Chapter 23
Lucian
The alert comes as a faint chime through the wards woven into the air of the Crimson Spires.
Someone has passed through the gates of the Bleeding Court.
At this hour. Who could it be? My little kingdom is supposed to be locked down by now—I don’t allow anyone to enter or leave after moonrise.
My head lifts from the parchment I’m reviewing, the ink still drying on contracts written in blood and gold. I frown, reach out with my senses—but the wards yield nothing except the faint echo of departure. The gates only report passage, not identity.
“Likely Whistler,” I mutter to myself. The Realm Hopper has lingered too long, as usual. Sneaking wine from the kitchens…pocketing trinkets…pestering the servants. He should have left hours ago.
I close the ledger with deliberate care. My time is better spent elsewhere. The Spires are secure. The gates hold strong. None enter or leave without my sanction.
Still, for a moment, unease stirs in my gut. A whisper of warning…subtle and cold, stirs inside me.
I shake it off. Paranoia is a habit I cannot indulge tonight.
There are too many negotiations, too many alliances to balance, too many enemies circling.
The Six Syndicates of the Shadow Realm are in constant conflict with each other—we never know peace, only temporary alliances that break up the turmoil for a little while.
I turn back to another contract. I still have much to do.
If only I had known who had really slipped through the gates…if only I had listened to that whisper, had risen from my desk and gone to the gates myself…
I would have realized the truth—that it is not Whistler who has left the Bleeding Court this night.
It is my Queen who has just slipped beyond my reach.