The Heiress Carrying His Heir

Chapter 113 - 114: The Scream

Kaelen’s POV

I was still holding the letter when Marcus came in.

His face told me everything before he opened his mouth. The particular stillness of a man who has brought bad news and is deciding how to deliver it. I set the letter down on the table and waited. The paper was still warm from being pressed against my chest. I could still feel the weight of her words in my hands.

"The intelligence is brief," Marcus said. "And clean. And bad."

"How bad?"

"Someone is asking questions about the Voice. Not from inside Dravara’s court. From outside it."

I sat back. "Outside how?"

"The methodology is wrong for a domestic investigation. Too resourced. Too patient. The kind of careful, lateral information gathering that belongs to a foreign operation." He paused. "It’s been running for months. Now it’s accelerating."

I thought about that. A foreign operation. Someone outside Dravara who wanted to know about the Voice. Someone who had resources, patience, time. Someone who had been watching for months, waiting, gathering pieces of information one by one.

"Who benefits?" I asked.

"Someone who benefits from the Rendered being destroyed. Someone who benefits from Elara isolated. The reforms discredited. The movement crushed before it can be absorbed into the crown’s work."

I thought about that too. There were names that came to mind. People who wanted the queen weak. People who wanted the kingdom unstable. People who had been watching from across the border, waiting for their moment.

I did not have a name. But I had a shape. And the shape was dangerous.

"Whoever it is," Marcus said, "they’re close to having enough. Maybe two weeks. Maybe less."

Two weeks. Maybe less.

I looked down at the letter in my hands.

In person. Directly. With my own voice and my own face and no mask between us.

"I have to go," I said.

Marcus did not ask where. He already knew.

I sat with the decision for a moment.

I thought about the last time I was in that palace. The mask coming off. Her face. The council erupting. The night that followed in her chambers, the way she had held me, the way I tasted her.

I thought about Lena. Lena who had left the Rendered. Lena who hated Elara but still worked for her. Lena who was not to be trusted. I did not know whose side she was on anymore. Maybe she did not know either. Maybe she was still figuring it out, the way I was still figuring out my own side.

I thought about Petrov. About the way he watched her. About the way he had been feeding information to someone outside the kingdom. About the way he was becoming a liability to everyone who relied on him.

I thought about the foreign operation. Someone with resources. Someone with patience. Someone who had been watching for months and was now accelerating. Someone who would not stop until they had what they wanted.

I thought: She already knows who I am. She has known since the council chamber. It’s time I stopped moving through her life like I’m still wearing the mask.

I folded the letter. Stood up. The chair scraped against the floor. The sound was loud in the quiet room.

I knew every way into that palace.

I built that knowledge over months of standing guard, walking corridors, memorizing the geometry of a building designed to keep people out. Every door, every staircase, every blind spot where the guards’ eyes did not reach. I had mapped it in my mind the way sailors map the sea. I had walked those corridors in the dark, in the rain, in the early morning when the guards were tired and the torches burned low.

I used the entrance I used when I was still a guard. A side door that opened onto a servants’ corridor. A staircase that connected two wings the main floor did not..

I moved quietly. I was good at moving quietly. The corridors were dark, the torches burning low, the guards at their posts further away. I counted the turns. Held my breath at the corners. Listened for footsteps that did not come.

The palace was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before something happens. I did not like it. But I kept moving.

I was almost to the corridor that led to her chambers when I turned a corner and came face to face with Lena.

She was carrying a tray. A tea tray, I noticed. The same tray she had carried a hundred times before, when she was bringing tea to Elara’s chambers in the evenings. She saw me and the tray wobbled. The cups rattled. The teapot shifted.

A beat.

She looked at me. I looked at her. The particular silence of two people who knew exactly who the other was and were each deciding what to do about it.

She had left The Rendered. She hated Elara but still worked for her. She had been delivering my letters, but I did not know why. I did not know whose side she was on. I did not know if she would help me or hurt me.

Her eyes were wide. Her hands were shaking. She looked at me like she was seeing a ghost.

I opened my mouth.

She screamed.

Not a word. Just the scream. Sharp. Short. The palace alarm call that every guard in the wing was trained to respond to.

I was already moving before it finished. Back the way I came. Through the servants’ corridor. Down the staircase. Out through the side door into the cold night air.

Footsteps behind me. Voices. The sound of guards shouting. The sound of boots on stone. The sound of doors opening.

I did not look back. I just ran.

The wind was cold on my face. The streets were dark. I knew them the way I knew the palace corridors, every turn, every alley, every place where I could disappear.

I did not stop until I reached the street.

I stood there in the dark, breathing hard, my heart pounding, my hands empty. The letter was still in my pocket. I pressed my hand against it.

She had screamed. Lena had screamed, and the guards had come, and I had run.

I stood in the dark street, alone, the letter pressed against my chest, and waited for my heart to slow.