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202
Council Elder Theos pov

There’s ink dried on my fingers, and it’s not mine. That’s the first thing I notice when I reach for the letter left for me on the edge of the desk, a corner tucked neatly beneath the weight of an empty goblet.

The seal’s wax has gone dull, like it’s been waiting too long like even the message within has grown tired of being unread. The smudges around the edge cling to the folds like old bruises, and for a moment, I wonder if I can pretend it isn’t meant for me at all.

I pretend it was meant for someone else, that someone else is still in charge, still trusted, still whole.

But there’s no one left to pretend to, no one watching, at least not anymore. No one sends letters to ghosts, yet here I am - hands trembling with ink that isn’t mine, opening something I don’t want to read.

I don’t expect visitors, I haven’t in weeks, the villa is far enough from the capital that the roads twist like they’re ashamed to lead here. The soldiers stationed at the gate know better than to disturb me unless someone threatens to set the place on fire. Which is why I know, the moment I hear the knock, that something’s already burning.

“Lady Iressa,” the guard calls up to my study from below. “She’s requesting an audience.”

Of course she is, of course it’s her. A woman who should’ve been exiled for asking too many questions during a royal banquet. The same one who once had the gall to correct the royal genealogist before dessert was served. And somehow, despite her sharp tongue and sharper eyes, she’s never been silenced.

“Let her in,” I say, wiping my fingers on the hem of my robe.

I hear the rustle of her cloak before I see her. She enters without hesitation, every step precise, her boots clicking against the marble like each sound is measured for impact. Her gloves are tight against her wrists, and her hair is pulled back into a braid so severe it could cut glass.

She wears no jewels, no furs, nothing that would mark her as important. And yet, she might be the most dangerous person to walk through that door since Orna herself.

“High Elder Theos,” she says with a half-smile. It’s not kind. It’s not cruel. It’s a warning.

“Lady Iressa.” I greet her with a polite nod, not more.

“Still hiding in your paper kingdom, I see.” She mutters and gestures at the mess all around me, but her words don’t come out as condescending or insulting at least.

I nod toward the papers spread around the room like fallen soldiers. “Better than bleeding in hers.”

“You mean Orna’s?” She says it lightly, but her eyes narrow - just slightly.

“I mean the one the throne belongs to today. It changes often enough these days.” I say as calmly as I can, keeping the tone neutral and almost playful.

She doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile. Instead, she reaches into her bag and pulls out a folded page. No seal, no ribbon, just a clean edge and a crease so sharp it looks surgical.

I look at it for too long to lie I’m not interested. “What is that?” I ask.

“Proof.” She smirks a little too widely to say she’s just a friendly visitor.

I raise a brow. “That’s a dangerous word in these halls.”

“And a necessary one.” She corrects and offers me this so-called proof.

I take the page, though I don’t open it. I already feel like the walls are listening, the whole villa feels wrong. Too quiet, too clean. Like Orna’s shadow got here before her voice did.

“You brought this to me.. why?” I ask, arching a sceptical eyebrow.

“Because you’re the last one left who might still care what the truth costs.” She says it with such lightness to her words it’s hard to believe we’re discussing something important, not the mundane weather talk.

I study her, she’s younger than me and smarter, probably. Certainly more reckless. But she isn’t stupid, she wouldn’t come here unless she was ready to lose something. Maybe even everything.

“And what truth are we pretending to entertain today?” I ask, carefully, not to show the doubt that coils under my skin.

She doesn’t blink. “The boy on the throne is not who he claims to be. And you know it.” I don’t respond while she takes a step closer, her voice quieter now. “You’ve seen the way he writes. The way he stumbles over words that should be carved into his bones. You’ve read the old records. You remember what Cael sounded like. What he looked like.”

“I remember a child,” I say, finally opening the page. “And children change.”

She doesn’t argue. Instead, she points to the lower edge of the registry. A signature that’s crossed out, then written again and a date changed twice. The ink is newer than the rest. “I found this in a ledger buried in the archive of House Nerin,” she explains. “He was registered as a bastard, then erased. Then rewritten. And then, days before the coronation, changed again.”

I swallow. “You want me to stand in front of the court and accuse Orna of forging the heir?” I ask, my voice dropping a little lower now, mainly because I don’t want this to be overheard. I’m standing here, listening and discussing, but from the outside, this sounds like treason and I know it.

“No,” she says and shakes her head, her voice calm but steel underneath. “I want you to remember who you were before you stopped asking what was right.”

I shake my head, just like she did a moment ago, mirroring her again like this is some back and forth game we’re playing. “You think this is about right and wrong? There is no right, only what survives.”

“Then let the truth survive, even if it costs you.” She insists, her voice low but aggressive as she takes a step closer to me. I’m not sure if she’s pushing to check my boundaries or if she’s testing me somehow, but I really don’t like this situation at all.

Her gaze pins me like a knife and it hurts, somehow, just as much. “I know what Orna is, I know what you were. You might be the only one left who can tilt the blade before it falls.” She hisses.

I set the page down and stare at her like she’s gone completely mad. “You’re asking me to die for a truth that’s already been buried. For a name that might never return. For a boy who might’ve been better off erased.”

“You’re not dead yet, are you?” She snorts out a laugh but when she speaks, her voice is quiet and almost kind.

“No,” I whisper. “But I’m not alive either, not in any way that matters.”

She nods slowly. “Then maybe this is the only way left to matter.”

She leaves without another word while I stare at the registry long after she’s gone and focus on the stains that mark it. I don’t think she understands just how many truths she just handed over to me willingly.