---
Cleo cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes at Laraine. She stood stiffly by the war table, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the edge of the map, watching the former princess like a chess piece she couldn't quite read.
"Umm… you look kinda distracted," she said finally, voice laced with caution.
Laraine turned slowly, her piercing blue eyes locking onto Cleo with the same cool detachment she used to use in courtrooms and executions. Her voice came out low, crisp, and void of warmth.
"I'm not distracted. I'm calculating."
Cleo rolled her eyes, though it was mostly for show. She'd learned that sarcasm was the only shield worth wielding when talking to Laraine.
"Yeah, just calculating," she muttered. "Want me to go over the plan again, Your Frostiness?"
Laraine gave a single nod, her expression unreadable.
Cleo didn't wait for encouragement. "We attack at dawn. We breach the outer wall through the old aqueduct tunnel—leads into the servants' chamber near the kitchens. From there, we take the side stairwell, straight to the royal wing. The king's chamber is our target. We slit his throat, walk out before the guards even smell blood."
There was a strange brightness in Cleo's voice, almost gleeful as she described the assassination. She said it like she was discussing breakfast.
Laraine stared at her, then suddenly laughed—a sharp, melodic sound that bounced off the stone walls of the tent. She laughed harder than she meant to, drawing Cleo's full glare.
"I'm sorry," Laraine said between breaths, wiping a single tear from beneath her eye. "That's your plan?"
Cleo's brow twitched, a vein visibly pulsing on her temple. "Yes! It is. I told you all this five minutes ago and you nodded."
Laraine blinked. "I did?"
"Yes!"
"Well," Laraine shrugged, her smile fading into something colder, more dangerous. "You should know by now that I wasn't listening. And besides…" she stepped closer to the table, her gloved hand trailing lazily over the map. "This plan of yours? It's complete bullshit."
The shift in her aura was instant. The easy sarcasm vanished, replaced by a sharp, ice-edged authority that crackled in the air like a storm ready to break. Cleo stepped back unconsciously, her skin prickling.
'That aura.'
The one the nobles used to whisper about. The one that could silence entire halls.
Laraine's voice dropped to a quiet, dangerous calm.
''Do you really think the royal palace is that easy to infiltrate?''
Cleo opened her mouth to speak—but Laraine raised a single finger.
''I'm not done.''
The room stilled. Even the wind outside seemed to pause.
Laraine leaned over the table, eyes scanning the blueprints with a level of intensity Cleo couldn't match.
''The palace is designed to look aged and vulnerable, but beneath the stone, it's a fortress. Every hallway has blind spots—deliberately built that way. Every stairwell has two exits, one real and one false. The royal wing has a kill zone—ten paces from the king's door. You'll never make it to the chamber without losing half your team to crossfire or boiling oil.''
She traced a path on the map with the edge of her nail.
''And even if, somehow, you reach the king... do you honestly believe there won't be a backup contingent hidden behind the throne wall?''
Cleo stared, mouth slightly open.
Laraine looked up slowly, her gaze slicing through her.
''You think you're planning a rebellion. What you're doing is walking into a trap.''
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then Laraine straightened, brushing a lock of blue hair from her face.
''I've lived there. I've walked those halls in my sleep. The palace isn't a house. It's a beast. And if you don't respect it, it will chew you up and spit your bones into the moat.''
Cleo swallowed hard. ''…So, what do you suggest?''
Laraine turned away, her voice like frost on steel. ''Let me show you how to kill a king properly''
---
Hidden beneath the cloak of dense forest, Vienna crouched among the shadows, her breath calm despite the chaos she felt unraveling inside.
She'd seen enough.
Laraine—standing there like she still owned the world, commanding with that cool, clipped tone of hers—unchanged in all the worst and most dangerous ways.
Vienna's jaw tensed as she adjusted her stance, shifting just enough to avoid the snapping of a twig beneath her boot. She'd nearly forgotten how Laraine's presence could unnerve a room, how effortlessly she could strip someone down with words alone.
And she wasn't wrong.
The palace was a death trap. And Laraine still remembered every inch of it.
'Which means I can't use it against her anymore.'
That was the problem with hunting a ghost from your past—especially one who knew your methods, your tempo, your pauses. Laraine wouldn't walk into the trap like the others. She'd dismantle it, reforge the blade, and bury it in someone's chest.
Maybe even hers.
Vienna's gaze flicked to Cleo. The silver-haired rebel had guts—she'd give her that—but she wasn't a threat. Not yet. Laraine was the one pulling the strings now, even if the others didn't realize it.
Vienna's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
'The princess is building a war.'
A quiet rustle behind her made her reach for her dagger instinctively, but it was only a raven flitting through the canopy above. She exhaled, slowly, the tension winding tighter in her spine.
There was a time she would have walked right through the front entrance and confronted Laraine face to face. Challenged her. Ended this.
But those days were gone.
Now there was too much between them—blood, betrayal, history. And maybe something worse than all of that.
She glanced back one last time toward the window, where Laraine and Cleo now stood side by side over the map, speaking quietly. Laraine's hands moved with precision, drawing out routes, likely carving a better plan from the ashes of Cleo's poor attempt.
'She's already taking control', Vienna thought.
And that was dangerous.
Because Vienna had seen firsthand what Laraine could do when cornered—how she didn't just survive, but thrived in ruin. She wasn't a flower wilted by betrayal. She was the blade that had learned to grow in the fire.
Vienna turned, disappearing into the forest like a ghost—silent, unseen.
But this time, it wasn't to run.
It was to prepare.
'If she wants to play queen again… I'll remind her why she lost the crown in the first place'
---
Cleo exhaled loudly and shoved a hand through her silver hair. ''Fine,'' she muttered. ''Enlighten me then, Your Royal Expertise.''
Laraine didn't dignify that with a glance. Instead, she leaned over the war table, her fingers tracing a line across the detailed sketch of the palace. Her blue eyes narrowed.
''The southern wall looks like a weak point, but it's a trap. Reinforced from the inside and watched by at least four hidden archers. We'd never make it through undetected."
Cleo blinked. "You memorized guard rotations?"
Laraine arched a brow. "Of course. I lived there. I didn't just attend royal balls and play all day."
Cleo mumbled, "Could've fooled me…"
Laraine ignored her and continued, her tone all ice and precision.
"There's an old servant's corridor near the west wing. Forgotten. No one's used it since the purge. The entrance is hidden behind a crumbling wall near the outer gardens. If we time it with the shift change, we can slip through undetected."
Cleo's face twisted with reluctant admiration. "You remember that after all this time?"
"I don't forget things that matter," Laraine replied, her voice flat, unreadable.
The rebel leader studied her a moment, then stepped back and crossed her arms. "Alright. Say we get in that way. Then what?"
"Then," Laraine said, straightening, "we head to the royal wing. But we don't aim for the king's chamber directly. That's another trap. We go through the conservatory. There's a hidden passage that connects to the back corridor of the royal suite. It bypasses the entire main hall."
"And you're sure it's still there?"
Laraine's gaze turned distant for a heartbeat. "It was carved into the foundation itself. It's older than the current throne."
Cleo gave a low whistle. "You really know this place."
"I bled in that palace," Laraine said softly. "I remember every stone that cut me."
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Outside, the wind rustled against the outpost's thin walls.
Cleo eventually looked away. "Alright. We follow your plan. At dawn. No slip-ups."
Laraine gave a faint nod and turned, ready to step away from the table—but her hand paused. Slowly, almost absently, her fingers drifted toward the chain around her neck.
The pendant felt warm against her skin.
She closed her hand around it gently, her breath catching.
Millis.
A name like a whisper in her chest.
Her mind drifted—unbidden—back to soft laughter in a field of sunflowers, the warmth of hands brushing hers beneath starlight, the quiet promise of a pendant pressed into her palm.
''You'll come back. This will remind you where home is.''
But home was long gone. Burned, scattered like ash in the wind. Still, she held the pendant now like it was something sacred. A thread to a past that hadn't betrayed her. That hadn't demanded her crown or her blood.
She blinked slowly, grounding herself in the moment again. Her fingers tightened around the pendant once more before she tucked it beneath her shirt, out of sight, near her heart.
Cleo was watching her curiously, but she didn't ask.
Laraine didn't offer an explanation.
Instead, she straightened and murmured, "Get the others ready."
Cleo nodded silently and left the room.
Laraine stood alone, staring at the map—and the path ahead.
And for just a moment, she wished Millis were still here…
…to tell her this wasn't the beginning of the end.
But deep down, she knew it was.
---