To those who still believe honor has a place in what is being planned, I write this with a plain seal and without a signature, because I value my life and yours as well. What follows is not rumor, nor conjecture, but truth witnessed firsthand. The queen has not staked herself as deeply in this venture as you have been led to believe.
Assurances have already been exchanged in private. When the king falls, she will stand untouched by any aftermath his death may bring, and the bla will be laid neatly elsewhere.
I have seen the list of concessions promised to secure her influence over Lamora once the deed is done. Your na does not appear among those to be spared should the plot be uncovered prematurely. That rcy has been reserved for others, those bound to her by blood, marriage, or long-standing favor.
Ask yourselves why certain families are granted private audiences while you are kept firmly on the periphery. Ask why the chief advisor presses for haste now, when delay would cost us nothing. Ask why so houses are promised elevation at court, and even the chance for one of their own to marry into royalty, while others are offered only hollow recognition once the blood has already been spilled.
When crown change hands, debts are paid in blood long before gold. I would rather be called a coward than attend another funeral, believing we were equals when we never were.
The queen does not hide those she favors, she simply assus the rest of you will not notice. The power held by House Alwen is paltry compared to the influence wielded by Lord Rycoff and Laheir Tavish. Her Majesty knows this. That is why your house will be among the first discarded when the ti cos. Decide carefully whom you trust, and to whom you offer your loyalty. In the end, that choice may be the only thing that saves House Alwen when the queen chooses to hoard all power and reward for herself.
That was the content of the letter Ragnar handed to one of his most trusted guards as dawn crept pale and cold across the sky. He stood in the courtyard, already dressed for travel, his breath misting in the early morning air.
"Ensure this reaches Gareth Alwen," Ragnar said quietly, pressing the folded parchnt into the man’s hand. "Do it anonymously."
The guard nodded his head in understanding.
Ragnar had written the letter the previous night, after Seraphine left. He had taken great care to strip it of anything that could be traced back to him by disguising the flow of his words, even changing the slant of his handwriting. It was only the beginning. Every move from here on would have to be flawless. If the truth of the letter’s origin were uncovered, everything he had planned would collapse in the blink of an eye.
Gareth Alwen was the head of his house. He was aiding the rebellion, alongside the others but he was also the weakest link and the one Ragnar would target first.
The ride back to his estate was long and punishing. Cold air lashed against his face as his horse galloped along the road at full fall speed, the landscape covered in fallen snow. Yet even the biting wind was preferable to the weight that had pressed on his chest for two days. The threat of execution no longer lood over him, and for the first ti since his arrest, he allowed himself a breath of relief.
As the estate ca into view, the guards stationed at the gates spotted him and sounded an alert. Steel groaned as the gates were thrown open to admit him.
Ragnar pulled on the reins, slowing his horse as one of the guards approached. The man bowed deeply before speaking.
"Your Highness. We are all relieved to see you return unhard."
Ragnar nodded.
"No one is more relieved than I am."
Then, unable to help himself, he asked, "Where is my wife?"
Circe was nothing if not defiant and fiercely headstrong. He had asked her to remain behind and not follow him or the royal guards back to the palace, but he knew how easily she might have disregarded his request the mont his back was turned. He had seen no sign of her at the palace and hoped that ant she had listened.
"Her Highness is inside," the guard replied. His mouth twisted slightly, as though he were weighing whether to say more.
Finally, he did. "Though we had to stop her from leaving when she attempted to follow after you on one of the horses."
That was the wife Ragnar knew and loved.
He could not suppress the smile that tugged at his mouth.
"You were right to stop her," he said warmly. "Thank you. I will ensure your efforts to keep my wife safe are properly rewarded."
With that, he urged his horse forward and rode toward the manor.
***
Circe had barely slept since Ragnar was taken by the royal guards. Eating had felt equally impossible. Ti blurred into a hollow stretch of waiting, filled with pacing, praying, and long, silent hours of dread.
Eventually, she had taken up her post by the window overlooking the courtyard, unwilling to move from the spot. From there, she would see him the mont he returned.
Her forehead rested against the cold glass, breath fogging its surface as she searched the road beyond for any sign of him.
What if he was found guilty?
What if he was already dead?
The thought slithered into her mind like a whisper ant to break her, but she shook her head sharply, forcing it away. Ragnar was not dead. He could not be, not when he had promised to return to her by any ans necessary. He had made her that vow, and she believed him with her whole heart.
She trusted him to keep his word.
So she sat and waited, her fingers tightening around the small wooden horse Ragnar had given her. The polished surface was worn smooth beneath her grip, its familiar weight a thin tether anchoring her to the hope she refused to let go of.
Her dinner sat untouched on the small table across the room, the food growing colder with every passing minute. She had sent word through the lady’s maid, Mirelle, that she had no appetite and that the cooks need not trouble themselves making her food but they had prepared a al regardless.
Perhaps they feared she would waste away. Perhaps they simply did not know what else to do with a lady whose husband had been dragged away so suddenly.
She hadn’t touched a bite.
Her heart lurched suddenly at the distant sound of approaching hooves. It was faint at first, almost lost beneath the whisper of the wind, but her breath caught all the sa. She rose halfway from her spot and crossed to the window, wiping at the fogged glass with her sleeve. The cold clung stubbornly to the pane, forcing her to squint as she peered out into the courtyard below.
That was when she saw him.
Ragnar riding toward the manor. For a heartbeat, her mind refused to accept it. A sharp gasp tore from her throat as both hands flew to cover her mouth.
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