Caldan, still caught in the aftermath of Arin's sharp words, barely seemed to register it. His golden eyes, unblinking, remained fixed on her, a strange mix of shock and something else Arin couldn't quite decipher. He wasn't used to being challenged, not like that. Good.
The knock came again, firmer this time. Caldan turned abruptly, his jaw still tight, and strode to the door. He didn't even glance through the peephole, didn't wait for an answer. Fool. He's too angry to think clearly.
Arin's mind screamed a warning. Don't open it! Not now! She started to move, a frantic hand reaching out, as if she could physically stop him. But he was too fast, too reckless.
The heavy door swung inward with a soft creak.
Queen Armyra stood in the hallway. Her silver hair, usually pulled back in a severe, elegant braid, framed a face that held no emotion, yet radiated power. Her black eyes, sharp as obsidian chips, swept past Caldan, then landed on Arin. No, no, no. This was bad. Worse than Roen. Worse than Caldan's temper.
Caldan's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine alarm crossing his face. He made to slam the door shut, a desperate, instinctive movement.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Queen Armyra's voice was a silken thread, cutting through the sudden tension in the room. It was quiet, yet it held the weight of ancient stone and unspoken threats. "Dare you close your door on your Queen, Caldan? Your own mother?" Her gaze, unwavering, remained on Arin. "Especially when I've already seen your little shadow."
Caldan froze, his hand still on the door. He slowly, reluctantly, stepped aside. Queen Armyra glided into the room, her crimson silk gown rustling like dry leaves. It was the color of dragon fire and ambition, a shade that always seemed to hum with silent power. She moves like a whisper and hits like a thunderbolt.
She paused in the center of the chamber, her gaze sweeping over the splintered mantelpiece, then back to Caldan's disheveled appearance. A slow, chilling smile touched her lips. "My, my, son. You've been busy." Her black eyes, cold and assessing, finally settled on Arin. "And here I thought you were merely brooding in your usual fashion. It seems I underestimated your... extracurricular activities."
She clapped her hands together, a soft, deliberate sound that echoed in the suddenly silent room. "A magnificent performance, really. You almost had me fooled. Almost. But then, I am your mother, and I know the scent of trouble you leave in your wake better than you know your own reflection." Her eyes glinted with something Arin couldn't quite place – not anger, but a predatory amusement.
Arin, remembering her manners, dipped into a shallow, awkward curtsy, her voice a little rough. "Your Majesty—"
Queen Armyra raised a slender hand, adorned with rings of obsidian and gold. "Oh, no need for pleasantries, girl. Save your breath. Caldan, who is this... delightful creature you've brought into your private chambers? And why does she look less like a lady of court and more like a clever stray cat who's wandered in from the ash-fields?" Her tone was casual, yet every word was a sharpened accusation.
Caldan stiffened. "Mother, this is... she is a distant cousin, visiting from the Northern Holds. A... an aspiring scholar, in need of a quiet place to read." He gestured vaguely toward the books on the desk. Liar. A truly terrible liar. And he's usually so good at it.
Queen Armyra's smile didn't waver, but her eyes darkened. "A distant cousin? How fascinating. What is her family name, dear Caldan? Is she from House Valerius? Or perhaps a forgotten branch of the Ashthorne line? I do pride myself on knowing every noble family in Drakoryth, every name, every lineage. Especially those with... scholarly aspirations." She arched a perfect brow, her gaze unwavering. "And I don't recall any 'distant cousin' with hair like a raven's nest and hands that look more suited for gripping a sword than a quill."
The air grew thick with unspoken words, a tangible pressure that made Arin's skin prickle. Caldan's jaw worked. He was cornered, and his mother was enjoying every moment of it. This was how the Kaerythenes fought, not with swords, but with words sharper than dragon claws.
He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair again. "She is... she is Arin. From the village beyond the Red Gorge. The commoner."
Queen Armyra's eyes widened slightly, a subtle shift that showed she was genuinely surprised. Finally, a crack in the queen's icy calm. "The commoner?" Her voice was still quiet, but now laced with a new kind of intensity. "The one they were looking for? The one who... stabbed Roen?" Her gaze, now truly piercing, locked onto Arin. "The witless girl who dared to lay hands on a royal prince?"
Arin stood straighter, refusing to flinch. Witless? Oh, she'd show them witless.
"She is the one," Caldan confirmed, his voice clipped. "And she is not witless, Mother. Far from it."
Queen Armyra ignored Caldan, her eyes still on Arin, dissecting her. "And what, pray tell, is the fiercest dragonrider of Velhessan doing with a commoner in his private chambers? A commoner who assaults princes, no less?" Her tone was pure, unadulterated suspicion. "Are you truly so desperate for entertainment, Caldan, that you've resorted to slumming with village girls?"
Caldan's face tightened. "She is not entertainment, Mother. She is... useful."
"Useful?" Queen Armyra's laugh was a dry, rustling sound, like the ash falling outside the palace walls. "In what capacity could a village girl be useful to a prince of Drakoryth? Unless... unless she's here to clean your chambers, since your previous head maid has suddenly vanished." She gave him a pointed look, a hint of steel entering her voice. "You didn't even see fit to inform me about Maeve. Or this." She gestured around the room.
Caldan took a step forward, his voice a low, controlled rumble. "Mother, I understand your... concern. But these are delicate matters. Sensitive. Things I could not risk spreading through the court. Not even to you."
Queen Armyra's eyes narrowed. "Delicate? Sensitive? My son, I am the Queen of Velhessan. I navigate the Serpent's Coil of this court daily. My position gives me far more reach, far more ability to 'cover' for your... delicate matters, than you seem to realize. You act as if you're alone in this struggle, yet you have your Queen, your mother, who has proven time and again her capability to shield her own." Her gaze flickered to the charred mantelpiece. "And clean up after your 'private reactions.'"
"I handle my own messes," Caldan retorted, a stubborn edge in his voice. "And I do not involve others where the danger is unnecessary. Especially when I cannot guarantee their loyalty." His gaze flickered to where Maeve had stood. He wasn't just talking about Maeve. He meant anyone who might falter under pressure. Anyone he couldn't trust implicitly.
Queen Armyra studied him for a long moment, a slow understanding dawning in her black eyes. "Ah. I see. You keep your counsel close because the stakes are higher than a mere fight with Roen. And your trust, as always, is a battlefield." She turned her gaze to Arin again, a new, calculating light in her eyes. "So, this commoner is somehow involved in your 'delicate matters' that require such secrecy?"
Caldan hesitated, then let out a sharp breath. "She is. I brought her here to... to stage my murder."
Queen Armyra's elegant eyebrows rose, a slow, deliberate movement that spoke volumes. "Stage your murder. Truly, Caldan, your theatrics grow grander with each passing year. And you chose her for this elaborate play?" She looked from Arin to Caldan, a hint of something resembling respect, mixed with outright incredulity, in her expression. "How... unconventional."
"She has certain... skills," Caldan said, his voice flat.
"Indeed." Queen Armyra's lips pressed into a thin line. "Well, this certainly explains why you were so protective of the commoner who dared to wound Prince Roen. And why Roen's mother, Queen Sirenyth, has been tearing the palace apart demanding blood for an insolent servant." She paused, her eyes glinting. "It appears we have much to discuss, my son. In private." Her gaze, sharp and commanding, landed on Arin.
Caldan's gaze darted around the room, as if just realizing the problem of Arin's lingering presence. He turned to the door, calling out, "Maeve! Send in a—" He stopped, his shoulders slumping slightly as he remembered. Maeve was gone. Exiled.
A flicker of frustration crossed his face. He rubbed his temples. "Fetch another maid," he finally barked, his voice still edged with anger, though now directed at the logistical inconvenience rather than Maeve.
A moment later, a young, timid maid, no older than Arin herself, appeared, her eyes wide with apprehension. "Your Highness?"
"Take this... scholar," Caldan said, gesturing to Arin with a sweep of his hand. "To the room across the hall. The one that faces the Inner Courtyard." He looked at Arin directly. "Take those books with you. And study hard. You have two weeks. No more."
He pointed a finger at her, his golden eyes hardening. "And Arin? If you trash that room like you did the last one, if even a single cushion is out of place, I swear by Vaelrix's slumber, I will have your tongue. Do you understand?"