  Lilienne could still feel the ghost of that brief exchange from the night before. Solenne’s distant courtesy. The flicker of recognition at the name “Caelistra.” And then the cool breeze of her departure, leaving Lilienne standing alone beneath her own hopes.

  Still, that moment mattered. Solenne hadn’t turned away cruelly, just cautiously. Lilienne understood. The Lysarians did not get involved. And perhaps Solenne feared her own position. But if there was even the smallest thread to pull, Lilienne couldn’t let it fray.

  She’d need to approach her slowly. Not as a desperate noble seeking answers, but as someone... familiar. Kind. Someone Solenne might trust.

  She’d wait for the right moment. Find the cracks in the wall. And when the time was right, ask what needed to be asked.

  A knock at her door stirred her from thought. It wasn’t loud, but familiar.

  “Lily.”

  Lucian stepped inside without waiting for a reply. He knew her well enough not to ask permission when she needed company.

  He joined her on the balcony without another word, leaning on the stone balustrade beside her. They stood in silence for a long moment, watching the garden below begin to thaw in the morning sun.

  “There’s something strange about st night,” Lucian said at st, his voice low, as if he were still processing everything.

  “What do you mean?” Lilienne turned to him, the memory of the event still fresh in her mind. “Oh, and is it not too early for this?”

  “Didn’t sleep,” he admitted.

  Her brows drew together, the trace of curiosity in her eyes softening into worry. “Lucian…”

  “I couldn’t help but think about the incident at the east wing st night.” Lucian’s gaze was distant, his eyes narrowed as he considered his words.

  Lilienne’s chest tightened at the recollection. “I’m still trying to understand what happened. The maid’s scream, the blood... It all felt wrong.”

  Lucian nodded, his jaw clenching. “It didn’t add up. Ravien told me the east wing was supposed to be closed that night, no one should’ve been there. That’s why he asked me to investigate.”

  “But the maid.. she said she had been given orders to deliver something there,” Lilienne interrupted, her voice soft. “Why would she be sent to a closed wing?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Lucian said, rubbing his brow. “The door was sealed shut, and there was no record of any deliveries to that part of the pace. No one had signed off on it, nothing on the schedule. But she swore that she had been told to deliver something. She was frantic when we spoke to her.”

  Lilienne shivered, remembering how the maid had appeared frightened and confused. “I don’t understand. If she was lying... why?”

  “I don’t think she was lying,” Lucian said quietly. “She was terrified, but I don’t think the blood was hers. It was like a warning. The way she was bleeding, it didn’t match her injuries. It wasn’t something accidental.”

  “And Ravien... he seemed to be the first to act when the maid screamed,” Lilienne added, her voice trembling slightly. “He was immediately concerned for me as well.. he asked if I was alright after the commotion. I think he wanted to make sure I wasn’t shaken.”

  Lucian’s eyes darkened. “He was quick to offer reassurance to everyone. He took charge, ordered the guards to secure the area. But when I looked into it, there were no signs of forced entry, nothing moved in that wing. It was like someone wanted the incident to happen, to draw attention.”

  Lilienne’s stomach twisted with unease. “Do you think... Ravien might know more than he’s letting on?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucian admitted, rubbing his chin. “He acted concerned, yes, but when he asked me to investigate the wing ter, he was too calm. Almost like he expected something to be there, something that he wanted me to find.”

  Lilienne frowned, still trying to make sense of it all. “But why would Ravien... if he truly knew something was wrong, why wouldn’t he just say it?”

  Lucian met her gaze, his expression conflicted. “That’s what I’m struggling with. He told me not to worry, said the discrepancies would bance out after the next audit. But I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  She was quiet for a moment, remembering how Ravien had offered her his arm to step outside for some fresh air after the commotion, his voice soft with concern. His kindness, the way he treated her like more than just a noblewoman, was so different from the coldness she’d grown used to from others.

  “It’s strange,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to trust him. He’s been kind to me... more than anyone else has been since I arrived.”

  Lucian looked at her with a heavy expression. “I know. And that’s what makes this difficult.” He took a deep breath, his eyes distant again. “I want to believe he’s just trying to protect the kingdom... but the more I investigate, the more questions I have.”

  Lilienne met his gaze, her heart heavy with uncertainty. “We don’t know who to trust anymore, do we?”

  Lucian shook his head slowly. “No. And that’s what scares me.”

  —

  A few days had passed since the incident at the royal masquerade ball, and Lucian still had no answers. Though he was a favored royal cipher, his position didn’t grant him the authority to question the maid directly, not without drawing attention. He couldn’t afford to raise suspicion. So, for now, he set the matter aside, choosing instead to pursue a quieter path: the royal archives.

  The archives in the lower wing of the pace smelled like old paper and ink. Dust floated in the air, only disturbed by the quiet steps of scribes moving between the shelves. Most of the kingdom’s courtiers avoided the archives. It was a pce of patience, of silence, of forgotten things. But Lucian moved through them with practiced ease.

  He greeted the record-keepers with respectful nods, offering fabricated reasons for his visit: a request for diplomatic logs, a need to reference old war treaties. No one questioned him. He wore the quiet confidence of someone who belonged.

  But he didn’t belong.

  Not here.

  Not with what he was looking for.

  He moved deeper, passing shelves of old books and broken scroll racks. He left behind the well-kept parts of the archive and stepped into a forgotten wing where even the dust felt undisturbed. The shelves leaned unevenly, and the walls were cracked and worn.

  Behind an old, dusty tapestry showing the first king’s coronation, he spotted what the rumors mentioned: a thin crack in the stone, just visible in the torchlight.

  It took time, and quiet force, but he managed to pry it open.

  Inside was a compartment no rger than a breadbox, sealed with rotting twine and brittle wax.

  Within: letters.

  Dozens of them.

  Some were crumpled and torn. Others carefully folded. None newer than five years.

  Testimonies.

  Not from nobles. Not from soldiers.

  From maids. Gardeners. Servants. Guards. Cooks.

  The names were unfamiliar, but the stories they told shared a grim thread: sudden disappearances. Bruises that couldn’t be expined. Whispers of locked rooms, blood in corridors, screams muffled in the night. Marks carved into stone. Cold rituals.

  And silence.

  So much silence.

  Lucian read until his hands ached from gripping parchment. Read until his vision blurred and the ink bled into one unending nightmare.

  One letter caught his eye. Shakily written, with tears smudging half the lines.

  “I told the overseer what I saw. I wish I hadn’t. He said if I speak again, I’ll never see daylight. Prince Ravien found me in the storeroom ter. Gave me bread. Said I mattered. Told me to forget. Not because he didn’t care.. but because he was afraid for me.”

  Lucian stared at the page.

  His fingers trembled.

  In all the letters, Ravien’s name had never appeared in accusation.

  Not once.

  Instead, he was defended.

  Remembered.

  Praised.

  Not as a hero, but as a gentle presence. A kindness. A shield.

  And yet... he was always there.

  Always close.

  Lucian’s mind raced. If Ravien had known, why hadn’t he acted publicly? If he hadn’t known, why had he always arrived after the worst had happened?

  It was almost too clean. Too perfect.

  And that disturbed him more than anything else.

  —

  Lilienne sat beneath the ivy-covered gazebo at the edge of the pace gardens, where a few stubborn autumn leaves still clung to the vines above. Her coat was left untouched beside her on the bench, and an open leather-bound book rested in her p, its spine slightly bent. But her eyes were no longer on the pages.

  When Lucian approached, she looked up with a small, warm smile. Her hair, braided neatly earlier, had unraveled in the breeze, strands caught against her cheek.

  “You look pale,” she said, shutting the book. “Archives didn’t treat you well?”

  He didn’t smile.

  Instead, he sat across from her, resting his hands on his knees, posture tense.

  “I found something,” he said.

  Lilienne’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Something important?”

  He nodded once. “Letters. From former staff. Years ago. They were hidden.”

  She didn’t interrupt.

  “They wrote about abuse. Disappearances. People being punished for things they didn’t do. Rooms sealed for days. Symbols carved into stone. None of it was ever answered. It was buried.”

  Lilienne’s mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. She sat straighter.

  “Was Ravien mentioned?”

  Lucian hesitated. Not for ck of truth, but because of how much it would cost to say it.

  “No,” he said finally. “Not once.”

  A beat passed. Wind rustled the ivy.

  She exhaled. “Then... maybe he really is who he seems to be.”

  Lucian studied her expression.

  Hopeful.

  Too hopeful.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he murmured.

  She blinked. “Afraid of what?”

  “That I’ll doubt someone who deserves faith.”

  Lilienne’s expression softened. “Lucian... you’ve always looked for truth, even at a cost. But sometimes... sometimes kindness is real. Maybe he helped them the only way he could.”

  Lucian gnced away, jaw clenched. “Or maybe he watched it all happen and didn’t stop it.”

  A pause.

  “Or maybe,” she said gently, “he was the only one who ever tried.”

  Lucian met her eyes again. There was no accusation there. Only a quiet plea.

  Not to protect Ravien.

  But to believe him.

  To believe in something good, for once.

  He looked down at his hands. The fingers were stained with dust and ink.

  “Every victim remembered him as their protector,” he said. “Every one. And yet he never brought their stories forward. Never exposed what they went through.”

  “Would you?” Lilienne asked softly. “If doing so might get them killed?”

  Lucian didn’t answer.

  Because he didn’t know.

  And because a part of him, cold and logical, recognized the horror in a deeper way: If Ravien wanted to hide something... he wouldn’t need to silence anyone. He would just let others see only what they wanted to see.

  And wasn’t that exactly what was happening?

  Lilienne didn’t press him any further. The silence that followed felt easier. Quiet, but shared. Tied together by the unspoken weight of everything they didn’t yet understand.

  Then, quietly, she shifted. “Have you seen Solenne tely?”

  Lucian blinked at the change in subject. “Solenne Lysarian?”

  She nodded, folding her hands in her p.

  He frowned slightly, caught off guard. “Not really. Only when she performs in the royal halls. Or passing through the atrium. You know that I’m usually buried in reports or sealed inside the cipher wing, don’t you? I don’t attend the gatherings.”

  Lilienne tilted her head. “But you’ve seen her before?”

  “Yes,” he admitted, hesitating. “She’s… hard to miss.”

  That earned a faint smile from Lilienne.

  “We have recently exchanged words at the masquerade ball, nothing too significant,” Lucian narrowed his eyes just a touch. He added, “But why are you asking?”

  Her tone was measured, but something restless flickered in her eyes. “As you’ve known, I have received letters from the Lysarians. Not often, but consistently. And you know how that house works, they don’t send words unless they mean something.”

  Lucian leaned forward. “You think she knows something?”

  “She might,” Lilienne said. “Or she might not realize it yet. Either way… she could be a key. If the Lysarians were the ones who sent me that first letter, the one that told me my father’s death wasn’t natural, then someone within their house is reaching out from the shadows. And Solenne is their only tie to the court.”

  Lucian’s brow furrowed. “You think she’s aware of it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But we won’t find out by watching from a distance.”

  He sighed. “So you want to get close to her.”

  Lilienne gave him a small nod. “Carefully. If she’s not involved, I don’t want her to be wary of us. But if she is involved, even unwillingly, we need to know.”

  Lucian tapped a finger against his knee. “Then we need a way in. Something natural. She’s guarded. I’ve seen the way she holds herself when nobles approach, like she expects mockery.”

  “She hates them,” Lilienne murmured. “She despises the court.”

  Lucian gnced at her. “Then I doubt she’ll have much warmth for me. I am the court.”

  There was a bitter curve to his mouth.

  Lilienne’s voice softened. “She doesn’t know you.”

  “She doesn’t want to,” he said bluntly. “I’ve tried, once. She spoke to me, coldly, and looked through me like I was marble. Like I was part of the pace itself.”

  A pause.

  Lilienne’s gaze was steady. “Then don’t try to impress her. Just be… you.”

  Lucian scoffed lightly. “That’s the problem.”

  But Lilienne shook her head, her voice almost wistful. “No. That might be the solution. If she hates masks, then the one person she might trust is someone too worn down to wear one.”

  He blinked at her.

  And then, slowly, Lucian nodded.

  “I’ll find a way,” he said at st. “But if she burns me alive with her words, I’ll be coming back for tea.”

  “I’ll keep a cup ready.” Lilienne smiled, faint but genuine. “Oh, and could you please consider taking a rest once in a while, Luci?” she added, brows furrowed with worry.

  Lucian shot her a look, lips twitching in a pout. “Don’t call me that. You make me sound like a girl, you know?”

  Lilienne giggled at his reaction. “Whatever, Luci! Just promise me you’ll rest, alright? We don’t need to rush. No matter how deeply the truth is buried… it will find its way back to the surface.”

  He sighed in defeat, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Fine,” he said, his voice gentle.