Chapter 33
Both women bowed.
“Corporal,” Idris said, straightening. “By order of the Triumvirate, you are to have a permanent security detail from this moment forward.”
Aleric raised an eyebrow. “I thought the palace wards were supposed to make that unnecessary.”
A tension passed between the women.
“They are,” Evan said. “That’s why this is… concerning.”
Idris stepped closer, lowering her voice though the room was empty. “There were attempts last night. Someone tried to circumvent the outer wards. Subtle work—foreign craft. They didn’t get through, but they left echoes. Runes, residue, and a… signature.”
“A signature?”
Evan nodded. “Not one we recognize. And not from any House or guild in this realm.”
Aleric felt the cold crawl down his spine. “Then who was it? Who would even try?”
The guards exchanged a glance, and Idris answered carefully. “There are other realms beyond ours—border kingdoms, shadow courts, old bloodlines that value men for reasons different than the Triumvirate. Some would take great interest in a new male line."
A silence followed—thick, uncomfortable.
Aleric finally spoke. “So what happens now?”
Idris straightened. “Now we become your shadows. Until the source is identified—or detained—you do not walk the halls alone.”
Evan’s tone softened but carried steel beneath it. “Whoever reached for you already has your name, your image, and your scent on the wards. We’re here to make sure they don’t get their hands on anything else.”
“Quiet victories,” he murmured. “And unseen wars.” Aleric exhaled slowly. “I’m starting to understand.”
As the guards finished their explanation, the door behind them opened with a soft hiss—no footsteps, no announcement.
A figure stepped through.
He was young—barely a teenager—but carried himself with the rigid discipline of someone trained to move without sound. His uniform was a stripped-down variant of the palace guard’s: dark cloth reinforced with plated leather, no cape, no insignia. Practical. Plain. Forgettable.
Except for his hands—seven fingers on the left, arranged unevenly like a craftsman had set them wrong. He moved with a slight limp
Idris cleared his throat. “This is Ravel. He has been assigned to your inner chamber detail.”
Evan added, “He is mute from birth. His… differences made him unsuitable for most paths. But he has been trained as a silent Guard since childhood. He communicates through signs and written glyphs. Loyal. Disciplined. Unobtrusive.”
Ravel bowed his head once. Not shy—measured. Eyes sharp as flint.
Aleric looked between the guards. “He'll be inside my quarters? Always?”
“Always,” Idris confirmed. “Your fiances may come and go, attendants as well, but Ravel does not leave his post unless relieved. Consider him… insurance the Triumvirate wants close at hand.”
Aleric frowned. “Insurance for me or insurance on me?”
Ravel’s expression didn’t change, but one eyebrow lifted—just slightly—as if acknowledging the question’s accuracy.
Tavrin answered quietly, “Both, Corporal. A man who cannot speak is ideal for overhearing what others shouldn’t say. And one born outside polite society is easily forgotten.”
Aleric studied the young man again. Ravel stood perfectly still, breathing slow and even, gaze unblinking. Not hostile. Not afraid. Just… present.
He raised a hand and traced a quick series of signs in the air.
Evan translated. “He says: I protect what I am given.”
Aleric nodded. “Then I suppose we’ll learn to work together.”
Ravel tapped his fist to his heart in affirmation.