Chapter 10 Shadows Eavesdroptled Chapter
The night beyond the fortress walls seethed with whispers.
Not the mortal kind—soft, fragile, fleeting—but the old kind, the ones born long before kingdoms rose and fell. The kind that slithered through stone and shadow, carrying secrets like hungry mouths carry teeth.
The castle knew things.
And so did those lurking just outside.
High atop the spire, the wind carved a mournful wail between the obsidian arches. A cloaked figure stood perched on the edge, boots balanced on the narrow stone lip as though gravity were an optional rule. They watched the queen’s tower with unblinking patience.
A thin smile stretched beneath the hood.
“So,” the figure murmured, voice a whisper swallowed by the wind, “the prophecy stirs after all.”
A raven—large, too large—flapped down beside them, feathers black as void. Its eyes glowed faintly red, not like an animal’s, but like a sorcerer wearing a bird’s skin.
“She touched him,” the raven croaked. “The cursed queen. The heartless one.”
“Yes,” the hooded figure replied. “And it nearly broke her.”
The raven cackled, a harsh, cracking sound.
“His blood woke her.”
A pause.
“Just as foretold.”
The cloaked figure folded their arms behind their back.
“No… not awakened. Not yet. But it is loosening the chains around her heart. That alone should worry her court.”
The raven tilted its head. “She does not know he was sent.”
“She must not,” the figure snapped. “Not yet. If she suspects manipulation, she’ll fortify herself again. Shut down. Kill him.”
“And that would ruin everything.”
“Yes.”
Lightning split the distant horizon, illuminating the cloaked figure’s silhouette—slender, but strong. Ancient. Wrong.
The raven shuffled. “What of Kael? He remembers nothing.”
“No.” A pulse of irritation flickered beneath the hood. “His memories were supposed to survive the crossing. Something interfered.”
“Perhaps her curse?”
“Perhaps,” the figure murmured. “Or perhaps Kael himself resisted more than expected.”
The raven puffed its feathers. “He is only human.”
“Oh, he is not merely human,” the cloaked one whispered, leaning forward, cloak snapping like a serpent’s tongue in the wind. “And soon, neither will she be, if the prophecy holds true.”
They gazed toward the queen’s chamber where Lyrathia currently paced like a trapped blade, sharp and restless.
“Let her fall,” the figure whispered.
“Let her unravel.”
The raven’s head bobbed in dark amusement.
“And then?”
“And then,” the figure murmured, “we take everything from her. The throne. The people. The heart she has never used.”
A pause.
“And the weapon she carries unknowingly.”
The raven flinched. “You think she will allow the dormant relic to surface?”
“She won’t allow anything.” The figure smiled again. “It will happen whether she wills it or not. Kael is the key… even if he does not know what door he opens.”
“And the rebellion?” the raven asked.
“They serve their purpose. Let them keep stirring unrest. Let the court be uneasy. Paranoia weakens queens far faster than blades.”
The raven clicked its beak.
“And if the queen discovers we are watching?”
“Oh, she will,” the figure said. “Eventually. But by the time she learns the truth?”
Their smile sharpened, predatory.
“It will be far too late.”
Inside the fortress, deep below, Kael wasn’t sleeping. Not because the upper cells were uncomfortable—compared to the lower dungeons, they felt almost inviting—but because the queen’s touch still lingered on his skin.
He stared at his palms as though expecting them to glow.
He’d never felt anything like that before.
Heat. Pleasure. Power.
Her touch had shot through him like lightning meeting dry earth—instant, consuming, alive.
It terrified him.
Not the feeling itself, but the certainty that accompanied it:
He had been drawn to her.
Even in the woods, even before he saw her, even when he didn’t know what he was crossing into.
Something had called him.
Something he could no longer deny.
But what?
He leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowing.
Whatever had been done to him, whatever strange blood ran through his veins—it was connected to her. He could feel it. A tether. Invisible, unbreakable.
But is it real, he wondered, or part of their magic?
A scraping sound echoed outside his cell.
Kael rose instantly, muscles coiling, senses sharpened. He moved toward the door, silent as instinct.
A shadow slid across the floor.
Not a guard.
Not something with footsteps.
Something gliding.
A whisper seeped through the keyhole.
Not words—breath.
Then—
A faint laugh.
Kael’s pulse spiked.
Something was watching him.
Waiting.
The laugh returned, softer this time, a mockery of amusement.
Kael stepped back. “Who’s there?”
No response.
The torches flickered—and for a heartbeat, he saw it.
A shape.
Hunched.
Wrong.
Pressed against the barred window like a smear of darkness that didn’t follow any physical rule.
It was studying him.
The whisper slid under the door:
“Found you.”
Kael froze.
But the next word chilled him more.
“Again.”
Before he could move, a burst of cold swept through the hall, extinguishing every torch in an instant.
The shadow vanished.
Silence fell.
Then the torches reignited, as if they had never gone out at all.
Kael stood alone, heart pounding.
Someone—or something—knew him.
And it hadn’t come for his queen.
It had come for him.
Far above, Lyrathia jolted upright in her private chamber.
The shadows had shifted.
She felt it—not through emotion, but through instinct sharpened by centuries of rule.
Someone had been watching her kingdom.
Someone powerful enough to slip beneath her awareness.
She rose from her throne-like chair, fury simmering beneath her cold skin.
“Show yourself,” she whispered into the room.
Nothing answered.
But she knew.
She felt the disturbance like a blade pressed to the back of her neck.
It wasn’t Kael.
It wasn’t her advisors.
It wasn’t the restless rebellion plotting in the outer territories.
This was different.
Older.
A threat that wanted her dethroned.
Destroyed.
Unmade.
Her gaze narrowed toward the direction of the upper cells.
Kael’s arrival had not been coincidence.
Something had brought him.
Something wanted her curse broken—or her crown shattered.
Maybe both.
A low growl rose from her throat, fangs glinting.
“Let them come,” she whispered.
“They will regret the attempt.”
But the unease lingering in her gut told her something she refused to voice:
Her throne was not as secure as she believed.
And her enemy was already inside the shadows of her kingdom.