The west garden was eerily quiet under the cover of midnight. Moonlight filtered through the skeletal branches, casting sharp, jagged shadows across the ground. Cassie’s hand never left the hilt of her dagger as she scanned the dim expanse. Her breath fogged in the cold air, the only sound apart from the faint rustle of leaves.

  “Over here,” a voice whispered, low but insistent.

  Cassie’s muscles tensed as she turned toward the source. The cloaked figure stood at the edge of the garden, half-hidden in the gloom. They made no move to approach, their posture wary yet poised.

  “You better have answers,” Cassie said, her voice cutting through the stillness.

  “I do,” the figure replied. “But you might not like what you hear.”

  “Try me,” she retorted, stepping closer.

  The figure motioned for her to follow. They led her deeper into the garden, where the neatly trimmed hedges gave way to wild brambles. The faint scent of earth and decay hung in the air, growing stronger with every step.

  Finally, they stopped in a small clearing, the darkness pressing close. The figure turned to face her, their movements slow and deliberate.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, Cassie,” they said, their voice muffled by the hood. “Theodoric and Dietrich don’t care about loyalty. They care about power. And they’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.”

  Cassie crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. “You dragged me out here to tell me something I already know?”

  The figure shook their head. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  They reached into their cloak and pulled out a leather-bound journal. The cover was battered, the edges worn. Without a word, they handed it to her.

  Cassie opened it cautiously, her eyes scanning the cramped handwriting. Pages detailed secret dealings, orders given in Theodoric’s name to silence dissent, and reports of executions disguised as accidents. Interspersed were records of Dietrich’s manipulations—blackmail, coercion, and betrayals that unraveled alliances.

  Her stomach tightened as she flipped through the pages. It wasn’t just the acts themselves that disturbed her; it was the cold precision behind them. Each entry was calculated, devoid of emotion, as if lives were merely pieces to be moved and sacrificed.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, her voice low.

  “I had help,” the figure said. “From people who’ve seen what happens to those who trust the wrong prince. Soldiers, spies... even servants.”

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “Why give it to me? What do you want?”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The figure hesitated, their gloved hands clenching at their sides. Then, slowly, they reached up and pulled back their hood.

  Cassie’s breath caught as she recognized him. “Alan.”

  He met her gaze, his expression guarded, but there was something raw in his eyes—something he hadn't allowed himself to show before. “Cassie, I care about you. I always have.”

  The words hit her harder than she expected. She remembered their last conversation—his confession, her rejection. She had told him she didn’t need distractions, and she still couldn’t afford them. But hearing him say it again now, with this new urgency, made her heart race.

  “I came back because I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself,” Alan continued, his voice quiet but firm. “This place will break you, Cassie. It already has, in ways you can’t even see. I want you to leave. Get out of here before it’s too late. Before they decide you’re not worth keeping around anymore.”

  She shook her head, laughter bitter and empty in the cold night air. “And where would I go, Alan? Back to the city that’s gone? To a life that doesn’t exist anymore?”

  His lips trembled momentarily, then pressed into a firm line. “There’s always somewhere you can go. Somewhere they can’t find you, can’t hurt you. You could start over.”

  “There’s no starting over,” she snapped. “Not for me. Not after everything I’ve seen—everything I’ve done.”

  The tension between them was thick, the silence stretching out until only the distant hoot of an owl broke it.

  Alan’s gaze softened, a flicker of emotion in his eyes. “I’m telling you this because I care about you. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. Please, Cassie—before it’s too late.”

  Cassie’s expression softened for a fleeting moment, but she quickly hardened again. “I can’t leave,” she whispered. “Not because I don’t want to. But because there’s nothing left for me outside these walls. This place is all I have now.”

  Alan’s shoulders slumped, his gaze filled with quiet resignation. “Then you’re already lost.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’m not. Not yet.”

  She stepped past him, the journal clutched tightly in her hands.

  “You should leave,” she said without turning back. “Before they find out what you’ve done.”

  “And what about you?” Alan asked, his voice laced with desperation.

  “I’ll survive,” she replied, though she wasn’t sure if it was the truth.

  Cassie lingered in the clearing after Alan disappeared into the shadows, her grip tightening on the journal. The cool leather felt solid beneath her fingers, but her thoughts churned with doubt.

  ‘Why now?’

  She opened the journal again, scanning the names and detailed accounts. Everything seemed meticulously crafted—too meticulous. The handwriting was flawless, the evidence damning. Her stomach twisted. It was almost as if it had been designed to provoke outrage.

  Her mind raced. Alan’s sudden reappearance after months of silence, his plea for her to leave, the conveniently placed journal—it all felt calculated.

  Cassie glanced toward the direction he’d gone, the branches swaying as though still disturbed by his departure.

  ‘What if this is a trap?’

  The thought settled in, cold and sharp. The journal didn’t just implicate Theodoric and Dietrich—it painted them as monsters. It didn’t simply expose corruption; it demanded action.

  ‘And if they’re removed from the picture, who benefits?’

  Her breath hitched as a possibility clawed its way into her mind. What if Alan wasn’t acting alone? What if he was working for those who wanted both princes out of the way to destabilize the court?

  The timing was too convenient. The journal. Its implicating content...

  ‘What if Alan’s no ally?’

  A sudden snap of a branch jolted her. Cassie’s head whipped around, her hand instinctively falling to her dagger. The clearing was still, save for the rustle of brambles in the faint wind.

  She exhaled slowly, but the weight of suspicion pressed heavy against her chest.