Chapter 8
Security in this palace was, in one word-
impressive.
Not in execution.
In theory.
Because if a half-injured, mysterious silent boy from the market could casually appear inside the palace grounds, then clearly, the greatest threat to this kingdom was not external enemies, but poor management.
I stood near the edge of the courtyard, arms folded, staring at him like this was a problem I could solve through observation alone.
"You... just.... walked in?" I said.
He didn't respond.
Was speaking a physically painful task for him?
I narrowed my eyes slightly, taking in the complete lack of concern on his part.
"Through guards. Through walls. Through what I assume are very decorative but entirely useless security measures."
Still, no response.
"Do you know how much money people spend on palace security?" I continued. "Because if random strangers can just stroll in whenever they feel like it, someone should really ask for a refund."
Still nothing.
I exhaled slowly.
"You know what? I'm not even surprised anymore. At this point, if someone climbed out of a mirror or materialized in the middle of my room, I'd probably just ask them to wait their turn."
For the first time, something flickered across his face.
It was small, but it was there.
Which was encouraging.
At least I now had proof that he wasn't actually a statue.
I tilted my head, studying him. "So what is this? A habit? Do you usually sneak into places where you are not wanted, or is this a special case?"
His gaze stayed on me. It was calm, steady, and mildly unsettling, like he had been handed a report about me and was finding several areas for improvement.
Then he spoke.
"You left."
I blinked.
"That is... technically correct," I said. "Yes. I left."
He said nothing.
"I tend to do that occasionally. I appear in one location, spend some time there, and then relocate to another. It's a revolutionary concept called walking."
His expression didn't change.
"I can explain it in greater detail if necessary."
"You left quickly."
"Yes," I replied. "I wasn't aware there was a recommended departure speed."
The silence that followed felt loaded with meaning.
Unfortunately, I had absolutely no idea what that meaning was.
Then, because this conversation was clearly not heading toward anything useful, I decided to ask the obvious question.
"Why are you here?"
He held my gaze for a moment, as though carefully considering his answer.
Then he said, "I didn't get your name."
I stared at him.
"That," I said slowly, "is why you broke into a palace?"
He didn't deny it.
Which was honestly more alarming than if he had.
I pressed my lips together and took a moment to reconsider several assumptions I had previously held about normal human behavior.
"You could have simply asked earlier," I pointed out. "Or found literally any other solution."
He remained silent.
At this point, I was beginning to suspect that silence was his preferred method of winning arguments.
"Do you know," I continued, "most people hear 'I forgot someone's name' and decide to live with the regret. They do not usually escalate directly to unlawful palace entry."
He looked entirely unrepentant.
I sighed, because expecting logic from this situation was clearly my first mistake.
"And how exactly did you get in?"
He didn't answer.
Naturally.
I was beginning to suspect that every question I asked entered a void from which no answer could ever return.
I shook my head.
"Right. Why would anything make sense? That would be wildly out of character for my life."
Then I narrowed my eyes at him.
"And let's say, purely hypothetically, that I tell you my name. What happens then? You leave?"
He was silent for a moment before answering.
"Yes."
I blinked.
Well.
That was unexpectedly reasonable.
Which immediately made me suspicious.
I studied him for a few seconds, waiting for the hidden complication.
None appeared.
"Fine," I said. "That seems like an efficient exchange. You get a name. I get my room back."
He waited.
Patiently.
As though standing inside someone else's house in the middle of the night was a perfectly normal social interaction.
I folded my arms and looked at him properly.
"Cassiane."
Saying it out loud still felt strange.
The name belonged to me.
And yet it didn't.
He watched me quietly.
Then he nodded once.
"I'll remember."
I frowned.
"That sounded significantly more dramatic than it needed to."
He offered no clarification.
Which was unfortunate because clarification was becoming one of my favorite imaginary concepts.
Instead, he stepped back.
Then he turned.
Before I could ask another question-or demand an explanation for literally anything that had happened tonight-he moved.
Fast.
One moment he was standing in front of me.
The next he was on a low tree branch.
Then on the palace wall.
Then nowhere.
I stared.
First at the wall.
Then at the tree.
Then back at the wall again.
"Well," I admitted, "that was annoyingly impressive."
I stood there for another moment before looking around the palace grounds with renewed concern.
"This is a disaster."
I pointed vaguely at the wall.
"An absolute disaster."
If I could walk around unsupervised and mysterious boys could scale palace walls like particularly athletic squirrels, who exactly was being kept out?
The answer, apparently, was nobody.
I rubbed my forehead.
"Somewhere in this kingdom there is probably a captain of the guard receiving a salary he does not deserve."
The night remained unhelpfully silent.
"The author could have spent a little more time on security and a little less time on romantic tension," I informed the universe. "I'm just saying. Priorities."
Since the universe refused to defend itself, I turned and started walking back toward the palace.
"Honestly, no wonder Cassiane lost her mind," I muttered. "If this was the level of logic she had to deal with every day, I completely understand."
I paused.
Then I sighed.
"Actually, the fact that I'm having conversations with fictional plot structure is probably not a great sign for my own mental stability."
That thought was not particularly comforting.
Neither was the realization that I had just given my name to a boy who broke into a palace because he forgot to ask for it the first time.
With those deeply reassuring observations, I headed back inside.