Stef had always considered himself adaptable. He had survived back-alley negotiations, bar fights over unpaid debts, and a rather unfortunate incident involving a butcher, a stolen chicken, and a very sharp cleaver. But court life? This was something else entirely.
Every hallway of the eastern palace seemed to hum with hidden conversations, silk-clad figures gliding past him with veiled smiles and sharpened words. He had once thought mercenaries were dangerous, but at least they stabbed you in the front. Here, a compliment could kill you just as effectively as poison.
A Scholar Among Serpents
Stef had secured his position in the royal court by posing as a scholar—an ironic twist considering he had spent half his youth running from actual studies. He had to admit, though, that playing the role had its perks. It gave him access to the archives, a roof over his head, and most importantly, it kept people from asking why he was really here.
Of course, his illusion of safety shattered when he overheard something he wasn't supposed to.
He had been minding his own business, nursing a cup of tea that tasted suspiciously like regret, when two nobles passed by, their voices hushed.
"Collapse the throne."
"It must look natural."
"Before the year ends."
Stef's fingers tightened around his cup. That certainly didn't sound like casual gossip about royal fashion trends.
A Warning from River
Later that evening, River of House Thalion found him loitering on a secluded balcony, pretending to admire the stars while absolutely eavesdropping on everyone below.
She sighed. "If you keep staring at people like that, someone is going to assume you're an assassin."
He gave her his most innocent look. "And?"
"And assassins don't last long here."
River leaned against the railing beside him, her gaze sharp despite her relaxed posture. "I know you've been listening. You should be careful. The court is a serpent's nest, and you, my dear scholar, are fresh meat."
Stef took a sip of his questionable tea. "A comforting thought."
"More of a warning, actually." She paused, then lowered her voice. "The underground movement isn't just a rumor. It exists. And it has supporters in this palace."
Stef's mind raced. Was this the faction pushing for war? Or were they just waiting for the perfect storm to tip the balance of power?
Either way, he was getting dangerously close to something that smelled of trouble.
A Political Trap
Court gatherings were his least favorite part of the job. They required smiling, which Stef wasn't particularly good at, and not offending anyone important, which he was even worse at.
At one such gathering, a noblewoman—draped in enough silk to make an entire army of tailors weep—approached him.
She smiled sweetly, which immediately put him on edge. "Scholar Stef, what do you think of the king's rule?"
Every conversation in the palace was a trap. And this one had spikes.
If he praised the king too much, he'd make enemies of those waiting for the old man to keel over. If he criticized him, he'd be labeled a traitor.
Stef took a slow sip of his wine, buying himself a moment. Then, with the confidence of a man bluffing his way through life, he replied, "A ruler's strength is not in his own hands, but in those he surrounds himself with. Wise counsel is the foundation of stability."
The noblewoman studied him before nodding in approval. "A thoughtful response."
As she drifted away, Stef exhaled. He had survived.
For now.
A Secret Letter
That night, a slip of parchment was shoved under his door.
It had no name, just a single line:
"If you truly seek knowledge, follow the silver raven at midnight."
Stef frowned. Outside his window, just barely visible in the moonlight, was an old stone pillar. Carved into its base was a silver raven emblem.
Stef sighed and rubbed his temples. "Why can't it ever be 'Meet me at the bakery' instead?"
He now had a choice:
Ignore the message and play it safe.Follow the silver raven and walk straight into potential doom.
He already knew what he was going to do.
After all, when had he ever been good at playing it safe?