Chapter 25 Found
By midday, I am forced to accept a humiliating truth.
Dante is either avoiding me or he is not bound by the laws of physical location like the rest of us.
Kings are meant to be easy to find. They trail guards and tension. They announce themselves with boots on stone and the uneasy silence that follows them into a room.
Dante does none of those things.
I start with the sensible places.
The foreign council chamber empty, chairs neatly pushed in, maps untouched.
The training grounds scarred earth, broken practice spears, the lingering smell of sweat and iron, but no king.
The guest wing bed perfectly made, window open, no sign anyone has slept there.
Of course.
I expand the search.
The armory where a bored quartermaster swears Dante "borrowed" a blade and never returned it.
The stables where two grooms insist he was there at dawn, then vanished "like a bad omen.
"
The kitchens where the cooks glare and mutter about stolen bread and a man who climbed out a window laughing.
By early afternoon, my patience is fraying.
By late afternoon, my dignity has.
I find myself checking places a queen has no business checking.
Balconies.
Rooftops.
The bell tower where the view is spectacular and entirely Dante-free.
I stalk through the gardens with my head tilted back like a fool, squinting into branches, skirts gathered in one hand as I mutter curses under my breath.
"Of course," I mutter, staring up into a massive oak. "Why wouldn't the most dangerous king in the world be hiding in a tree?"
Nothing there but rustling leaves.
I move on.
Another tree.
Then another.
By the time I reach the inner courtyard, the sun is dipping lower, light filtering through the leaves in gold-streaked patterns. I stop beneath a towering elm and plant my hands on my hips, staring straight up.
"If you're up there," I call sharply, "this stopped being amusing hours ago."
Silence.
A breeze stirs the branches.
I close my eyes and rub my face.
That's it. I'm done. I will try again tomorrow. I will reclaim my dignity, my crown, and whatever scraps of self-respect remain
There is no warning.
One moment the tree is empty, the next something white is plummeting toward me.
I yelp an undignified sound and throw my arms up on instinct.
It lands in them.
Warm. Solid. Heavy enough to knock the breath out of me.
I stagger back a step, heart pounding, then freeze.
A cat.
A large one.
White as fresh snow, its fur absurdly clean for something that just fell out of a tree. It blinks up at me, entirely unbothered, mismatched eyes one pale blue, the other molten gold taking me in with lazy curiosity.
We stare at each other.
"Well," I say faintly, adjusting my grip. "That's... unexpected."
The cat's whiskers twitch.
Then very clearly
It grins.
My blood runs cold.
Before I can decide whether to scream or drop it, a furious voice tears through the courtyard.
"GET BACK HERE, LUCIAN, SO I CAN WRING YOUR NECK!"
I flinch so hard I nearly drop the cat.
It flicks an ear, unimpressed.
Slowly, carefully, I look down at it.
"...Are you Lucian?" I ask.
The cat's grin widens.
Then—
Something crashes out of the tree.
Dante lands in front of me with a thud and a spray of leaves, knees bending easily to absorb the impact. He straightens mid-motion, already snarling
and that's when I notice the scratches.
Thin red lines streak his arms. His neck. One shallow mark drags across his cheek.
He looks like he lost a personal war with a very angry shrub.
The cat launches itself out of my arms.
Dante reacts instantly, snatching it mid-air by the scruff of its neck like an unruly child.
"Oh no you don't," he growls. "You little menace—"
He holds the cat up at eye level.
It dangles.
Utterly bored.
"I leave you alone ," Dante continues, pacing as if lecturing a human criminal, "and you decide today is the day you test how much patience I have left?"
The cat's tail sways lazily.
"Oh, don't give me that look," Dante snaps. "I know exactly what you did."
The cat yawns.
"You stole my wine," Dante accuses. "Again."
The cat stretches.
"And then you clawed my face."
The cat blinks slowly.
"I should turn you into a seat cushion," Dante continues darkly. "Or a throw pillow. Maybe a rug. Yes—right there in my hall. I'll mount you on the wall just to remind everyone what happens when you steal from me."
The cat flicks its tail.
"Do you know how ridiculous I look?" Dante growls. "Do you know how hard it is to maintain a reputation when I look like I wrestled a rosebush and lost?"
The cat's ears flatten briefly then relax.
"I swear by every god that listens," Dante says, voice dropping into something truly threatening, "I will skin you and—"
He stops.
Mid-sentence.
Mid-threat.
Mid-pace.
His eyes lift.
And lock onto me.
The silence that follows is abrupt and absolute, like the world itself has paused to watch.
He stares.
I stare back.
The cat hangs between us, still bored, one paw dangling.
Dante's brow furrows, expression shifting from murderous irritation to surprise, to suspicion
"...Why are you here?" he asks slowly.
Then, as if the thought only just occurs to him
"Are you looking for me?"
The question hangs in the air when everything goes wrong.
The white cat twists in Dante's grip with sudden, vicious precision and sinks its teeth into his hand.
Hard.
Dante hisses a sharp, feral sound ripped straight from his chest and instinctively jerks back. Lucian sails through the air, a streak of white fur and offended dignity, lands perfectly on all four paws, and bolts.
Fast.
Too fast.
It darts between a hedge and a stone column and vanishes like it was never there at all.
"When I catch you," Dante bellows after it, voice echoing across the courtyard, "I'm using you as a pin cushion"
Dante shakes his bitten hand, muttering curses under his breath, flexing his fingers as if personally offended by the audacity of it. Tiny crescent-shaped bite marks bloom red against his skin.
"Traitor," he snarls at the empty space where the cat disappeared.
Then he turns back to me.
The shift is immediate. The fury dulls, replaced by something cool and sharp attention snapping into place like a blade sliding back into its sheath.
"...Now," he says flatly, "how may I help you?"
The words are polite.
His tone is not.
I straighten, reminding myself why I came here.
"We need to talk."
The effect is instant.
His expression shutters whatever humor or curiosity lingered evaporates, replaced by a flat, unimpressed look. He turns away from me and starts walking without waiting for a response.
"If this is about your sister," he says over his shoulder, "don't waste my time. I don't care. I don't want to hear it. I just want her to stay away from me."
"It's not about Isla," I say quickly, falling into step beside him. "It's about you."
He stops.
Not abruptly deliberately.
He turns his head slowly, one dark eyebrow lifting as he looks at me like I've just declared something deeply suspicious.
"About me?" he repeats. "That's a dangerous sentence."
"It's a private conversation," I say, lowering my voice as servants and guards move at the edges of the courtyard, pretending very poorly not to listen. "Not one to be had in the open. There's always someone listening."
His gaze flicks briefly to the nearest archway.
Then back to me.
For a long moment, he says nothing.
Finally, he exhales through his nose.
"Fine," he says. "Follow me."
He pivots sharply and starts walking only not toward the palace.
I blink.
Then hurry after him.
We pass through an outer gate, then another, leaving polished stone behind for dirt paths and grass worn thin by travel. The palace recedes behind us, its towers shrinking with every step.
The sun dips lower, the light softening into gold and shadow. My feet begin to ache. My patience wears thinner by the minute.
"How far is 'private'?" I groan after what feels like an eternity.
He glances back at me. "Can you ride a horse?"
"Yes," I snap. "I'm not incompetent."
A faint smirk tugs at his mouth.
"Good."
We stop at a stable tucked into a cluster of trees small, quiet, unremarkable. The kind of place no one looks twice at. Dante disappears inside without a word.
Moments later, he returns leading two horses sleek, dark-coated, alert. War-trained, I realize immediately. Not parade animals.
He stops beside one and offers me his hand.
The gesture catches me off guard.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then I take it.
His grip is firm, steady no hesitation, no unnecessary touch. He helps me mount with practiced ease, then swings onto the other horse in one smooth motion.
We ride.
The road stretches ahead, winding through fields and wooded paths. The air cools as dusk settles in. The rhythm of hooves is steady, hypnotic. I find myself watching him from the corner of my eye the way he rides like the horse is an extension of his body, relaxed but alert, always scanning.
After a while, structures appear ahead.
Too neat to be random.
Too ordinary to be honest.
He reins in his horse before a modest town low buildings, lamplit windows, people moving about their evening routines. A vendor closes up shop.
I frown.
"We're not in my territory anymore," I say slowly.
"No," Dante replies as he dismounts. "You're in one of mine."
I stare at the town more closely now.
The guards dressed as civilians. The way the streets funnel inward. The subtle elevation of certain buildings.
"is this a fortress," I say.
"Yes but to the untrained eye it's a town," he confirms. "Built to avoid suspicion. Used as a resting ground. And to keep watch on unsuspecting rulers like you."
I narrow my eyes. "Charming."
He hops down and offers his hand again. I take it, dismounting, and immediately two soldiers appear from nowhere to take the horses, moving with silent efficiency.
Dante gestures ahead.
"Come on," he says. "You wanted privacy."
He escorts me deeper into the town past shops, down a narrow street, toward a structure far more fortified than it first appears.