The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 42

Caeden shuffled his feet, unable to hide his discomfort.

He glanced again around the spacious, well-lit room, its luxurious furnishings just as intimidating as the other finery he’d seen on his way into the palace. Aelric reclined in a well-cushioned chair in the corner, looking relaxed. Taeris was also seated but in stark contrast to Aelric was visibly tense, leaning forward and staring absently at the thick carpet, his shoulders hunched.

Caeden understood his apprehension. Their entrance to the palace had gone surprisingly smoothly once Aelric had vouched for them at the gate, but that had been the easy part. Now they needed Karaliene herself - Karaliene, who had so obviously mistrusted them in Thrindar - to believe them. To help them, rather than turn them over to Administration. Even given Aelric and Dezia’s relationship with the princess, Caeden still expected armed guards to burst through the door and arrest them at any moment. From the way Taeris looked, Caeden suspected the older man felt the same way.

The rattle of the doorknob turning made him flinch, and he straightened as Taeris and Aelric both rose. The other two men bowed as Karaliene slipped into the room, alone; after a moment of relief Caeden quickly, awkwardly copied them.

There was silence for a few seconds as the princess studied he and Taeris, and Caeden flushed beneath her disapproving gaze. Even so, just as he had at Thrindar, he couldn’t help but stare a little too. It wasn’t just that Karaliene was attractive - though she undoubtedly was, and he was far from blind to the fact. But she had a… presence. A way of commanding the attention of everyone in the room, just by being in it, that Caeden found more than a little mesmerizing.

He dropped his eyes again before his staring became too obvious, and Karaliene fortunately didn’t seem to have noticed. She sat, gesturing for the others to do the same.

"I cannot stay long, but I wish to make one thing clear before we begin," said the princess to them as they took their seats. "I am here because people I trust believe you can help fight the Blind. That does not equate to me trusting you." She tapped her teeth with a manicured fingernail, watching them intently. "Now. My understanding is that Tol Athian’s Council are refusing to help you, and that you would like me to use my influence to see if their minds can be changed. Is this correct?"

Taeris blinked, looking a little taken aback at Karaliene’s straightforwardness. "It is, Your Highness."

Karaliene hesitated, glancing across at Aelric for a moment before continuing. "I am willing to do this," she said, her tone heavy with reluctance. "My name would not be directly involved, but some of the Houses have been trying to gain my favour for a while now. I can think of at least one that has a loose alliance with Athian, and would be willing to pressure the Council to help you, without asking too many questions about who you are."

"Of course, Your Highness," said Taeris quickly. "I can’t tell you how -"

Karaliene held up a hand, forestalling him. "I haven’t finished. There are conditions." She looked Taeris in the eye. "Fortunately, I have had your… past explained to me. That, and the fact that you warned us about the Boundary before anyone had even heard of the Blind, is in your favour. I am satisfied that you are truly here to help."

Taeris' eyes betrayed a glimmer of surprise, but he nodded in mute acknowledgement.

Karaliene’s gaze hardened as it switched to Caeden, who shrunk a little beneath it. "Your companion, on the other hand, remains a mystery. He has been accused of a terrible crime, regardless of where it was committed - and there has been no evidence to suggest that he was not the perpetrator, not even from his own lips. I am taking an enormous risk letting a man like that into my city, regardless of who has vouched for him. As such, I will require something more from him." Her tone was cold, and she still addressed her words to Taeris, as if even speaking to Caeden was distasteful to her.

Caeden stared at the ground, swallowing. It was harsh treatment, but for all he knew it could be justified. "I am willing to do whatever you need of me, Your Highness," he said, keeping his tone meek. If they could not convince the princess to help them, their chances of making any progress with the Tol were slim.

Karaliene nodded, then walked over to her desk, picking something up out of one of the drawers. Caeden paled as he recognised the black torc in her hand.

"You want me to wear a Shackle," he said quietly.

"Yes. And I will be the one to bind you," replied Karaliene, looking him in the eye. "Other people have vouched for you, believe you could be the key to defeating the Blind - and they may well be right. But ultimately, I am the one giving you refuge here. You’re my responsibility while you are in Ilin Illan." She arched an eyebrow at him. "So these are my terms. You will wear the Shackle, and under no circumstances will you leave the palace grounds without my express permission. Agreed?"

Caeden hesitated. He knew there was little choice in the matter, knew that they were beyond fortunate to have the princess' help at all. But the thought of putting a Shackle on again made him cringe.

And… it would mean he had no way to slip out, no way to speak to Havran Das without the princess knowing he had left.

Eventually, though, he took a deep breath and bared his left forearm, holding it out towards Karaliene.

"Agreed."

The princess examined him for a moment longer, and his breath caught as he locked gazes with her. Her expression became a hint more disapproving after a second, and Caeden reddened as he realised he was staring again; he looked away awkwardly only to blush further as he saw Aelric glaring at him from the side. He finally fixed his eyes firmly on the ground, flinching as Karaliene touched the cold metal to his forearm.

The black metal turned to liquid, slithering and moulding itself to his skin. The world immediately seemed duller, more grey, as if some of the colour had been leeched out of it. Caeden sighed, then smoothed down his sleeve again.

Karaliene paused, then gave a satisfied nod. "I can feel the link."

Then she turned back to Taeris, evidently done with Caeden. "You may stay here too, if you wish - there are few enough Administrators around, so it’s as safe a place for you as any. You should both be able to pass as servants; I’ll have someone organise quarters and some appropriate clothes. Use the servants' entrance if you want to come and go without attracting too much attention. Just don’t wander too far into the main parts of the palace, and try to keep your excursions to the evenings, when there are fewer people about. If an Administrator does happen to recognise you, there will be nothing more I can do to help you."

"Understood. Thank-you, Your Highness," said Taeris.

Karaliene inclined her head and then glanced across at Aelric, who was still scowling at Caeden. "Aelric. Can you please show these two to the east wing, and have Bacira make up some quarters there - maybe use the rooms near the gardens that 'Zia and I sometimes use for study? They’re near enough to the other servants to not arouse suspicion, but isolated enough that no-one should really notice that they are being occupied."

Aelric finally tore his gaze from Caeden, bowing to the princess. "Of course, Your Highness."

Karaliene rose, and the three men stood in deference. The princess' eyes again met Caeden’s for an instant, and again his stomach fluttered. He looked to the side straight away this time, inwardly cursing himself. Reactions like that could only land him in trouble here.

Oblivious to Caeden’s thoughts, Karaliene gave them all a tight nod.

"I’ll set things in motion," she said to Taeris. She slipped out the door.

There was silence for a moment, and then Aelric gestured to the hallway. "We should get moving. The quicker we get to the servants' wing, the less likely you are to be spotted," he said, eyes hardening a little when he looked at Caeden.

Caeden flushed again, but nodded. He and Taeris exchanged relieved glances that things had gone so smoothly, and then they trailed after Aelric.

Caeden lay on his new bed, staring at the ceiling.

He’d been trying to sleep for hours now, battling both the warm evening and his own frustrations in search of rest. A breeze sighed through the open window, providing momentary relief from the heat and accompanied by the distant murmuring of the city below. It was well past midnight by his reckoning, but from the sounds of it, Ilin Illan was far from asleep too.

Despite it being only his first night at the palace, this new situation was already beginning to chafe at him. It would take time for Karaliene’s political machinations to achieve anything at the Tol, and Caeden accepted that. But that didn’t mean he should be sitting idle. He felt sure he could be doing something – anything other than just lying around, hoping that either Taeris or the princess could eventually convince the Council to help him.

He stared out the window and pondered again how best to contact Havran Das, the merchant Alaris had talked about. He’d ventured outside his room earlier for some fresh air and taken careful note of the guards' routine patrols, even spotting a small supply gate he thought would be unattended at night. The only other brief excursion from his quarters had been to the library, where, much to his delight, he’d found more detailed maps of Ilin Illan than he’d had time to look over.

Havran Das’ store had been easy to locate - it was clearly marked, large and in the upper city, quite close to the palace itself. An influential and successful man, then. Caeden didn’t know whether that made him feel better or more nervous…. but for the moment, it barely mattered. All the information he’d gathered was useless if he couldn’t find a way to slip his Shackle.

He sighed, staring resentfully at the black metal sitting snug around his arm, a constant reminder that Karaliene could pinpoint his location at any time. For all the finery around him, he was effectively just a prisoner once more.

He gave the Shackle a gentle tap, wondering if there was any way to remove it. Nothing happened except for a slight metallic ring. He closed his eyes, concentrating, trying to will it to fall off. He wanted it gone, needed it gone, so he could find out who he really was.

Still nothing. He grimaced, opening his eyes again and gazing morosely at the ceiling. Travelling here, he’d felt like he had a greater purpose; the blazing light of his tattoo and the sense of urgency Taeris had lent their journey had done little to dampen that. But he was isolated here in his room, the time already beginning to drag - and with the Vessel now secured in Tol Athian, his tattoo gave off only a dull, flickering glow. It all combined to make him feel cast adrift, like his opportunity to get answers was starting to slip away.

The need to take action settled in his stomach, almost painful. He was tired; he should just try to sleep. Everything would seem less upsetting come morning.

But the knowledge remained that even if he felt better then, he would still be no closer to understanding who he was. What his purpose was in all of this. He gritted his teeth as the frustration built in his chest, intense and hard.

The Shackle retracted, dropping noiselessly from his arm and onto the quilt.

Caeden stared at it, stunned, for a few moments. It had come off. He’d done it, though he had no idea how.

Then he felt a flash of panic. Karaliene would know. Wouldn’t she? The princess was most probably asleep at this hour; perhaps it would go unnoticed, at least for a time.

He waited in the darkness, frozen to the spot for several minutes, listening for the sound of soldiers rushing to his door. No-one came. Gradually he relaxed, sitting up on the bed and staring at the Shackle. He could try putting it back on, but he had no idea when – if ever – he’d be able to take it off again.

And even if he was able to reactivate it, he doubted it would still be linked to Karaliene. This might be his only opportunity to act before his newest custodian realised something was amiss.

Heart pounding, he fumbled around in the darkness for his clothes. Once dressed he slipped out into the corridor, nerves taut as he strained for any sign of discovery.

The hallways were all but empty at this hour and he made quick time, soon locating an exit to the palace grounds that he thought would be unguarded. Holding his breath, he cracked the door open, waiting for a shout to indicate he’d been mistaken.

There was only silence, with the occasional snatch of city noise in the background. He slipped through and gently shut the door behind him.

The thick shrubbery and moonless night made staying out of sight relatively easy, much to his relief. He secreted himself behind some bushes, keeping his breathing calm and steady, straining for the sound of the next patrol. Once, he thought he heard a noise behind him – the crunch of leaves underfoot, perhaps – but when he spun, there was no-one there, and he put it down to his imagination.

Minutes passed, and finally the orange flame of a torch began bobbing towards him. He held his breath as two guards walked past his hiding spot, both looking alert but neither showing signs of having spotted anything unusual.

Then they were past. Forcing his legs to move he dashed forward, staying low and ready to dive into cover at the first sign of another patrol. He arrived at the supply gate to find that it was much as he’d hoped, secured from the inside with a solid latch but without needing a key.

He opened it cautiously, then used a sliver of Essence – so small it would surely be undetectable – to hold the latch up, leaving the gate accessible from outside. By his estimate, the Essence wouldn’t decay for at least a few hours. To a casual glance from any passing patrols, though, nothing would seem amiss.

He slipped out into a side alley, unlit and without shops or buildings of any kind. He kept his pace steady as he walked towards the main street, trying not to run despite his instincts. If anyone saw him, he wanted to look as innocuous as possible.

At the end of the alleyway he stopped, mentally revisiting the route he needed to take as he peered cautiously around the corner. In the distance he could see the four men standing guard in front of the palace’s main gate, from their body language more bored than anything else. That was good. The last thing he needed was to be challenged by an overzealous sentry.

He waited for a few moments until he thought none were looking in his direction, then exited the alley and began walking away, keeping to the shadows where possible. He didn’t look back, and there were no shouts from behind him.

Caeden’s racing heartbeat slowed a little once the palace was lost to view, though he remained tense as he hurried along. Despite the late hour, several buildings still had windows illuminated, and he overheard more than one heated conversation emanating from the grounds of Ilin Illan’s wealthiest residents. He couldn’t make out the specifics of any of them, but the entire city just felt… uneasy.

He soon arrived at Havran Das’ shopfront. He considered the building for a few minutes; the street was well-lit, so there was little chance of him breaking in unnoticed. However there did appear to be an upper floor to the shop - it was possible Das lived here as well as traded.

Taking a deep breath, Caeden walked up to the door and rapped on it as loudly as he dared.

He stood in silence for what seemed like minutes; he was almost about to leave when the sound of a bolt being slid back echoed around the street, and the door opened a crack. A bespectacled, middle-aged man peered out at him.

“What do you want, lad?” he asked sharply. “Do you know what hour it is?”

Caeden gave a nervous cough. “I’m looking for Havran Das.”

The man stared at him for a moment, sizing him up. Evidently deciding Caeden did not pose much of a threat, he opened the door a little wider. “I am Havran Das,” he said, suspicion thick in his tone. “Who in fates are you?”

“My name is Caeden.” When the man still stared at him blankly, he added, “Alaris said you would be expecting me.”

Havran took an unconscious step back at the last part, his entire demeanour changing. He smiled, but for a moment Caeden saw a combination of fascination and fear in the merchant’s eyes.

“Of course. Of course,” Havran said, opening the door wide and gesturing for Caeden to enter. “Please. Come in.”

Caeden did as he was asked, and the other man shut the door behind him, sliding the bolt back into place. He held his candle high, providing enough light for Caeden to navigate between the shelves of bottles. Finally they came to the back of the shop, where Havran indicated he should take a seat at a long table. Caeden did so uncertainly, still not sure what to expect from this meeting.

“So,” said Havran as he sat opposite. “Alaris told me a little about your situation, but even he didn’t know much. He certainly didn’t tell me you would be in this body. Perhaps if -”

It was the slightest flicker of the eye, from Caeden’s face to over his shoulder. If Caeden’s senses had not already been so heightened from nervousness, he might not have noticed it at all.

As it was, he reacted on instinct, spinning to the side and to his feet.

A blade cleaved the air where he had just been sitting, splintering the chair in two.

Caeden moved without thinking, elbowing his would-be attacker in the face. He heard the crunching sound of a nose breaking but didn’t pause, allowing his momentum to take him behind the armoured man’s back. In one smooth motion he grabbed both sides of the assassin’s helmetless head and twisted it as hard as he could, downward and to the side.

The snap of the man’s neck was deafening in the silence of the shop.

Then Havran was scrambling backward away from Caeden, who felt a sudden rage burning in his stomach. He’d been set up, betrayed. Had anything Alaris told him been real? He started towards the cowering merchant, picking him up by the shoulders with Essence-enhanced arms and slamming him against the wall.

“Why?” he hissed.

Havran cringed away, refusing to meet Caeden’s gaze. “Tal’kamar, wait! It’s not what you think!” he shrieked, plainly terrified.

A woman’s scream from outside cut through the quiet of the night.

Caeden hesitated for only a moment; then he released the merchant and was moving, heading for the door. He heard Havran dashing out of the room behind him, but another shriek came, this time clearly only just outside. He slammed back the bolt and burst out of the shop, freezing as he took in the scene before him.

Fifty or so feet down the road a young woman was surrounded by five armoured men, four of them watching as the other held her from behind, hand over her mouth. She was kicking and clearly trying to bite her attacker’s hand, but Caeden could see her struggles were already weakening.

For a moment the man’s hand slipped, and Caeden got a good look at the woman’s face. He paled as he recognised the fair skin, the delicate features.

It was Karaliene.

She’d felt him take off the Shackle and decided to follow him, almost certainly, but there was no time to worry about that now. He gritted his teeth, then took off at a dead run towards the group.

He was still thirty feet away when he was first noticed; the man who had seen him murmured a word of warning, and all five men were facing Caeden in an instant. His heart skipped a beat as each one of them drew a sword, their black armour barely visible in the gloom.

Though none of the men were wearing the distinctive helmets, Caeden had no doubt who they were. He kept running. He was not going to leave Karaliene to the Blind.

The man closest gave a wide, greedy smile when he realised Caeden was unarmed; he stood calmly in an attack stance, perfectly still, as Caeden rushed towards him. Just as Caeden came within range the man moved, cat-like, far quicker than should have been possible. His sword snaked out, streaking towards Caeden’s neck.

Time slowed and Caeden let his instincts take over, just as he had against Aelric.

He slid beneath the arc of the sword, coming in under the man’s defences. Then he twisted and kicked upward into the left knee of his opponent, intuitively knowing that his altered passage through time meant that the blow would be delivered many times faster, and therefore many times harder, in reality. He winced as he felt the man’s ligaments snap, the knee bending sideways; a shout of surprised pain ripped from the soldier’s throat as he crumpled to the ground.

Caeden regained his footing smoothly, snatching the man’s sword from the air as it fell and then spinning forward, slashing his attacker’s throat in one fluid motion. Four.

The smiles of the dead man’s companions had vanished now. The one holding Karaliene hit her hard on the head, sending her slumping to the ground. Caeden watched her fall helplessly, hoping that the blow had not caused her any serious injury.

The four remaining soldiers moved as one towards him, panning out, surrounding him so that he was no longer able to see them all at once. He knew he was still slowing time – Karaliene’s fall appeared to take several seconds – but these men seemed less affected. A little sluggish compared to him, perhaps, but not as much as he would like. He couldn’t allow them to settle, to get any advantage.

He lunged forward, slipping gracefully between two whirring blades, one so close that he felt it brush a few strands of his hair. Caeden brought his own blade around in a vicious arc, the edge slicing into the exposed neck of the man to his left. His opponent began to fall without a sound; before the body could hit the ground Caeden snatched a dagger from its belt and spun, throwing it at one of the men who had moved behind him. It caught the unsuspecting soldier in the eye, blood fountaining through his fingers as he died clutching his face.

Three. Two. Their armour was well-made – almost impenetrable to a normal weapon, he suspected – but these men had neglected to wear their helmets. Their laziness, or overconfidence, was going to kill them.

The two remaining soldiers faced him grimly, spacing themselves so that he would have to concentrate on one or the other. He’d vaguely hoped that they would run, having seen what had become of their comrades. But the expressions on their faces were intent, focused. As if his success so far had only intrigued them.

The one to his right feinted; when Caeden flinched towards him the one to his left came in hard and fast, stabbing with lethal accuracy. Caeden was faster, though. He moved forward, towards the thrust and slightly to the side, spinning so that the steel passed just by his ribs. He went down on one knee in the same motion, grabbing the man’s leg with his free hand and lifting.

Before his opponent hit the ground Caeden rolled towards the other soldier, anticipating the attack. Steel sparked as it hit the stone of the street where he had been a moment ago. Caeden focused, then thrust upward at the second man, into the thin slit that allowed movement for the knee. He was rewarded with a scream of pain as his blade bit home.

He slid the blade back out before it could get caught, then rose, severing the man’s head from his shoulders as he tumbled forward.

One.

The soldier he had tripped was back on his feet, panting but still with an oddly intent look in his eye. There was no fear that Caeden could see. At first he thought that was strange, but then he considered what he must look like to his opponent. Calm. Composed. Focused.

Exactly the same.

Before he could think on it any further, the final soldier was upon him, raining down a fierce array of blows. Caeden blocked them all – not easily, but not feeling that he was likely to lose now, either. He allowed the soldier to exhaust his attack, then put several feet between them.

“Who are you?” he asked, breathing heavily. “Why are you here?”

The man stopped, blinking as if surprised by the question.

“We are here to stop you, Tal’kamar,” he eventually replied, his voice emotionless.

The soldier threw himself forward, but it was a tired thrust and Caeden sidestepped it with ease. He acted on instinct, bringing his sword up so that his opponent’s momentum carried him into it. The blade sliced across his face, biting deep but not a killing blow.

The man growled, blood spurting down his cheek, then turned to face him again.

Caeden stretched out his hand without thinking.

A blinding torrent of power and light washed through him, exploding from his palm and slamming into the man’s chest. It should have vaporized the soldier where he stood, but much to Caeden’s astonishment he simply stood there, neither advancing nor retreating as his armour seemed to drink in the Essence, extinguishing it.

Caeden stopped, cursing as he realised that every Finder in the city would now be pointed at him. He had to end this, and quickly.

He swivelled, flicking his sword underhand at the other man. The blade caught the soldier square through the mouth, blood fountaining everywhere as the man stared at Caeden in horrified disbelief. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Caeden stood there for a few more moments in silence, breathing hard, surveying the scene. Bloodied bodies lay everywhere. In the distance he could hear the whistle of the city watch; the fight had taken only a minute, perhaps less, but someone must have heard the clash of steel. There was doubtless a legion of Administrators heading in his direction now, too. He had to move.

He knelt by Karaliene, emitting a sigh of relief when he saw she was breathing. He hoisted her onto his shoulder – mentally apologising for the indignity – then hurried away as fast as he could, disappearing down a darkened side street just as the urgent whistles of the watch sounded like they made it onto the scene.

Havran Das – who hadn’t shown his face during the entire fight - would have to wait for another day.

Caeden suddenly discovered he was tired. Exhausted, in fact. The adrenaline was wearing off, and whatever he’d been doing to slow down time was no longer working. He had to think of what to do with Karaliene.

She knew, of course. She knew he’d slipped his Shackle, left the grounds - breaking the only two conditions she’d set for her hospitality. If he took her back to the palace, she would have him thrown in a dungeon as soon as she awoke. At the least.

Then he thought of what he’d done, how easily he’d killed those men. He shivered a little as the reality of it set in; it had been surreal at the time, almost like he was watching himself do those things. He hadn’t taken pleasure in it, certainly - but it hadn’t upset him as he knew it should have, either.

He swallowed. Perhaps he belonged in a dungeon.

He thought furiously as he half-walked, half-jogged along the deserted streets. Was there even an alternative? He couldn’t prevent Karaliene from returning to the palace; one thing of which he was certain was that he wasn’t capable of kidnapping or killing her. He was relieved to discover that, though in his current situation it presented its own series of problems.

In the end, he decided that there was nothing for it but to return to the palace and accept the consequences. Even though she had been unconscious for most of the fight, Karaliene would hopefully feel some sliver of gratitude towards him for saving her. The prospect seemed slim at this point, but he clung to it.

He made it back to the supply gate without any issues, relieved to find that it was still unlatched, despite the princess presumably having used it after him. He shut it properly behind him, then hid in the bushes until the patrol passed by again, covering Karaliene’s mouth for fear she would wake up and give him away. Heart pounding so loud he was worried he wouldn’t hear the guards coming, he made it back inside without incident.

The trip to Karaliene’s quarters was trickier. He already knew where to go thanks to Aelric’s thorough rundown of off-limits areas earlier that day - the problem was that there would be plenty of guards stationed along the hallways leading up to the royal chambers. Caeden found a safe corner and let Karaliene’s limp body rest against the wall, flexing his tired shoulder. She was heavier than she looked.

He stared at her for a moment. She looked strangely peaceful, her hair tousled but still shining in the dim light.

Then he shook himself. If anyone found him with her like this, it was unlikely he’d even last until the princess awoke to explain matters. He needed to get her back to her chambers.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. She must have slipped away from her bedroom without being noticed; none of the guards would have let her wander off alone in the middle of the night. And, therefore, she must have had a plan to get back in.

He carefully picked her up again, then found the nearest exit, moving around the outside of the palace until he was reasonably sure he was below Karaliene’s rooms. They were on the top floor, but Caeden had remembered seeing a slender set of spiral stairs leading up to the balcony.

Holding his breath, he started up them as quickly as he could, praying that the dim starlight was not enough for anyone to see the shadowy silhouette clambering upward. It was slow, exhausting progress with the princess over his shoulder, and he felt more exposed the higher he climbed. His skin crawled, and every moment he expected to hear cries of alarm.

Finally, though, he gained the upper balcony, relieved beyond measure to see that one of the windows had been left ajar. He opened it a little wider and climbed awkwardly through, careful not to make any noise. There would doubtless be guards posted outside Karaliene’s quarters; any suspicious sound and they would come rushing in.

He carried Karaliene over to her bed, laying her gently across it. He held his breath as she started to stir, but the princess simply rolled over into a more comfortable position, eyes still shut. Caeden exhaled, then exited through the window again, closing it until the latch clicked neatly behind him.

He paused for a moment on the balcony, awestruck by the view. This was the highest accessible point in all of Ilin Illan; before him the city was laid out like a living map, the outline of every building discernible in the starlight. Beyond the streets he could see a ship slipping down the river, visible only thanks to its bobbing lights.

Even with the details obscured by darkness, it was breathtaking.

But he didn’t dare tarry to enjoy the sight, especially here where an errant glance from a guard would undo him. He turned for one last glance at the princess, to ensure she was still sleeping.

He froze.

Karaliene was sitting up in her bed, eyes open, staring through the window at him. There was a look of curiosity on her face, but no alarm.

Caeden didn’t wait for her to cry out. He fled for the stairs at a dead run, getting to the bottom just ahead of a patrol. He made it back to his own quarters unseen, out of breath as he finally shut the door and collapsed onto his bed, heedless of the bloodstains that marred his clothing. He felt the cold metal of the Shackle press against his back.

Without hesitation, he reached around and grabbed it, then placed it against his arm.

Nothing happened.

“It won’t work. You can’t put it on yourself,” came a deep voice.

Caeden leapt to his feet again, relaxing only a fraction when he saw its owner.

Taeris was standing in the doorway to the adjoining room. He had evidently been waiting for Caeden’s return; the older man was watching him closely - not fearfully, exactly, but with an abundance of caution.

Caeden found himself colouring, and he let the Shackle fall to the ground with a clatter. The full toll of the night finally crashed down on him, and he sank back onto the bed, holding his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He truly was. He’d betrayed Taeris’ trust, hedged his bets so that he didn’t have to choose a side. He realised now that it was time to make that choice.

Taeris gave him the slightest of smiles, though his expression was still stern. “You came back. That’s a start.” He walked over to the bed, seating himself next to Caeden and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“But it certainly seems we have much to talk about,” he added quietly.