Forged in lies

The first lie

The walk back to the Sunspire was a blur of cold terror. The rifle, the plans, the photo—they swirled in his mind, sharp and lethal. The feeling in the garden, that powerful pull toward Selene, now felt like a sick joke. Was it part of his cover? A trick his poisoned mind was playing on him?

He slipped back into the Iron Reach just before dawn. He hid the key and map in a new hole he made in the wall behind his bunk. He kept the note. He needed to see it. To remember the monster he was.

At morning muster, Captain Valerius clapped him on the shoulder. “You look tired, Caius. The night watches are long. But duty is our life.”

Duty. The word was a knife. What was his duty? To protect the Imperatrix? Or to kill her?

“Yes, Captain,” Caius heard himself say. His voice sounded normal. It was his first real lie. It felt easy. That scared him most of all.

He was assigned to the day’s public audience in the Forum of Whispers. It was a vast square inside the palace walls, open to the sky. A sea of people—merchants, petitioners, nobles—waited for a moment of the Imperatrix’s time. Caius stood on the raised podium behind her throne, his eyes scanning the crowd. Every face was a potential threat. Every hand hidden in a cloak could hold a weapon.

Selene listened to a farmer talk about a flooded field. She nodded, asked questions, promised aid from the crown. She was patient. Kind. Caius watched her, the photo burning in his memory. Target: Storm.

A movement. At the far right edge of the crowd. A man, hood pulled up despite the mild day, wasn’t looking at the throne. He was looking at the support column holding up the ceremonial canopy above Selene’s head. His lips were moving, as if counting.

Caius’s new instincts screamed. This wasn’t a petitioner. This was a scout.

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think. He spoke into the tiny mic on his collar. “Potential hostile. Right flank. Grey hood. Watching the canopy support. Detain quietly.”

He saw two plainclothes guards in the crowd begin to move toward the man. The hooded man noticed. He turned and melted into the crowd.

“He’s running. West exit,” Caius said, his voice calm despite his racing heart.

A minute later, the all-clear signal came. The man had escaped. But they had seen him. They were alerted.

After the audience, Valerius found him. “Your eyes are good, Caius. That man was not on any watch list. But he fled like a guilty man. You may have prevented an incident.” The Captain studied him. “It is as I said. Your body remembers your purpose.”

My purpose. To protect? Or to kill? The scout… was he from the conspiracy? Was he Valerius’s man? Or was he a rival?

The confusion was a cage. He needed answers. He couldn’t trust his own mind. He needed to look from the outside.

The palace had a library—the Scriptorium Labyrinth. Miles of shelves. Records of everything. If he was a sleeper agent, planted years ago, there might be a trace. A false record. A discrepancy.

During his free hour, he went there. The silence was profound, broken only by the soft hum of climate control. He found the personnel archives. He looked for his own file.

It was surprisingly thin. Caius of House… the rest was faded, water-damaged. It listed his enlistment date six years ago. Basic training scores (excellent). Promotions. A note: "Assign to Capitol Security. Aptitude for high-stress environments."

It all looked normal. Too normal. The water damage on the origin point was convenient.

Frustrated, he looked up Captain Valerius. His file was thick. A lifetime of service. Decorations. A notation: "Head of Security for Royal Family - 'Echo' Protocol."

Echo. The word chimed in his mind like a struck bell. It meant nothing, and yet it felt like everything. He wrote it down on a scrap of paper.

He then, on a desperate whim, looked up the previous attacks on the Imperatrix. The official record listed only two: the recent motorcade attack, and an incident a year ago—a poisoned gift from a foreign dignitary, discovered in time.

But in a dusty bin of "unverified reports," he found a scribe’s note on a crumbling piece of parchment. "Third month, last year. Incident in Western Wing. Unauthorized person in private quarters. Apprehended by Guard Captain V. Disposed of quietly. No public record per 'Echo' directive."

The Western Wing. Where the Imperatrix’s private chambers were.

His blood went cold. There had been at least three attempts on her life. One was public. One was hidden. And the motorcade attack was the third. And the word "Echo" was on the hidden one.

He was putting the file away when a soft voice spoke behind him.

“Researching your own history, Sergeant?”

He spun. Imperatrix Selene stood there, wrapped in a simple shawl. She had no guards. She was alone.

He immediately bowed. “Your Radiance! I… was curious. Trying to find… anchors.”

She walked closer, looking at the open archive bin. Her eyes fell on the scribe’s note about the Western Wing. She went very still.

“You found the footnote to a bad dream,” she said softly. “That man a year ago… he got within ten feet of my bed. He carried a wire garrote. Captain Valerius broke his neck before he could make a sound.” She hugged herself. “They keep the worst from the public. To avoid panic. To project strength.”

She looked up at him, her stormy eyes searching his. “Why are you really here, Caius?”

The directness of the question paralyzed him. The lies fought the truth in his throat. I’m here to kill you. I’m here to protect you. I don’t know.

“I need to understand,” he said finally, the raw truth of it. “I am a weapon with no memory of its target. I am dangerous.”

She stepped closer. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume—jasmine and fresh rain. “A weapon can be aimed. It can also be sheathed. The man in the garden, who moved without thought to protect me… that is the man I choose to see.”

Her hand lifted, as if to touch his arm, but stopped halfway. The space between them crackled with forbidden electricity. To touch her was treason. To want her was madness.

A loud cough echoed in the stacks. They jumped apart.

Captain Valerius walked into the aisle, his face unreadable. “Imperatrix. Your security detail was worried. You should not wander alone.” His gaze shifted to Caius. “Sergeant. Your shift at the South Gate begins in five minutes. Do not be late.”

“Yes, Captain,” Caius said, his voice tight.

Selene’s mask of calm was back. “Thank you for the historical insight, Sergeant.” She turned and left, Valerius a shadow at her side.

Caius was left in the silent dark of the stacks. He looked at the word he had written down.

ECHO.

It was no longer just a word. It was the name of the shadow trying to swallow the light. And his Captain, his friend, his mentor, was up to his neck in it.

And the Imperatrix… was starti

ng to trust the man built to destroy her.

The race had begun. And he was running blind.