Chapter 1 The Hidden Heir #2
Captain Caelan Draven had long ago learned that danger rarely announced itself with drawn swords or shouted threats.
It lived in hesitation.
It hid behind polite smiles.
It waited inside moments everyone else believed were ordinary.
That was why he trusted instinct more than appearances.
The palace was quieter than usual as afternoon sunlight settled over the sprawling royal gardens. Most servants had been dismissed early to prepare for the Moon Festival, leaving only gardeners, decorators, and members of the Royal Guard moving through the winding stone paths.
Colorful ribbons fluttered from flowering trees, while silver lanterns waited to be lit after sunset. Marble fountains reflected the clear blue sky, and carefully trimmed hedges framed every walkway leading toward the royal residence.
To most visitors, the gardens looked peaceful.
To Caelan, they were a security nightmare.
Too many blind corners.
Too many places to hide.
Too many people moving without drawing attention.
He walked at the head of a six-man patrol, his dark cloak shifting behind him with every measured step.
The polished steel of his armor bore the silver crest of the Royal Guard, though years of service had left faint scratches across the breastplate.
A longsword rested comfortably at his side, while a shorter dagger remained hidden beneath his cloak.
His pale gray eyes never stopped moving.
One guard scanned the rooftops.
Another watched the outer walls.
Caelan studied everything in between.
"North garden secure," one of his men reported.
"No unusual movement near the eastern gate."
Caelan nodded without slowing.
"Maintain your patrol pattern."
The guard saluted before moving away.
Captain Lucien Ashford emerged from a nearby pathway carrying a rolled security map beneath one arm.
"The festival crowds will begin entering the palace grounds before sunset," Lucien said. "We've doubled the perimeter guards."
Caelan accepted the map, quickly reviewing the marked patrol routes.
"Increase the number around the western gardens."
Lucien frowned.
"Why there?"
"The hedges are too dense."
"There are only gardeners working today."
"There are only gardeners we're aware of."
Lucien smiled faintly.
"You never stop expecting trouble."
"I get paid to expect it."
The other captain laughed quietly before walking away to relay the updated orders.
Caelan continued alone.
For nearly fifteen years, protecting the royal family had defined every part of his life.
He had entered military training at sixteen after growing up in a small border village where strength determined survival. His father had been a blacksmith. His mother a healer. Neither had imagined their son would one day command the kingdom's most respected military order.
Everything he had earned came through discipline.
Long before sunrise, he trained.
Long after sunset, he trained again.
He studied tactics, diplomacy, criminal investigations, and the customs of every neighboring pack. While other young Alphas boasted about tournaments or romances, Caelan memorized evacuation routes and emergency protocols.
Duty came first.
Everything else remained secondary.
That philosophy had earned him the King's trust.
It had also left little room for a personal life.
Caelan preferred it that way.
Attachments created hesitation.
Hesitation killed people.
He rounded another corner, his boots barely making a sound against the stone pathway.
A gardener knelt beside a flowerbed trimming roses.
Another carried fresh baskets of white lilies toward the fountain.
Nothing appeared unusual.
Yet something felt...
Wrong.
Caelan slowed almost imperceptibly.
His eyes settled on a man arranging decorative lanterns beneath an old willow tree.
The worker wore palace servant clothing.
His posture was wrong.
Garden staff moved with familiarity born from routine.
This man's movements looked rehearsed.
More importantly...
He never once looked at the flowers he pretended to arrange.
His attention remained fixed on the upper terrace overlooking the gardens.
Caelan followed his gaze.
The western doors of the palace opened.
Prince Rowan stepped outside.
He walked alone except for two distant attendants, clearly seeking a few moments of fresh air after the council meeting.
The disguised servant subtly shifted position.
His right hand disappeared beneath the folds of his apron.
Caelan's heartbeat slowed.
Everything around him sharpened.
The distance.
The angle.
The timing.
Without another thought, he moved.
The assassin's hand flashed upward.
A narrow throwing blade glinted beneath the afternoon sun.
Caelan covered the distance in a blur.
"Down!"
His shout echoed across the gardens.
Prince Rowan instinctively turned toward the sound just as the blade flew.
Caelan collided with the prince, forcing them both behind the marble edge of a nearby fountain.
The knife struck stone where Rowan had been standing only an instant earlier.
Before anyone else reacted, Caelan had already drawn his sword.
"Seal every exit!" he ordered.
Royal Guards surged into motion.
The disguised assassin abandoned all pretense, drawing another blade before sprinting toward the garden wall.
He moved quickly.
Caelan moved faster.
Steel clashed once.
Twice.
The assassin fought with desperate precision, revealing professional training rather than the clumsy violence of a common criminal.
Caelan parried a strike aimed at his throat before driving the attacker backward with a powerful kick.
The assassin stumbled.
A second concealed dagger appeared in his hand.
He never had the chance to throw it.
Caelan struck the weapon aside before sweeping the man's legs from beneath him.