Unforgivable Weakness

They reached the summer palace by early evening, as the slanting rays of the setting sun filtered through the dense foliage, bathing the white stone walls in warm gold. The carriage rolled out from beneath the canopy of ancient oaks and came to a halt before a broad staircase. Prince Edward stepped down first and, turning back, offered his hand to his betrothed. “How beautiful it is here,” Eliana whispered, taking his hand and stepping gracefully onto the flagstones. Edward had known Eliana since he was old enough to remember. He remembered her as a little girl with braids, running after him and his friend Arny through the palace corridors, insisting they let her play too. Edward had almost no children his own age: hisyounger brother had only just been born and was still tiny; Alrich was seven years older and preferred spending his time with tutors or out in the practice yard. There simply weren’t any other children in the palace, so the arrival of those two had been atrue gift. Arny was Lord Dornel’s son, and Lord Dornel was the Emperor’s closest and most trusted adviser. Eliana, in turn, was Lord Cassian’s daughter—at the time, he was still only a low-ranking official. Both households were often at court, and the children were largely left to their own devices while the adults attended to affairs of state. Edward and Arny became friends quickly and easily, and before long they were doing everything together—hiding from stern tutors, inventing games in deserted halls, and stealing sweets from the kitchen whenever they could. Little Eliana, however, always ranafter them, trailing at their heels and stubbornly insisting that they take her along as well. Years passed, and Arny was seen at the palace less and less often. As he grew older, Lord Dornel began taking his son with him on journeys through the provinces so that he could teach him the business of government; and when Lord Dornel finally stepped down from service, Arny left altogether to study at the university in another province. Edward, meanwhile, remained with Eliana, whose father—by contrast—began appearing at court more and more often after his promotion. Being with her was never boring—she was quick-witted and cheerful, and there was always something to talk about with her. Their friendship remained light and carefree until the day Edward’s mother stopped him in the corridor and told him that it was unseemly for a young man and a young woman to be spending time together without good reason—and in the same breath declared Eliana his betrothed. Edward was genuinely taken aback. A betrothed? What betrothed? Eliana had always been simply... Eliana. He hadn’t thought about her that way—hadn’t thought about it at all. Yet Eliana herself seemed only pleased by the turn of events: color rose in her cheeks, and in her eyes lit little sparks he’d never noticed before. Edward only shrugged. Fine—his betrothed, then. After all, it was better than some complete stranger his father might choose for him, and besides, the change in status hardly changed anything between them. With Eliana everything was still easy—he could talk about anything, joke, and simply be himself. But now, several months into the engagement, Edward had decided that he ought to try, at last, to let their relationship become something more romantic. That was why he had suggested the summer palace: to spend an evening alone, dine by candlelight, as befits a true couple, and not merely childhood friends bound together by their parents. And now, looking at her, Edward thought that Eliana had grown into a beautiful young woman. She was wearing a new dress—a lavish olive-colored gown with gold embroidery, commissioned especially for the occasion. The satin caught the light of the setting sun, while the gold ribbons on her full sleeves swayed softly, and snow-white lace framed her slender wrists. Her chestnut hair was arranged in an elegant fashion, adorned with a pearl circlet—his mother’s gift. “I wanted us to spend this evening with no one but each other,” Edward said with a smile, looking into her delighted face. “Far from the intrigues of court.” Eliana squeezed his hand. “It’s a wonderful idea. I’m so tired of endless ceremonies.” They climbed the steps and went inside. In the great hall on the second floor, a table had been laid for supper—snow-white linen, silver cutlery, crystal goblets, fresh flowers. Everything about it spoke of comfort and peace. Dinner passed with light conversation. They sat across from each other, and candlelight played over Eliana’s face, making her lovelier still. Beyond the windows, dusk was thickening. “You seem pensive today,” she said, tilting her head. “Is something bothering you?” Edward sighed and set down his glass. For a few seconds he said nothing, searching for the right words. “Father... lately he keeps insisting that I attend the Council sessions. He wants me to learn about affairs of state—read the provincial reports, understand taxation.” He grimaced. “Two days ago he made me sit through three straight hours of debate about new duties with the southern kingdoms. Three hours, Eliana. I thought I’d die of boredom.” Eliana frowned. “But... shouldn’t His Highness Alrich be the one handling such things? He’s the heir...” “That’s exactly it.” Edward set his goblet down with a sharp clink. “That’s why none of it makes sense to me. Alrich is the elder son. He’s governed the borderlands for seven years. He commands legions.” “Maybe His Majesty just wants you to be informed as well,” Eliana ventured cautiously, “in case you’re needed—to help your brother...” “No.” Edward shook his head. There was unease in his voice. “It’s something else.” He fell silent, lost in thought. And if Alrich notices... He broke off. “You know what—enough,” he said firmly, taking a sip of wine. “This isn’t dinner conversation. We didn’t come here to talk palace business.” He looked at her, and a faint smile touched his lips. Eliana nodded, visibly relieved at the change of subject. “You’re right. Forgive me—I shouldn’t have asked.” They drank the rest of their wine in silence. Then Edward rose, came around the table, and offered her his hand. “Come out to the balcony,” he said. “Let’s look at the stars. They say they’re clearer above the forest than in the capital.” Eliana took his hand as she stood. “With pleasure.” Night settled over the forest, carrying with it a chill and the scent of pine. Eliana leaned against the balustrade, gazing up at the sky. “How beautiful,” she whispered, as if afraid to disturb the hush. “It’s so quiet here...” Edward listened. She was right: the forest was usually full of sound at night—wind in the leaves, night birds calling somewhere in the distance. Now there was only a deathly stillness. Even the crickets had fallen silent. “Too quiet,” he whispered, and a strange unease pricked at him. “Perhaps the weather is changing,” Eliana said, unsettled by the look on his face. “Shh.” Edward raised a hand, listening again. A distant sound, barely distinguishable—the faint clang of metal. Then another. And another. Steady and measured, like marching. “What is that?” Eliana whispered, straightening. “I... don’t know.” Edward went still. The sounds drew nearer, growing louder: the tramp of many feet, muffled commands. “Inside,” he said quietly. “Edward...” They hurried back into the hall. Edward threw the door open and peered into the corridor. In the dim torchlight, a servant stood frozen in place. “You!” the prince barked, and the servant started, turning. “Send for Garret. Now.” “Yes, Your Highness!” The servant nodded and rushed off, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Edward slammed the door and turned to Eliana. She stood in the middle of the hall with her arms wrapped around herself, her face gone pale. “Edward, what’s happening?” Her voice trembled. “It’s all right. I’ll just have a look,” he said, crossing to the window that overlooked the main courtyard and carefully drawing the heavy curtain aside. His heart dropped. In the forest’s darkness, between the black trunks, points of light flickered. They swayed and bobbed like fireflies in the night. No one could be seen yet—the night swallowed their figures, turning them into formless shadows. Only the torches—more and more of them—drawing nearer, slowly hemming the palace in, a tight, shimmering semicircle. “Edward?” Eliana called, frightened. “What is it?” He had no words. He stood at the tall arched window of his chambers with his forehead pressed to the cold—almost icy—glass, unable to believe what he was seeing. The pane had already fogged with his breath, leaving cloudy streaks through which he kept staring into the night; and the longer he looked, the clearer it became. Soldiers. Even in the darkness, in the faint, wavering torchlight, he could make out the familiar outlines: the silvery gleam of black cuirasses catching the fire, the high crests of helmets, scarlet plumes trembling in the night wind. Imperial armor. His hands, gripping the sill, were white with tension. He felt the cold of the glass creeping into his skin, cooling his forehead, yet bringing no relief. His father’s troops. Here. Why? The door flew open with a crash, and a broad-shouldered figure filled the threshold. Edward turned, ready to demand answers—and stopped, astonished, as he took in silver armor patterned with gold, fitted tight across a powerful chest; a short scarlet cloak fastened at one shoulder with a heavy clasp; and the hilt of a massive two-handed sword rising over his shoulder. An hour ago, after dinner, he had sent Garret to rest, wanting to spend the evening alone with Eliana. Yet now Garret stood before him in full armor—as if he had never left at all. “Garret?” Edward repeated, frowning. “I dismissed you. Why—” “I stayed. I stood watch outside,” Garret cut in, his voice holding no apology. “With all due respect, Your Highness, you are in a remote palace, far from the main garrisons.” His expression hardened. “And apparently I was not wrong...” “There...” Edward pointed uncertainly toward the window, not daring to speak aloud what he had seen. Garret crossed to it at once and looked out—and his face turned to stone. For several seconds he stared in silence, then stepped back from the glass. “The imperial army,” he said clearly. “They have surrounded the palace.” Eliana gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening with horror. “But... but why?” she forced out. Edward turned from the window. Questions swarmed in his head, finding no answers. “I don’t understand. Why are they here? What do they want? Could this be an escort—did Father send additional guards? But why so many?” Garret only looked at him. “Maybe something important happened,” Edward went on, grasping at any explanation. “Trouble on the borders?” “Your Highness...” Garret began. “I’ll go out and ask what they want,” Edward decided, slamming his palm against the sill. “If I’ve done something wrong—if Father is displeased—there was no need to send an entire army. I can—” “Edward, no!” Eliana rushed across the room. Her feet tangled in the heavy folds of her skirt—she had forgotten to gather it up—and she nearly fell as she grabbed for his hands. “I won’t let you go! Do you hear me? I won’t!” Her voice broke into a desperate, piercing cry. “They’ll kill you! Don’t you understand? They didn’t come to talk!” Edward tried to pull free, but she clung tighter, pressing herself against him. “Eliana—calm down...” “Your Highness,” Garret said. “Your betrothed is right. This isn’t a guard detachment. They are preparing to attack.” Edward went still. The world around him tilted and swam. “This has to be some mistake,” he said, though his voice trembled. “Your Highness, if it were a mistake, they would not be surrounding the palace. They would not be posting men all around the grounds. They would not be bringing siege engines up to the gates.” “Siege engines?” Edward repeated, his voice pitching higher. “Are you sure?” “See for yourself.” Garret nodded toward the window. “They have a battering ram.” Eliana swayed as if she had been struck. Edward hurried to her, caught her by the arm, and eased her into the nearest chair. She was trembling all over. Edward crouched beside her, burying his face in his hands, trying to make sense of what was happening. No. No, no, no. This can’t be. It’s a mistake. It has to be a mistake. But then why hadn’t they knocked at the gates? Why hadn’t they announced their arrival? Why were they moving under cover of darkness—secretly? “What... what do we do?” he managed at last, lowering his hands, the words catching in his throat. “Right now, while it’s dark, that’s our only advantage,” Garret said. “There’s an old underground passage from the palace. It leads into the forest, beyond the estate. In the dark, they won’t see us. We need to leave. Immediately.” “Leave?” Edward echoed, springing up. “But where?” “To the main palace. To the Emperor,” the bodyguard answered. “Only he can make sense of what’s happening here.” Edward nodded, clinging to the thought. “Yes. Yes, of course. Father... Father will set it right. Someone misunderstood an order, or...” He trailed off, words failing. Outside, there was a loud clang—something heavy striking the ground. Eliana cried out, pressing herself against Edward. “This isn’t the time to look for reasons, Your Highness,” the bodyguard cut in. “We move. Now.” “I’ll have the servants gathered,” Edward began, flustered. “No,” Garret snapped, cutting him off. “The more people, the easier it will be to spot us. And the soldiers outside mustn’t realize at once that we’ve left. We go—just the three of us. Only three. Quietly. Unnoticed.” “But the people... our servants... we can’t just abandon them...” “Edward!” Eliana yanked his sleeve painfully, staring into his eyes. Tears were already streaming down her cheeks, smearing her blush. “Please. I beg you. Listen to him. Let’s just get out of here. We’ll ask for help at the palace!” Edward looked from her terrified face to the grim bodyguard. He still couldn’t believe what was happening. It was too unreal, too absurd—like a bad dream. Outside, there was another clang—louder, closer. “Edward!” Eliana all but sobbed. “All right. All right—we’re leaving,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. “But we have to get dressed...” “Quickly,” Garret cut in. “Take only what’s necessary. Warm clothes. No jewelry.” They began throwing things together. Edward tore off his ceremonial doublet, pulled on a plain shirt and a warm traveling coat. His hands shook; his fingers wouldn’t obey—buttons refused to find their buttonholes. Eliana darted about the room, clearly notknowing what to do. “Eliana, calm down. I’m with you,” Edward said, going to her. He went to the wardrobe, pulled it open, and took one of his old traveling overcoats, draping it over her shoulders. It was far too large, hanging almost to her heels, but it would at least keep her warm. Meanwhile, Garret checked his weapons. “Garret, give me a dagger,” Edward said. Garret hesitated a moment, then handed him the blade anyway. “Take it, Your Highness. I hope you won’t need it.” Edward took the dagger uncertainly. He knew how to handle weapons—he’d undergone the required military training—but he had never used one in earnest, only in drills. Now the cold metal in his hand felt foreign, heavy. “Ready?” Garret asked. Edward nodded. Eliana pressed close to him, trembling. “Let’s go. Quiet. Not a sound.” The bodyguard eased the door open and peered into the corridor. They slipped out of the chambers. The palace corridors were empty; the servants had hidden away in their rooms, sensing something was wrong. The torches along the walls burned dimly, casting long, wavering shadows that crawled across the stone as if alive. Every creak of the floorboards sounded deafening. Edward walked on, holding Eliana’s hand, breathing quietly and as unobtrusively as he could. His heart pounded in his throat, making it hard to breathe at all. Garret led them through narrow service passages meant for servants alone, taking them lower and lower into the palace’s depths. The stone steps were cold and slick with damp. Outside, a shout rang out—loud, commanding. Eliana flinched and squeezed Edward’s hand tighter. He could feel her fingers trembling. “Almost there,” Garret murmured. At last they reached the cellar—a low, stifling space where old stores were kept. It was nearly pitch-dark. The light of the single torch Garret carried barely pierced the darkness. The air was stale, reeking of old wine and something sour. Garret went to the far wall, paneled with old, blackened boards. He felt for a hidden latch, rough with rust, and pressed down. The metal shrieked in protest. “Quiet,” Edward whispered, glancing back. Garret pressed harder. The latch gave with a groan, and with a long, soft moan part of the wall slid aside, revealing a narrow, black opening. A breath of cold, damp air drifted out of the darkness, like air from a grave. It smelled of earth, decay, and something ancient—forgotten and dead—as if no one had set foot there in years. Eliana recoiled instinctively, pressing a palm to her mouth, her eyes widening. “Through there?” she whispered. “Through there,” Garret answered shortly. He raised the torch, lighting the passage. A narrow corridor stretched ahead into darkness. The stone walls were slick with moss and streaked with rusty water. The ceiling hung low, in places almost brushing their heads. The floor was uneven, strewn with stones and mud. “Go,” Garret said, stepping inside. “Keep a hand on the wall. Follow me.” Edward nodded, and they squeezed into the tight passage. The cold closed around them at once—wet and piercing. Eliana shivered now not only with fear, but from the cold; the coat Edward had draped over her helped only a little. Garret went first, torch held high. Edward followed, holding Eliana’s hand. She walked between them, steadying herself against the wall and stumbling on the uneven stones. The passage led on, winding like a snake. Somewhere far ahead, water dripped steadily, as if counting time. They walked in silence, hearing only their own footsteps echoing in the hush, and their heavy, ragged breathing. Edward felt fear creeping into his chest. His thoughts raced, giving him no peace. What would happen to the palace—to the servants? Who had sent those men? At last a faint, dull gray patch appeared ahead—the exit. Garret stopped and raised a hand. He edged closer, listening, peering into the darkness of the forest. “We need to put out the torch,” he whispered, turning back. “Otherwise they’ll spot us at once. A flame can be seen for a mile in the dark.” He plunged the torch into a puddle of muddy water near the opening. The fire hissed like a living thing, smoked, and died, leaving only a thin thread of acrid smoke. Darkness swallowed them at once—thick, impenetrable, almost tangible. Eliana held her breath, clutching Edward’s hand. “Stay close,” Garret whispered, barely audible. “Hold on to each other’s hands, and follow me. Quiet. Not a sound.” The three of them slipped out through the overgrown, nearly invisible exit—far beyond the palace grounds, deep in the forest. It was artfully hidden: moss-covered boulders and the thick roots of an old oak formed a natural screen, so that in the dark it was impossible to make out even from a few steps away, like a doorway into another world, forgotten by everyone. Garret wriggled out first, carefully parting the brush, and froze, listening. Then he beckoned the others forward. Edward helped Eliana out after him. Cold night air struck Edward’s face—sharp after the stale tunnel air—and he drew a deep breath. If the forest’s darkness and silence had once felt peaceful after the palace’s warm comfort, now it seemed grim and threatening. The trees loomed overhead like black giants—ancient and twisted—their branches interlacing into a dense canopy that blotted outthe night sky. Almost no stars were visible through the thick leaves; only rare glints of cold light slipped through the gaps, leaving strange flashes on the ground. The air was damp, smelling of wet earth and moss. Holding his breath, Edward moved forward, leading Eliana by the hand. Her palm was icy. He could feel her nails digging into his skin, but he said nothing. Ahead, barely visible in the pitch darkness, Garret’s silhouette moved—broad shoulders, a sword in his hand, its edge faintly glinting in rare flickers of moonlight. The bodyguard walked sure-footedly and without a sound, as if it were daylight, as if he knew every root and every branch. It was so dark Edward couldn’t see the ground beneath his feet. The path was treacherous underfoot—roots thrusting up, crooked as a dead man’s fingers; stones slick with moss; hollows and pits hidden under leaves. The silhouettes of the trees unnerved him. They seemed like enormous figures—giants frozen in waiting. Again and again he thought he saw someone standing between the trunks, watching, tracking; as though the shadows moved the moment he looked away. Edward kept his eyes on the saving figure ahead, doing everything he could not to fall behind. Garret moved quickly, never looking back, as if he knew exactly where he was going. But Eliana slowed them. She kept stumbling in the dark—her skirt snagging on brush, her foot dropping into a hollow, a root giving way beneath her. Each time she sucked in a sharp breath, fighting not to cry out, choking back the scream. Edward heard her stifled sob. “Sorry,” she whispered, barely audible, her voice trembling. “Sorry. I’m trying... I really am...” “It’s all right,” Edward whispered back. “Stay close to me.” But Garret’s figure was drawing farther and farther ahead, dissolving into the dark. Edward hurried, quickening his pace—and the bodyguard vanished completely. The prince stopped, staring forward, straining his eyes. His heart pounded faster, louder, in his ears. “Garret?” he whispered, afraid to raise his voice. “Garret—where are you?” Silence. Only the faint rustle of leaves overhead and, somewhere in the distance, the barely audible creak of wood. Edward pushed on, almost breaking into a run, dragging Eliana with him. “This way,” a whisper came from somewhere to the right—so faint he almost missed it. Edward turned sharply toward the sound, forcing his way through the brush. Branches whipped at his face and caught in his hair. “Garret?” he called again, a little louder, peering into the darkness, trying to make out the familiar figure. But no one was there. Only trees. He stopped, breathing hard, feeling his heart pounding in his temples. Panic surged up in his chest, closing around his throat like an iron fist. Edward stood perfectly still, staring into the dark, straining for any movement—anything at all. But the forest around him was a single mass of blackness. The trees stood like a wall, indistinguishable from one another. “Garret?” he dared to call louder. “Garret!” Again, silence—nothing but his own breathing, heavy and hoarse. “Garret, where are you?!” His voice broke, rising, turning desperate. “I can’t see you! I don’t know where to go!” Terror was already drowning him, like icy water. His hands shook so badly he could barely keep hold of Eliana. And then the forest exploded with shouts. Many voices swelled and merged into a single roar—commands, answering cries. The scrape and clash of metal: blades drawn all at once. Torchlights danced between the trees again, rushing closer, closing in. “Edward!” Eliana cried, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Run!” He squeezed her hand tighter and bolted forward, straight into the thicket—blindly, without a path. But running through the forest at night, in pitch darkness, was almost impossible. Branches lashed at his face, scratching him, tearing his skin until it bled. Leaves whipped into his eyes. Edward dragged Eliana after him, nearly hauling her along the ground, not letting her fall. She was gasping for breath and seemed to be sobbing already. Edward looked back—lights were everywhere: to his right, to his left, behind him. Bright torchpoints flickered between the trunks, closing in, forming a ring. They were surrounding them from all sides, cutting off any way back. He could already make out human silhouettes, the glints of armor. Edward stopped so sharply that Eliana stumbled into him. He caught her, held her upright, and shoved her behind him. “Edward!” She clung to him, fisting his shirt. “Edward—what do we do?!” Figures began to emerge from behind the trees, one after another—warriors in imperial armor, with drawn weapons in their hands. They moved slowly, confidently, tightening the circle. Edward drew the dagger. His hand shook so violently that the blade flashed in the torchlight, throwing strange little glints. He turned in place, not knowing which way to look. “Stop!” he shouted, but his voice betrayed him, cracking. “I... I’m a prince! Prince Edward! The Emperor’s son! I order you!” The soldiers did not obey. They kept coming, silent, closing in. “Edward, do something!” Eliana screamed, sobbing with panic. “Please! Please—do something!” “I order you!” Edward raised the dagger, but his hands shook so badly he could barely hold it. “Drop your weapons! Now! I’m the Emperor’s son! You must obey!” Fear was over him entirely now—cold, clinging, choking. Suddenly, from somewhere to the side, out of the darkness, a loud, commanding voice rang out: “Your Highness?! Is that you?! Where are you?!” Edward froze, unable to place it. The voice was unfamiliar. But Eliana was already shouting at the top of her lungs: “We’re here! Help us! Please—help!” Through the trees came the growing thunder of hooves. Riders appeared—four perhaps, five—riding hard, low over their horses’ necks, weapons in hand. They burst straight into the ring of soldiers, driving them back with their horses. The first mount—a massive black stallion—reared directly before the nearest warrior. Its hooves crashed down with terrible force. The soldier didn’t even have time to cry out—his helmet split with a dull crack under the blow, and his body collapsed to the ground. The man on the horse—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark cloak streaming behind him—slashed to the right. The blade whistled through the air, met an enemy sword with a clang, and knocked it aside. “Mount up! Quickly!” he shouted to Edward, cutting through the din. Edward dashed to the nearest free horse—a bay stallion shifting nervously from hoof to hoof. He grabbed Eliana by the waist and practically threw her into the saddle. She cried out, clutching the mane with both hands. The horse neighed in panic, nearly tossing her. The soldiers tried to close in on the riders, but in the cramped confines of the forest, among trunks and brush, their numbers worked against them—they tangled, collided, and got in one another’s way. And then, out of the darkness like a ghost, Garret sprang. He charged and slammed his full weight into the nearest warrior, driving him aside. The soldier stumbled, lost his footing, and fell, dropping his weapon. “Your Highness,” Garret barked as he ran up—then turned toward the soldiers, setting himself defensively. “Into the saddle!” the cloaked man roared, thrusting out a hand. “Now!” Edward caught the offered hand. He was hauled up and yanked into the saddle in front of the rider. He barely managed to steady himself before the horse beneath them surged forward. A warrior lunged at them with a sword, but Garret parried the strike—sharp, precise—and drove the man back with his shoulder. “Go! Go!” the cloaked man shouted. Garret blocked another blow, spun, and vaulted onto the last free horse. The horses turned as one, flinging dirt under their hooves. The soldiers reached for the reins, but the riders were already tearing away. Arrows flew after them. They whistled through the air, thudding into tree trunks. Another arrow passed so close to Edward’s head it nearly grazed him. But in the darkness the archers were shooting nearly blind; the arrows went wide, vanishing into the night. They raced through the forest, bending low over their horses’ necks. Behind them came soldiers’ shouts, the pounding of feet, the clank of armor—voices quickly fading, dissolving into darkness. They rode hard for a long time without stopping, leaping roots, swerving around trees. At last the man in the dark cloak pulled the reins. The horse slowed to a trot, then a walk. The others followed. Edward clung to the man in front, barely staying in the saddle. His heart was still hammering madly. Only now, with the immediate danger gone, could he make the riders out more clearly. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, catching on their armor; the palace guard’s crest showed on their shoulders. “You’re from the palace,” Edward breathed. “You... Father sent you?” The man in front hesitated a moment. Then he answered, his voice even and calm: “Almost.” “Almost?” Edward frowned. “What does ‘almost’ mean?” But the man gave him no time for questions. He only gathered the reins and urged the horse forward. They rode out of the forest into open land—a rolling plain dotted with sparse trees. And then Edward saw it. Far off on the horizon, tongues of smoke rose—black, thick columns—rising into the night sky and blotting out the stars. The main palace. The capital. Home. Edward’s heart dropped. His hands went cold. His breath caught. “What... what is that?” he whispered, not believing his eyes. “What’s happening?!” The man didn’t answer. “What is that?!” Edward shouted, seizing his cloak and jerking hard. “Answer me! What’s happened to the palace?!” The man brought the horse to a halt. The other riders stopped too, forming a ring. Garret rode closer, his face dark, taut with tension. The man turned slowly. Moonlight fell on his face—unfamiliar. He was about thirty, with closely cropped dark hair, hard features, a scar on his chin. Gray eyes, watchful. “The palace is under siege,” he said shortly, clearly. “There’s been a rebellion.” The world around Edward tilted and swam. The words hit him in the chest, knocking the air from his lungs. “What?” he forced out; his voice failed him. “What did you say? No...” he whispered. “No, that’s... impossible. That’s... the imperial army? But that’s—Father’s army. They can’t...” “We need to find shelter—” the man began, but Edward cut him off. “No!” His voice broke. “No! We have to go there. Now. We have to help!” He tried to turn the horse, but the man held the reins. “Your Highness—stop.” “Let go!” Edward yanked at the reins, trying to wrench free. “Let me go! My family is there!” “Your Highness.” The man leaned closer and looked him straight in the eye. “We must help the palace. We must help the people there. But first, you have to survive. They’ll come after us. If they take you, no one will be able to help anyone—neither your family nor anyone else.” Edward’s breathing was hard and hoarse. His hands shook. His thoughts raced, refusing to let him focus. “Listen to me,” the man said, calm and firm. “Now we find shelter—and we decide where to find help.” Edward nodded slowly and lowered his head. His breathing began to steady, though his hands still trembled. “All right,” he managed. “All right. You... you’re right.” “Do you know somewhere we can take shelter?” the man asked. Edward opened his mouth to answer, but Garret spoke first. “We need to go to the city,” the bodyguard said sharply. “To the nobles there. They have men and resources.” The man turned to him, his face calm, unreadable. “No,” he said simply. Garret frowned. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” “There’s been a rebellion,” the man answered evenly, without emotion. “A great many people are involved—very likely the nobles as well. We can’t go to them without knowing for certain who’s on which side. Otherwise we’ll be handed over at once.” Garret wheeled his horse around and rode closer, his face twisting with anger. “And who are you, exactly?” he hissed. “Calven Thorn. Senior watchman of the Palace Guard,” the man replied in the same even tone, without a trace of irritation. “A watchman?!” Garret let out a scornful laugh. “A watchman?! And you think you can tell the heir to the Empire where to go?!” “We could go to Lord Dornel,” Edward said quietly, cutting across the rising quarrel. “To the border. To his outpost.” Calven turned to him. “Lord Dornel?” he repeated. “The outpost on the northern border?” “Yes,” Edward nodded. Calven thought for a moment, then nodded as well. “I know where it is. There’s a shorter way through the forest. We can be there by dawn.” “Have you lost your mind?!” Garret exploded. Edward couldn’t remember seeing his bodyguard so furious—his face contorted, his eyes blazing. “Taking His Highness out of the capital to some outpost in the middle of nowhere? Straight to the enemy, maybe?!” “Garret...” Edward began. “No!” Garret turned his horse toward the prince. “Your Highness, this is madness! We don’t know what’s there. We don’t know who’s there. It could be a trap!” Calven remained calm. He looked at Garret steadily—no anger, no irritation. “If we don’t decide now,” he said quietly, “they will catch us. And then it won’t matter what’s safe and what isn’t.” He turned to Edward. “Are you certain about this lord?” he asked. “Do you trust him?” Edward nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. Lord Dornel is one of my father’s most loyal men. He’ll never betray us.” Calven nodded. “Then follow me. There’s a path that will keep us out of sight.” He turned his horse and rode on. The others followed. Edward lingered for a moment, looking at Garret. The bodyguard sat rigid in the saddle, his face still angry, his lips pressed into a thin line. Edward had no strength left to sort out their quarrel—no strength to decide who was right and who was to blame. All he felt was the heavy, crushing exhaustion rolling over him in waves, and the single thought beating in his skull: family, palace, rebellion. Everything else felt unimportant. “Garret,” he called quietly, his voice dull, emptied out. “We ride.” Garret said nothing—only tugged the reins and moved after the others.