Chapter 36
Zevran is the first to talk as we hurry down a corridor and away from the gardens. “There’s a secure room in the Mars wing, we can regroup there.”
“Jupiter’s wing is closer,” Lord Castor counters, his hazel eyes scanning the corridor for threats. “And I’ve got more people I trust guarding it.”
“Mars has better structural reinforcements—”
“Both of you stop,” Ren cuts in, her voice sharp with command. “There’s a safe room on level three. Neutral territory, reinforced doors, security I’ve already vetted. Move.”
She doesn’t wait for agreement, just starts guiding me through the crowds.
Lord Castor and Zevran fall into formation on either side, creating a protective wall as we push through.
Guards are trying to restore order, but the area is still in chaos – nobles demanding explanations, servants clearing bodies, the Cardinals shouting orders about finding Lucien.
We move quickly through halls that grow progressively more utilitarian, leaving behind the elegant facade of the public spaces. The walls here are cold metal, the lighting harsh and functional.
Ren keys us into the safe room and immediately begins checking exits, sight lines, potential vulnerabilities. Lord Castor positions himself by the door, war hammer still gripped tight in his hand. Zevran secures the alternate exit.
“Sit,” Ren orders, pointing me toward a chair. “I need to check you properly for injuries.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sit anyway.”
I sit. My legs are shaking now that the adrenaline is fading, my hands trembling as I try to unfasten the torn remains of my gown. The golden fabric is slashed in three places. Looking at the damage, I realize how close I came to dying tonight.
Ren produces a small emergency kit from a cabinet in the room and kneels in front of me. “Arms up.”
She helps me out of the ruined gown, leaving me in the simple slip beneath. The vulnerability of it – being half-dressed in front of three people who just fought for my life – should embarrass me. Instead, it just makes everything feel more real.
“Shallow cut on your forearm,” Ren reports, her fingers gentle as she examines the wound. “Bruising across your ribs. Probably from hitting the ground. Anything else hurt?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
She produces antiseptic and begins cleaning the cut. The sting brings tears to my eyes, but I don’t pull away.
Lord Castor shifts his weight from the door. “What are the chances that four assassins were able to slip through the Cardinals’ security, remain undetected, then ambush you all at once?”
“Inside job,” Zevran agrees grimly. He’s cleaned some of the blood from his hands but his formal jacket is still torn and splattered. “This wasn’t some spontaneous attack.”
“Who has those kinds of resources?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer.
“Any of the House leaders,” Zevran says. “Or external forces with significant backing. Hell, even the Cardinals could have arranged it.”
“The Cardinals are currently tearing apart the arena looking for Lord Lucien,” Ren says flatly, applying a bandage to my arm with careful precision. “They’ve sealed all exits, mobilized every guard.”
“They won’t find him,” I say quietly. “Not unless he wants to be found.”
Zevran’s grey eyes meet mine. “You sound certain of that.”
“I am.”
He studies my face for a long moment, and I can see him calculating – weighing what he knows against what he suspects.
“The timing wasn’t random. Waiting until you’d danced with multiple House leaders, until you’d made public alliances.
Someone wanted to send a message about the cost of supporting you. ”
“Or they wanted to eliminate me before I could secure more votes,” I counter.
“If they’d wanted you dead, they would have used poison or explosives,” Ren says bluntly, straightening up from her crouch. “This was theatre – designed to be seen, to create fear.”
Lord Castor crosses his arms. “Then I guess we have to ask ourselves who benefits from House Leaders being afraid to support you?”
“And who benefits from Pluto being hunted,” Zevran adds, his voice carefully neutral. “He exposed himself to save you. Used forbidden magic in front of hundreds of witnesses. Now he’s a fugitive.”
“He saved my life,” I say defensively.
“That’s no ordinary magic he has, Princess.” Lord Castor’s voice softens.
“No, it’s not.” Zevran’s tone sharpens. “Cyra, don’t you understand? Shadow magic is the most dangerous and deadly in the system, the kind of magic that destroys entire planets. Yes, he saved your life, but to what end?”
I don’t have an answer for that. Because the truth is, I don’t know what binds Lucien’s power. I don’t know what he’s sacrificed to wield it.
All I know is that when he looked at me before he vanished, I saw something that looked like grief.
“The final trial is in two days,” I say quietly, trying to focus on what I can control. “Whoever did this will try again.”
“Then we make sure we’re ready,” Ren says with quiet conviction. She moves to a storage locker on the far side of the room and pulls out a set of spare clothes – simple black trousers and a grey tunic. “When I vetted possible safe rooms, I made sure to stock up.”
She turns her back to give me privacy. Lord Castor and Zevran do the same, focusing on the doors.
I change quickly, grateful for the practical clothing after hours in that elaborate gown. The fabric is soft and comfortable in comparison. As I fasten the last button, Ren turns back around.
Her ice-blue eyes scan me once, checking that I’m decent, then linger a moment longer than necessary. A moment passes between us – acknowledgement of what almost happened, of how close I came to dying while she watched.
“Better,” she says quietly.
Lord Castor shifts at the door. “So what’s the plan? We can’t stay here forever.”
“We wait for the Cardinals to finish their search,” Zevran says. “They’ll want statements from all of us. Especially Cyra.”
“We should prepare for the possibility that the Cardinals will spin this in their favour,” Ren says flatly. “Security should have spotted those assassins long before they got close.”
“You think the Cardinals were involved?” I ask.
“I think, at the very least, someone with access to security protocols was involved.” Ren’s expression hardens. “Whether that’s the Cardinals or someone they trust, I don’t know. Until I do, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Before I can respond, Lord Castor straightens. “Someone’s coming.”
Footsteps echo in the corridor outside. Quick, purposeful.
Ren moves to position herself between me and the door, hand on her blade. Zevran and Lord Castor flank her, weapons ready.
A sharp knock.
“Identify yourself,” Ren calls out.
“Cardinal guard. I have orders to escort Lady Cyra to the High Council Chamber for immediate questioning.”
Ren’s jaw tightens. She doesn’t open the door. “On whose authority?”
“Cardinal Benedict himself. The Council is assembled and waiting.”
Ren looks back at me, and I can see the conflict in her eyes. She wants to refuse, to keep me here where she can protect me. But defying a direct order from the Cardinals might entice them to dismiss Ren from her assignment.
“Give us a moment,” I call through the door.
“The Cardinals don’t appreciate being kept waiting, my lady.”
“They can wait another thirty seconds.”
I stand, smoothing down the simple tunic. Lord Castor and Zevran exchange glances.
“I’m coming with you,” Zevran says immediately.
“And me,” Lord Castor adds. “Jupiter pledged protection. That doesn’t end just because the Cardinals snap their fingers.”
I look at the three of them – bloodied, exhausted, still ready to fight for me. Something warm and painful lodges in my chest.
“Thank you,” I say, knowing it’s inadequate but meaning it anyway.
The High Council Chamber lies on the other side of the arena.
Red beacons line the corridors, casting everything in an angry, pulsing glow.
Guards stand posted every twenty feet, faces hidden behind visored helmets.
The usual bustle of the Conclave – servants hurrying between wings, delegates gathering for conversations – has been replaced by an eerie stillness.
The hall itself is vast and cold, carved from pale stone that amplifies every sound.
Three Cardinals sit elevated on a dais at the far end: Cardinal Benedict in the centre, Cardinal Maria to his left, Cardinal Marcus to his right.
Below them, arranged in a semicircle, sit the House leaders and their key advisors.
Everyone is here.
Isolde looks composed but watchful, her amber dress a sharp contrast to the grey stone.
She catches my eye and gives me a small smile.
Lady Tavia speaks quietly with her communication specialists while Lord Evander’s fingers drum against the armrest of his chair.
Lady Nerida sits perfectly still, her eyes distant.
Commander Kaelix leans back with studied casualness, but their gaze tracks every movement in the room.
And Astrid. She stands near the front, her eyes finding mine immediately. Relief flashes across her face, followed quickly by worry as she takes in my changed clothes, the bandage on my arm.
Ren guides me toward an empty seat, Lord Castor and Zevran still flanking us. As we approach, Astrid moves to intercept, pulling me into a brief, fierce hug.
“Thank the stars you’re okay,” she whispers against my ear. “I tried to get to you, but the Uranus engineers pulled me away to safety when the attack started. I should have been there by your side…”
“No,” I murmur back. “You’re safe, that’s all that matters.”
She pulls away, her hands gripping my shoulders as she scans my face, my body, checking for injuries with a healer’s instinct. Then she steps back, positioning herself beside me as we take our seats.
As I sit, I feel dozens of eyes assessing, calculating, wondering if I’m worth the trouble I’ve caused.
Cardinal Benedict rises, and the hall falls silent.