Chapter 3

• That evening, Myriella went to the Temple of Hermes.
• In the capital, there were temples dedicated not only to Hermes, but also to Aurael, goddess of magic and the moon, revered especially by the elves; Kharna, god of war; and, of course, Morrigan, goddess of death and patroness of Ravenhelm.
• Legends claimed that Talos the Conqueror had been a mortal descendant of Morrigan.
• That was why a raven adorned the banners of House Tar’us.
• But Myriella found peace only here, within the sanctuary of Hermes.
• She lit candles one by one, arranging incense before the statue with quiet, almost mechanical care.
• Footsteps sounded behind her.
• “You are not particularly religious, Lord Raides.”
• She straightened and turned.
• “I have been waiting for you for twenty minutes.”
• He merely smiled.
• Before her stood Lord Raides—the Master of Whispers, head of the Emperor’s intelligence network, and one of the most powerful men in the capital.
• His shadow stretched across the stone floor, swallowing the light of her candles. The scent of incense mingled with the cold dampness of the stone.
• “Twenty minutes is nothing compared to the years one may spend waiting at the foot of a throne, Your Highness,” he said, his voice quiet and even, blending almost perfectly with the whisper of the flames. “Especially when that waiting can suddenly… come to an end.”
• Myriella did not blink.
• She could feel the chill of the floor seeping through the thin soles of her slippers.
• “He brought her to his chambers,” she said. Not as a complaint, but as a statement of fact. “And ordered me to attend to her as though I were a servant.”
• “I know.”
• Raides stepped closer, his face emerging into the flickering candlelight.
• “Ankreta. From the far lands beyond the Ash Mountains. No records of her lineage. No known magical abilities.”
• He paused.
• “Or abilities hidden exceptionally well.”
• “What do you suggest?”
• “Watch. Wait.”
• His dark, unreadable eyes lingered on her face.
• “The Emperor has changed. Not merely in his affections. His decisions. His moods. The headaches the servants whisper about.”
• He lowered his voice.
• “It all began after his last battle. The same battle where he found her.”
• Silence settled between them, broken only by the soft crackle of melting wax.
• “Do you think this is not his will?” Myriella asked.
• Her own voice sounded strange to her.
• “I think,” Raides said slowly, “that the throne is vulnerable.”
• He let the words hang in the air.
• “And a vulnerable throne is an opportunity. For those who know how to wait…”
• His gaze sharpened.
• “…and how to act when the time comes.”
• He stepped back, retreating once more into the shadows between the columns.
• “I will remain in contact. Be careful, Your Highness. Even these walls may have ears…”
• A faint smile touched his lips.
• “…and those ears may carry their whispers to the woman who now shares the Emperor’s bed.”
• “Raides!”
• He stopped.
• Myriella approached him, lowering her voice.
• “How do you think…” She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “If our Emperor is truly unwell… could the Council remove him?”
• She glanced toward the statue of Hermes, then looked at Raides from the corner of her eye.
• “Perhaps the time has come for new rulers.”
• Raides went still.
• The shadow cast by his high collar slid slowly across the roughly hewn stone of Hermes's statue.
• Silence filled the temple, so thick it seemed almost tangible.
• The scent of incense suddenly felt sharp, burning her nostrils.
• “New rulers…”
• When Raides finally spoke, each word fell with deliberate weight.
• “Words that could have your tongue torn from your mouth and your body thrown into the deepest dungeon beneath the palace.”
• He slowly turned his head. Candlelight caught only the lower half of his face, revealing thin lips pressed into a hard line.
• “The Council is wavering.”
• His voice dropped to a whisper.
• “The old lords remember the boy who was once locked away in the dark. They see that same boy now, only with a crown upon his head…”
• He paused.
• “…and a headache that makes him clutch at the first straw within reach.”
• “Ankreta is that straw.”
• Myriella felt the cold stone beneath her feet through the thin fabric of her gown. She did not look away.
• “And what if the straw is poisoned?”
• Her voice was barely above a whisper.
• “What if her presence is not the cause of his weakness…”
• She held Raides's gaze.
• “…but a symptom of it?”
• Raides exhaled softly, almost a soundless laugh.
• “A symptom of what, Your Highness? Sorcery? Madness?”
• His eyes narrowed.
• “Or merely the loss of the gods’ favor?”
• He stepped backward, already beginning to disappear into the darkness beyond the columns.
• “Evidence, Princess. The Council needs more than whispers. It needs proof. Something solid enough to build a lawful deposition upon.”
• He paused.
• “Find that proof.”
• His voice became almost gentle.
• “And I will make certain the right people know where to look.”
• Raides took another step into the shadows.
• “But be careful. Anyone who hunts an emperor must be prepared to become the hunted.”
• Before Myriella could answer, he vanished into the darkness.
• She was left alone with the trembling candlelight and the heavy, sweet scent of burning incense.