The air in the room felt heavier now.
Jorrik's words still lingered, pressing against Kael's thoughts.
"Someone in the palace is looking for you."
She had expected this. She had known that staying in one place for too long was dangerous.
But something about Jorrik's expression—the way he held himself—made her uneasy.
"You're sure?" she asked, arms crossed.
Jorrik nodded. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
Riven sighed, stretching his arms before moving toward the small mirror near the bed. "Well, I suppose I should get dressed for the occasion."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "The occasion?"
Riven grinned. "Sneaking through a city undetected, of course. I do like making an entrance, but I suppose a grand reveal in the middle of a tavern isn't ideal."
Kael rolled her eyes.
As Riven pulled out his **disguise—grey wig, black dye for his eyes—**Kael glanced back at Jorrik.
"Do you know who it is?"
Jorrik hesitated. "No. I only heard that someone was asking about you in the palace. But if they have ties to the court, that means we need to be careful."
Kael narrowed her eyes. "And if it's someone trying to kill me?"
Jorrik shrugged. "Then we kill them first."
Riven turned from the mirror, his usual smirk in place. "Always so practical, Jorrik."
Jorrik snorted. "One of us has to be."
Kael exhaled, adjusting the dagger at her hip. "Fine. We'll go. But if this is a trap, I'm not hesitating."
Riven placed a hand over his heart. "Sweetheart, I would expect nothing less from you."
Kael shot him a look.
---
The tavern was already buzzing with morning activity. The scent of roasted meat and ale filled the air, and groups of mercenaries were crowded around tables, speaking in hushed voices or laughing over their drinks.
Kael moved through the space like a shadow, Riven and Jorrik close behind her.
Then—
A figure from the back of the room raised a hand.
Kael's steps slowed.
The man was dressed in a plain brown cloak, face partially hidden by the hood. He wasn't armed—at least, not visibly—but Kael still felt the weight of her daggers against her belt, ready.
He stood as they approached, his gaze flickering between them before settling on Kael.
"You're the one I'm looking for."
Kael didn't react.
"Who sent you?" she asked, her voice calm but firm.
The man reached into his coat, pulling out a folded piece of parchment.
"This," he said, handing it to her. "From the Duke of Velmont."
Kael's fingers hesitated over the note.
She could feel Riven and Jorrik watching her closely.
Slowly, she took the paper and unfolded it.
The message was simple.
"We need to speak. You are not safe. – Duke Aric Valen"
Kael's grip on the parchment tightened.
Duke Aric Valen.
She didn't recognize the name.
"You expect me to believe this?" she said, looking back at the messenger.
The man's expression was neutral. "Believe it or not, my job is done. He's waiting for you."
Kael narrowed her eyes. "Where?"
"A café near the old stone bridge. It's quiet. Private."
She didn't respond.
She didn't like this.
A noble from the palace, suddenly reaching out to her? Warning her that she wasn't safe?
It smelled like a trap.
She turned slightly toward Riven and Jorrik, expecting them to share her skepticism.
But Riven was staring at the parchment, his expression thoughtful.
Then—he exhaled.
"It's real."
Kael frowned. "You're sure?"
Riven nodded, tapping the edge of the note. "This is his seal. Duke Valen is one of the highest-ranking nobles in Velmont. If he wanted to meet with you, it means this isn't something small."
Jorrik crossed his arms. "He's also the commander of the Royal Knights. One of the only good ones left."
Kael's frown deepened.
She tried to remember.
Tried to dig through the memories of her childhood.
Had she ever met this man?
Had her father spoken of him?
But there was nothing.
Just an empty space where an answer should be.
She folded the note carefully.
Then, turning to Riven, she said, "If you're wrong, and this is a trap, I'm blaming you first."
Riven grinned. "Wouldn't have it any other way, sweetheart."
Kael sighed. "Let's go."