The Enemy
1613 Words
The morning light filtered through the stained-glass dome of the royal library, scattering color across the marble floor. Jane had begun her lessons early, surrounded by scrolls, holo-tablets, and the faint scent of lavender polish. She was still not used to learning beneath a portrait of herself that had been painted when she was three.
Lady Alis’s voice broke through the hush.
“Today’s history lesson will be brief. The Queen’s Council meets at noon, and Her Majesty wishes you to observe.”
“Observe what?” Jane asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“The ongoing matter of the Dominic Gang.”
The name alone drew a ripple of unease from the attendants nearby. Alis noticed, her mouth tightening.
“They are a faction operating along the southern borders,” she continued carefully. “Smugglers, saboteurs some call them radicals. Their leader styles himself as Elias Thorne. You may hear his name soon enough.”
Jane frowned. “And what do they want?”
“That,” Alis said, “depends on who you ask.”
The council chamber buzzed with restrained tension. Ministers in tailored suits whispered behind tablets, military advisors flicked through digital reports. Queen Miriel sat at the head of the long table, her calm a shield against the restlessness around her.
Jane stood beside her, notebook in hand, trying to follow.
“The Dominic group has seized another transport,” said one officer. “They claim the goods were illegally taxed. Three guards injured.”
“Three,” repeated Miriel softly. “Not killed?”
“No, Your Majesty. But they issued a message. They call it restitution, not theft.”
Selene Vael leaned forward, silk and calculation in her every movement. “Your Majesty, the people are frightened. Every day this g**g grows bolder. Their leader this Thorne must be dealt with before he convinces the poor that rebellion is mercy.”
Jane noticed the way Selene’s words landed heavy, persuasive, too smooth.
Miriel’s gaze shifted to Daniel, standing near the chamber doors, silent as always. “Captain, what does your intelligence say?”
Daniel’s eyes met Jane’s for an instant before he answered. “They are organized. Disciplined. Far too careful to be ordinary thieves. They avoid civilian harm when possible. Their raids are selective targeting corrupt suppliers and officials with known ties to illegal trade.”
Selene’s lips curved in mock sympathy. “So they steal politely. How noble.”
A few ministers chuckled uneasily. Jane didn’t.
Something about Daniel’s words avoid civilian harm clung to her.
If these people were truly cruel, why spare lives?
After the session, as the council filed out, Selene approached her.
“You seemed troubled, dear,” she said, every word sugar-coated. “Do not let these matters unsettle you. These Dominic people are dangerous idealists wolves in shepherds’ clothing. Their leader is a master manipulator. Charisma can make monsters look holy.”
Jane forced a polite nod, though the tone stung. “And you’ve met him?”
Selene’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Once. Briefly. He has the kind of charm that can make fools believe in justice. Remember, Jane charm is the oldest weapon in rebellion.”
Then she swept away, her perfume lingering like warning smoke.
That evening, Jane walked alone through the corridor of portraits every ancestor of Eryndale staring down in painted judgment. She paused before her mother’s likeness.
Charm is the oldest weapon in rebellion.
She turned as Daniel approached, his boots soft against the stone.
“You heard what Lady Selene said,” Jane murmured. “Is it true? Are they cruel?”
Daniel hesitated that small pause that always meant he was deciding how much truth to allow her.
“They are dangerous,” he said finally. “But not in the way the council believes. Their danger lies in the fact that they make people listen.”
“And Elias Thorne?”
“A leader,” he replied. “Too clever to be caught, too principled to be dismissed. He fights a cause that might have once been just — but justice turns sharp when it’s cornered.”
Jane looked past him, to the moon rising beyond the glass. “Then maybe it’s time someone listens before it turns again.”
Daniel didn’t answer. His silence said enough the silence of a man who had seen too many truths buried under the word order.
That night, alone in her chambers, Jane searched the palace database.
Elias Thorne, born Domis province, 24. Accused of property seizure, data theft, illegal broadcasting. Former scholar of political ethics. No record of violence.
A picture accompanied the file grainy, half-shadowed.
A man with steady eyes and an unguarded half-smile that didn’t belong to a monster.
For the first time, Jane wondered if the kingdom she was meant to inherit might have its own kind of cruelty one written not in blood, but in silence.
The council room felt different that morning colder, sharper. Even the light through the arched windows seemed thinner.
Jane had barely taken her seat beside Queen Miriel before the shouting began.
“He’s gone too far this time!” barked Minister Halden, slamming a folder onto the table. “Two supply convoys burned, three men dead soldiers, Your Majesty. Thorne’s people claimed responsibility!”
The name hit her like a stone. Elias Thorne.
Jane kept her expression still, but her pulse picked up.
Another minister spoke, older and more cautious. “Eyewitnesses are unclear, but the symbol of the Dominic faction was found at the site.”
Selene’s voice slid through the room, silken and pleased. “You see, Your Majesty? Mercy only emboldens wolves. Every delay gives that man more time to poison your people’s faith.”
Jane swallowed. “Are you certain he was responsible?”
Selene turned toward her with a perfectly measured frown. “My dear, what else do you call it when a man steals from his queen and kills her men?”
Daniel stood at his usual post near the door, arms folded, face unreadable. But when Jane looked his way, she caught something not anger, but exhaustion.
Miriel finally spoke, her tone weary but commanding. “Until we have proof, we will not brand anyone a murderer. Yet if Thorne is behind this, then he has crossed a line.”
The session moved on, but Jane barely heard the rest.
Her thoughts stayed with that single word murderer.
Later, she found Daniel outside the training yard, speaking to one of his officers. When he dismissed them and turned to her, she didn’t bother with courtesy.
“They say Elias Thorne killed people,” she said quietly. “That he burned convoys.”
Daniel studied her, his gaze steady but distant. “That’s what the reports claim.”
“But you don’t believe it,” she said, almost accusing.
He looked away. “Belief doesn’t change bodies, Jane.”
She hesitated. “Did you know him?”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I knew what he was. Once.”
He started to walk away, but she stepped after him. “Tell me, Daniel. Please.”
For a moment, she thought he’d refuse. Then he said, without turning,
“My parents lived in Domis. When the first Dominic uprising began, they refused to leave their home. The rebels set fire to government property nearby the flames spread. They didn’t survive.”
Jane froze. The words settled like ash.
“I don’t know if it was Thorne himself,” Daniel continued, voice steady and low. “But I know the Dominic name was on the banners that night. So yes, I protect this kingdom. And yes, I question the man who leads its enemies.”
He left her there, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor leaving her with too many truths and none that matched.
The next morning, Queen Miriel’s schedule for her was mercifully ordinary: a public appearance and a visit to the Crown Arcade, Eryndale’s most prestigious shopping complex.
Lady Alis accompanied her, clipboard in hand, ever composed. “A light engagement, Your Highness,” she said as their car glided through the city streets. “The public will see you relaxed and relatable. Try not to look like you’re thinking about policy.”
Jane managed a laugh. “I’m not sure I remember how to not think about policy anymore.”
The car turned into the glass-and-gold sprawl of the Arcade. Music drifted from open cafés, fountains shimmered beneath skylights, and boutiques sparkled with soft light. For the first time since her return, the world around her felt almost normal young people shopping, couples laughing, vendors calling out promotions.
Inside one of the designer stores, attendants fluttered around her, holding fabrics and colors up to her skin like offerings.
“This shade suits you perfectly, Your Highness,” one murmured.
Another added, “The press will adore the simplicity.”
Jane smiled politely, but her reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger someone who belonged to a different life entirely.
While Alis examined a display, Jane’s gaze drifted to a news screen across the boutique a live report flashing with bold headlines:
“Dominic Leader Wanted for Treason. Government Vows Action.”
“Elias Thorne Claims Seized Property Was ‘Rightfully Ours.’”
There was an image of him again blurred, defiant, eyes steady as if he could see through the screen itself.
For a moment, she felt the air around her still.
A murderer.
A thief.
A visionary.
A ghost of someone she hadn’t yet met but couldn’t stop thinking about.
- Writer
