Power resided in details. Her father had taught Elana that lesson early, drumming it into her during countless hours observing court proceedings. Though her less-than-perfect eyesight surely meant some of the visual cues were lost, she could tell much from the cadence of voice, the careful pause that transformed a simple phrase into a threat.

  The Molotok envoy would arrive any moment, and nothing about this visit felt right.

  Not its timing, not its urgency, and certainly not its implications.

  She traced her fingers along the marble table’s edge, its surface etched with the Kingdom’s map. Mines marked by tiny stars, and military outposts by crossed swords. Defensive positions indicated by subtle hash marks.

  The chamber itself spoke of power—carefully chosen elements designed to remind visitors of their place in the grand scheme. Tapestries depicting wyvern riders in battle lined the walls, their threads subtly woven with traces of emeralds that glimmered in the light cast by alchemical chandeliers. The ceiling bore frescos of the Kingdom’s founding.

  Her father had always said the room itself was a weapon, if wielded properly.

  The memory of his voice sent a fresh wave of grief through her, but she pushed it down. There would be time for mourning later. Now, she needed every scrap of training he’d given her.

  “Your Highness.” The guard’s voice carried the slightest tremor. “The Molotok envoy.”

  He entered like silk sliding over steel. His boots made no sound on the marble floor.

  “Ambassador Javik.” She inclined her head the depth protocol required—no more, no less. “Your arrival is…unexpected.”

  “These are unexpected times.” His clipped accent wrapped around the words. “Molotok grieves with the Kingdom. Your father’s death strikes at the heart of stability in our region.”

  Her diplomatic mask held, though heat flared in her chest. How dare he invoke her father’s name? How dare he waltz in here while her father’s blood was barely dry? “Your concern honours us. Though perhaps a formal message would have sufficed?”

  “Ah, but messages are so impersonal.” Javik’s eyes flickered to the marble map. “And there are matters that benefit from…direct discussion.”

  She gestured to the chairs flanking the table, and let him think he’d chosen his seat, while ensuring he sat with his back to the room’s main tapestry—the best position for her to see his face under the alchemical light.

  “Molotok has always valued clear communication,” she said, settling into her own chair. The height difference was deliberate. With her seat slightly elevated, she forced him to look up during conversation. Another of her father’s careful arrangements. “Perhaps you might communicate your purpose here with equal clarity?”

  “Of course. We are…concerned about stability. The Kingdom’s strength has long been a cornerstone of regional peace.” He spread his hands, rings glinting. “Recent events, rumours of unrest among the noble houses, and arriving to hear news of your father’s assassination—they raise questions about the future.”

  “The Kingdom’s strength runs deeper than any single person.” The words tasted like ash in Elana’s mouth, but she kept her tone measured. “Even in grief, we remain unified.”

  “Admirable sentiment,” Javik said and leaned forward. “Though we hear whispers of division within your court”—his pause carried weight—“such uncertainty can be dangerous.”

  The trap lay coiled in his words. Answer too firmly and she’d reveal their internal debates. Hesitate too long and she’d confirm his intel. “The Kingdom’s internal affairs remain precisely that. Internal.”

  She remembered her father’s lessons about Molotok diplomacy. They preferred to imply rather than state, to suggest rather than threaten. Every word carried layers of meaning, each gesture calculated to provoke response.

  “Of course, of course.” He waved a hand, the motion deliberately casual. “Though as your closest neighbour, Molotok naturally takes interest in matters that might affect regional commerce. The northern mines, for instance, we’ve noticed increased activity there recently.”

  Ice slid down Elana’s spine. The northern mines operated under strict secrecy. If Molotok knew about activity there…

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  “Trade routes require constant maintenance,” she said. “Particularly with winter approaching.”

  “Indeed.” Javik’s smile widened fractionally. “Though some say it’s not maintenance that draws attention north. There are whispers of smuggling, of ravenglass moving through…unauthorised channels.”

  “Rumours often reveal more about those who spread them than those they concern, Ambassador.”

  “Perhaps.” He straightened his sleeve. “Still, Molotok would be remiss not to offer support during these troubled times. Our proximity to your northern territories puts us in a unique position to…assist with security concerns.”

  The threat hung in the air.

  Molotok knew something about the smuggling operations. More than that—they wanted her to know they knew.

  “The Kingdom appreciates Molotok’s neighbourly concern.” She kept her voice cool. Every word had to be precise—Javik would analyse this conversation from every angle. “Though we find our current security arrangements quite adequate.”

  “For now.” He rose. “But circumstances change quickly, don’t they? One day a father lives, the next…” He spread his hands. “Well. Know that Molotok stands ready to help preserve stability, should the need arise.”

  The casual mention of her father’s death felt like a slap. She maintained her composure. This was deliberate—an attempt to provoke an emotional response, to make her reveal weakness.

  She stood too, maintaining the proper distance. “We will remember your offer.”

  His bow held perfect courtesy, yet somehow managed to suggest mockery. “Until we meet again, Your Highness. Do give my regards to your sisters.” He paused at the door. “Particularly Commander Irmin. I understand she’s quite…busy these days.”

  How much did Molotok know about the assassination investigation? About the evidence her sister had uncovered?

  When the door closed behind Javik, Elana allowed her hands to clench. Every instinct screamed that this visit was more than opportunistic diplomacy. Molotok had chosen this moment deliberately, probing for weaknesses while their defences remained uncertain.

  She picked up her guide-cane and found her way onto the balcony, where Velten waited.

  As her eyes slowly adjusted to the change in light, the wyvern’s silver scales shimmered, his presence steady through their bond. “He knows too much. About the mines, the nobles, the smuggling…even Irmin’s investigation.”

  “They will test your armour for weaknesses.” Velten’s voice rumbled. “And they will not strike unless they are certain it will shatter.”

  “The timing’s wrong. An envoy doesn’t arrive unannounced unless…” She pressed her fingers to her temples, mind racing through possibilities. “Unless they knew the assassination was coming. Unless they’re part of whatever’s happening.”

  “Or unless they wish us to think they are.” Velten’s tail lashed the air. “Remember your father’s lessons about Molotok diplomacy. They prefer to appear stronger than they are, to seem complicit in events they merely observe.”

  She leaned against his warm scales, drawing strength from their connection. “Either way, they’re circling. Waiting for us to show vulnerability.”

  “Then give them none.” Velten’s certainty steadied her. “Gather your allies. Secure your position. Let them waste resources searching for weaknesses that don’t exist.”

  Through their bond, memories surfaced—her father teaching her about the delicate balance of power between nations. How Molotok had always played the long game, preferring to let others strike first while they gathered intelligence and waited for the perfect moment.

  “What if this is their moment? Father’s death, division in the court, problems with the bond web…it’s the perfect storm of vulnerability.”

  “Then we weather it. As we have weathered other storms.”

  A commotion in the corridor drew her attention. A palace servant hurried forward, bearing a sealed envelope on a silver tray.

  She set the envelope down and took out her orb and magnifier.

  No insignia marked the parchment, no sign of its origin.

  She broke the seal, unfolding the message within. The handwriting was deliberately nondescript:

  ‘The nobles are restless. House Darius moves against the throne. Be wary of false alliances.’

  Her mind raced, connecting threads. House Darius’s recent push for military control. The dagger Irmin had found. Javik’s pointed comments about division within the court. And now this anonymous warning, arriving immediately after the Molotok envoy’s departure.

  “Someone wants us looking in all directions at once. Split between external threats and internal betrayal.”

  “Which makes this the moment to look closer,” Velten said. “To see which hands guide these seemingly separate strings.”

  She moved to the balcony’s edge, staring into the gathering dusk. The Kingdom stretched vast before her. So much to protect. So many ways for it all to shatter.

  The letter crumpled in her grip.

  Javik’s visit, the anonymous warning, her father’s assassination—separate stones creating ripples that intersected and amplified. But ripples could be traced to their source, if one knew how to read the patterns.

  Her father’s voice echoed in memory. “Power isn’t just about strength, Elana. It’s about perception. Make them see what you want them to see, while you watch what they try to hide.”

  She had been trained for this. Raised to see the currents of power that moved beneath surface events. Now that training would be tested against enemies who struck from shadows, who turned diplomacy itself into a weapon.

  The storm was coming—perhaps had already arrived. And if she faltered, the Kingdom would fall with her.

  Velten’s wings mantled around her, silver scales catching the last light of day. She felt his unwavering support, his absolute faith in her ability to navigate treacherous waters.

  “We begin with House Darius,” she said. “But quietly. Let Irmin handle the obvious investigation while we pull at other threads.”

  “And Molotok?”

  “We let them think they’ve rattled us. Let them waste resources watching for reactions to their implied threats.” A grim smile touched her lips. “Meanwhile, we find out what they’re really after.”

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