Adrian's wrists chafed under iron cuffs, the palace dungeon's damp chill seeping into his bones. The coded letter and ledger were gone, confiscated with his cloak, but the vault's parchment—proof of House Draven's treachery—was in Elara's hands. Her whispered promise, The king will see this, was a flickering ember in the dark, but Lord Kael's smirk as Adrian was dragged away haunted him. The Dravens were free, and he was caged.
The cell was a stone box, its only light a flickering torch beyond the bars. Adrian's burns throbbed, his jaw bruised from Riven's fight. He'd survived the vault, but at what cost? Mira's sacrifice burned in his chest, and Toren and Lira's fates were unknown. He slumped against the wall, exhaustion warring with defiance. The Valorians didn't break—not then, not now.
Footsteps echoed, and a guard appeared, his face shadowed. "Corveth," he grunted, unlocking the cell. "Someone wants you."
Adrian's pulse spiked. A Draven assassin? He braced himself, but the guard led him to a dimly lit chamber, not a blade. Elara stood there, her robes stark against the stone, the vault's parchment in her hand. Another figure waited—Princess Eryn, her silver gown replaced by plain cloth, her eyes sharp with curiosity.
"You're the Valorian," Eryn said, voice soft but firm. "Why risk my blood?"
Adrian's throat tightened. She knew—everything. Elara's doing, no doubt. "Justice," he said, voice hoarse. "Your blood opened the vault. It proved my family's innocence."
Eryn's gaze flickered to Elara, then back. "And nearly destabilized the court. My brother's reign is fragile. Your truth could break it."
Adrian's fists clenched, cuffs biting. "The Dravens framed us. They're still plotting—Kael's free. You think they'll stop?"
Elara stepped forward, her voice cold. "Enough. The king's reviewing your proof, but Kael's allies are stalling. You're a liability, Corveth."
"Then why am I here?" Adrian snapped, fear sharpening his tongue. "To gloat?"
Eryn's lips twitched, almost a smile. "To decide your fate. Elara says you're clever. I need that—someone who sees what nobles hide."
Adrian blinked, stunned. A royal ally? It was a lifeline, but a dangerous one. "You're asking me to spy," he said, voice low. "While I'm chained?"
"Prove your loyalty," Eryn said. "Help us expose Kael's network, and I'll push for your family's pardon."
The offer was a double-edged sword. Refuse, and he'd rot. Accept, and he'd dance on a razor's edge. "I'm in," he said, heart pounding. "But I need Lira and Toren. They're part of this."
Elara nodded. "They're detained, not charged. I'll release them—under watch."
As the guard led him back to his cell, Elara's voice followed: "Don't fail, Valorian. The court's a battlefield now."
Hours later, the cell door opened again. Lira rushed in, her scarf gone, eyes blazing with relief. Toren followed, limping but alive. "You idiot," Lira said, hugging him fiercely. "We thought you were dead."
Adrian's throat tightened, her warmth a balm. "Not yet," he said, managing a weak grin. Toren's nod was cautious, his guilt still raw.
"They told us about Eryn," Toren said, voice low. "You trust her?"
"No," Adrian admitted. "But she's our shot. Kael's out there, and the Dravens aren't done. We play her game, we get the truth."
Lira's face hardened. "And if it's a trap?"
"Then we're smarter," Adrian said, rubbing his wrists as the guard removed his cuffs. The letter and ledger were lost, but the vault's parchment was enough—for now.
That night, they were moved to a guarded Academy wing, not quite free but no longer caged. Adrian lay on a cot, the dungeon's chill still in his bones. Eryn's offer was a path, but Kael's freedom gnawed at him. The Dravens had spies, power, and time. He had wit, two allies, and a princess's fragile trust.
A knock broke his thoughts. A servant slipped him a note, unsigned: Kael meets allies tomorrow, old cathedral. End him, or we end you. Adrian's blood ran cold. The Dravens were watching, their net tightening. He burned the note, its ashes a vow. Eryn wanted a spy; he'd be one. But Kael's fall would be his, not the Dravens'. The truth was close, and he'd seize it—or die in its shadow.