She wrote again: "Distressed maid? The one you just exiled? Or are you hiring a new one for her excellent acting skills? And healers confirm death? These 'healers' are probably paid off. Need something they can't lie about. Something undeniable."
She imagined Caldan, arrogant and self-assured, coming up with this. He thinks he's so clever. Just because he's a prince doesn't mean he knows how to fake a death. This was commoner business, the art of disappearing. And he was clearly an amateur.
She flipped the scroll, her eyes scanning the next section.
"The body will be left for public viewing in the Emberhall for three days, before cremation at the Smoldering Steps."
Arin snorted. "Public viewing? With what? A dummy? Or do you expect me to somehow make you look dead for three days? You'd rot. And stink. Do you know how much a rotting prince smells? Trust me, the stench would give you away before any 'healer'." Her charcoal scratched angrily across the paper. "And cremation? Too easy to switch bodies. No proof of identity once you're ash. Amateur."
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. This was worse than she thought. Caldan's plan wasn't just flawed; it was catastrophically stupid.
Who stages their own stabbing without a fall plan? Idiot. She underlined the word "Idiot" twice. This Prince, for all his fire and fury, understood nothing about death. Especially his own.
The word "Smoke" on her sleeve caught her eye again. Smoke. A dragon's breath. The ash that fell from the sky in Drakoryth. Or something more subtle? A trick? A warning? Was it a warning about his plan? That it would all go up in smoke?
Arin felt a surge of something akin to exhilaration. This wasn't just about survival anymore. This was a challenge. A puzzle. And she was rather good at puzzles. She was Arin, village-born, street-smart, and she had survived worse than a prince's half-baked plot. She would make his 'death' perfect. Flawless. So convincing that even his mother, the Queen of Spies, wouldn't doubt it. And then... then she would find out what truly lay beneath the gilded cage of Caelvoryn.
She looked at the books again, then back at the scroll. Poison, disguise, deception. This was her world. And she was going to teach a prince how to die. Properly.
A knock sounded at her door, sharp and unexpected. Not the timid maid this time. A harder, more insistent rap. Arin's hand instinctively went to the hidden dagger in her boot. Too late to hide the scroll. She folded it quickly, tucking it under the pillow. Her heart beat a little faster.
"Enter," she called out, her voice steadier than she felt.
The door opened, and Caldan stood there, his golden eyes sweeping over the room, then settling on her. He held a small, leather-bound book in his hand. He looked less furious than before, but still dangerous, like a tightly coiled viper.
"Still awake, commoner?" His voice was a low rumble. "I trust you've had time to... appreciate your new accommodations?"
Arin offered him her crooked, defiant smile. "Oh, immensely, Your Highness. Though I confess, the silence is rather deafening. My village was always full of life, you see. Caelvoryn feels... quieter. More watchful." She paused, her gaze flicking to his still-bruised knuckles. "And far more prone to splintered wood."
He ignored the jab. "Have you begun to read the scroll?"
"I have." Arin picked up a feather quill from the desk, twirling it idly between her fingers. "It's... certainly a plan."
Caldan's jaw tightened. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Arin said, meeting his gaze, her gray eyes sharp, "it's a plan that will get you killed. Truly. Not just 'staged.'" She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. "Who stages their own stabbing without a fall plan, Prince? And who leaves the blade in? Amateurs, that's who."
Caldan stared at her, his golden eyes wide, a flicker of surprise, then irritation, crossing his face. No one had ever spoken to him like this. Not even his mother.
"Perhaps," he said, his voice dangerously low, "you should keep your opinions to yourself, commoner. And focus on understanding the task."
"The task is to make your death convincing," Arin shot back, a spark igniting in her eyes. "And currently, your plan reads like a child's tale. Full of holes and convenient plot points. Do you want to be a legend, Prince? Or a punchline?" She tapped the quill against the desk. "Because right now, you're leaning towards the latter."
A muscle jumped in Caldan's jaw. He took a step into the room, his presence filling the space. "And you, a village girl, presume to tell me how to stage my own death?"
"I presume to tell you how to do it properly," Arin corrected, her chin jutting out. "Unless you prefer to be found with a 'single, fatal stab wound' like some character in a bad ballad. This is your life, Prince. Don't you want to make it a masterpiece of deception?" She gave him a pointed look. "If you want to trick the vipers in this court, you need more than a blunt knife and an open window. You need subtlety. You need smoke."
Caldan froze, his eyes narrowing. "Smoke?" His voice was barely a whisper. "What do you know of smoke?"
Arin merely smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. "I know that fire leaves ash. And sometimes, the best tricks are the ones that vanish before your very eyes." She gestured to the faint ash motes that sometimes drifted in from the open windows of Caelvoryn. "This palace breathes it. Why shouldn't you?"
Caldan stared at her, a strange mix of suspicion and intrigue warring in his golden eyes. He had given her nothing, yet she seemed to hint at something deeper. Something connected to his dragon, perhaps, or the dark whispers of the palace.
"You are more than just a commoner, aren't you?" he said, his voice soft, almost dangerous. "You carry more than just your mother's legacy."
Arin just shrugged, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Perhaps, Your Highness. Or perhaps I'm just better at noticing the obvious. Unlike some princes."
He took another step, closing the distance between them. The air crackled with unspoken tension. "What did you write in the margins?" he asked, his voice low, his gaze fixed on her. "Show me."
Arin met his stare, a thrill of defiance coursing through her. He was a storm, and she was a stubborn rock in his path. She knew this dance, had played it with rougher men in darker alleys. "I wrote a few suggestions, Your Highness. A few ways to make your death truly... unforgettable." She paused, her gaze dropping to his still-bruised knuckles, then back up to his eyes. "But perhaps you'd prefer to learn the hard way. Alone."
She picked up the quill again, tapping it against the scroll with a rhythmic sound. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with the unspoken challenge.
Caldan remained unmoving, his eyes fixed on her. He wanted to see her notes. He wanted to understand what this village girl, this pawn, truly saw in his world. And he wanted to know why the word "smoke" had come so easily to her lips.
He stepped closer, reaching for the scroll, his fingers brushing hers as he took it. Her skin was warm, vibrant beneath his. He unrolled it, his gaze immediately falling to the angry, precise scribbles in the margins. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something she couldn't quite decipher—annoyance, yes, but also grudging respect.
He read her critique, his jaw tightening with each blunt, sarcastic comment. "Idiot," he muttered, reading one of her bolder remarks. He looked up, his golden eyes blazing with a mixture of disbelief and a reluctant acknowledgment. "You truly think so little of my intelligence, commoner?"
Arin just gave him a slow, knowing smile. "I think, Your Highness, that even a dragon can be blind when it looks too long at its own reflection."
Caldan's gaze sharpened, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl that made the tiny hairs on Arin's arms prickle. "Then perhaps you should consider yourself fortunate, commoner. You are about to become my eyes." He paused, his gaze lingering on her lips, then her sharp, calculating gray eyes. "And if you prove yourself useful, Arin, perhaps you will live long enough to see the outcome." He straightened, a chilling finality in his voice. "Now. Show me what you propose."
Arin felt a shiver, a strange mix of fear and excitement. This was the game. The one she was born to play. And she was going to win. She was going to make him depend on her.
She met his gaze, her own eyes blazing with defiance. "Very well, Prince. Let's make you disappear. Properly." She took the scroll from him, her fingers brushing his again, a subtle spark that felt like fire. "But first," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we need to talk about blood. Real blood."
Caldan watched her, his golden eyes unblinking, a strange, dangerous glint in their depths. The game had truly begun. And he was not sure who was the pawn and who was the player anymore.