The Assassin's False Target

THE PRINCE'SGAME

The door closed behind him.And for the first time since entering Aureth Palace…I wondered if the prince already knew exactly what I was.---The prince knew something.I sat in the war library long after he left, staring at the same line of text without translating a single word.Who taught you to hold a quill like a dagger?It could have been a joke.A casual observation.Or a test.Tests were dangerous.Tests meant attention.And attention was the one thing an assassin inside a palace could not afford.I dipped the quill into ink and forced myself to continue translating.If Caelan suspected me, the worst thing I could do now was panic.So I worked.Three more scrolls.Two battle maps.A supply ledger from the Western Campaign.Hours passed before the doors opened again.This time the footsteps were heavier.Military.I didn’t look up.“You’re the new translator.”The voice was low. Hard.I lifted my head slowly.A broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway wearing imperial armour.A battle armour.A scar ran from his temple to his jaw.He looked like the kind of man who solved problems by killing them.“Lyra Sen,” I said calmly.His eyes studied me like a soldier evaluating an unfamiliar weapon.“General Darius Holt.”Of course he was.The empire’s most feared commander.The prince’s shadow.And the man most likely to notice when something didn’t belong.“General,” I said politely.He walked into the room.Slowly.Like a predator circling.“You arrived this morning.”“Yes.”“You’ve already accessed restricted military archives.”“The captain approved my credentials.”“I’m not the captain.”“No.”His eyes flicked to the scrolls on the table.“You read Old Valtherian.”“Yes.”“Fluently?”“Enough to correct the prince.”That got his attention.“You corrected the prince?”“He asked.”Holt studied me for a long moment.Then he picked up the scroll I had been translating.His eyes skimmed the page.“You translated the supply routes wrong.”“No, I didn’t.”He looked up slowly.“You’re confident.”“I’m correct.”“Explain.”“The commander divided his army after crossing the river.”“That’s obvious.”“What isn’t obvious,” I said, tapping the page, “is that he lied in the official record.”Holt frowned.“Why would he do that?”“To hide the real route from enemy historians.”The general stared at the scroll again.Then back at me.“You figured that out in one afternoon?”“Yes.”“Why?”“Because if I were invading this region,” I said calmly, “I would have done the same thing.”The silence stretched.Holt’s gaze sharpened.“You talk about war like someone who’s fought one.”“I translate them.”“That’s not the same thing.”“No,” I agreed. “It isn’t.”Another long pause.Then Holt set the scroll down.“You’ll attend dinner tonight.”I blinked.“Dinner?”“With the prince.”“I’m a translator.”“You’re also the first scholar who’s managed to argue with him without being thrown out of the room.”“That sounds like a low standard.”“Apparently not.”I leaned back in my chair.“Is this a request?”Holt’s expression didn’t change.“No.”“Then I suppose I’ll attend.”“Good.”He turned toward the door.Then stopped.Just like Caelan had.Interesting.“You’re hiding something,” Holt said quietly.My pulse didn’t change.“What makes you think that?”“Everyone in this palace hides something.”“That sounds exhausting.”“It is.”He looked back at me.“And I always find out what it is.”Then he left.---Dinner in Aureth Palace was a political battlefield disguised as a meal.The hall was enormous.Nobles filled the long tables, their clothing dripping with wealth and ambition.Servants moved between them carrying wine and roasted meat.Every conversation sounded polite.Every smile looked dangerous.I stepped inside wearing the simplest dress I owned.Scholars were not meant to look powerful.A servant guided me toward the main table.The prince sat at its center.He looked up the moment I entered.Of course he did.Our eyes met across the room.His expression was calm.Curious.Amused.Like he’d been expecting me.Holt sat beside him.The general noticed me too.His stare felt like a knife between my shoulders.I took the empty seat across from the prince.“You came,” Caelan said lightly.“You invited me.”“That’s not why.”“Then why?”He leaned back in his chair.“I was curious.”“About what?”“You.”“That’s disappointing.”“Why?”“I was hoping you’d invited me for the food.”“You don’t look like someone motivated by food.”“And you don’t look like someone motivated by curiosity.”His mouth twitched.“Touché.”A noble across the table cleared his throat loudly.“Your Highness,” the man said, “we were discussing the taxation proposals for the northern provinces.”Caelan sighed softly.“Yes. The exciting topic of taxes.”“They are necessary.”“They are profitable,” Caelan corrected.The noble stiffened.“Surely you understand the importance of maintaining imperial revenue.”“I understand the importance of not bankrupting half the population.”Murmurs spread along the table.The noble frowned.“The empire has always demanded tribute.”“The empire has also always been at war,” Caelan said calmly.“And yet we’re still here.”“Barely.”Silence fell.The noble flushed.“Are you suggesting our policies are flawed?”“I’m suggesting,” Caelan said softly, “that bleeding the provinces dry might eventually lead to rebellion.”Several nobles shifted uncomfortably.One woman at the table laughed lightly.She sat two seats away from the prince.Elegant.Beautiful.Watching everything.“Careful, Your Highness,” she said. “You’ll make our dear Lord Malric believe you sympathize with rebels.”Caelan glanced at her.“Lady Seris.”“Your Highness.”Her eyes flicked briefly toward me.Assessing.Calculating.“Who is our quiet guest?” she asked.“Lyra Sen,” Caelan said. “Our new translator.”“A scholar.”“Yes.”“How unusual.”“Why?”“Most scholars avoid imperial politics.”“I’m only translating,” I said calmly.Seris smiled slightly.“I’m sure.”Dinner continued.Arguments about taxes turned into debates about military spending.Half the nobles defended war profits.The other half pretended they didn’t.Caelan dismantled every argument with calm precision.Watching him felt like watching someone disarm traps one by one.Then a servant leaned down and whispered something into his ear.Caelan’s expression changed.Only slightly.But I noticed.He stood.“Excuse me.”He walked out of the hall.Holt followed him immediately.Interesting.Very interesting.Five minutes passed.Then ten.The nobles resumed arguing.Seris sipped her wine quietly.I stood.“Where are you going?” she asked softly.“Library.”“At night?”“I translate faster after wine.”She smiled faintly.“Of course you do.”---The palace corridors were quieter at night.Torches flickered against the stone walls.Servants hurried past with lowered heads.I followed the direction Caelan had gone.Carefully.Quietly.Voices echoed ahead.Caelan’s voice.Holt’s voice.I stopped before the corner.“…third one this month,” Holt was saying.“I know,” Caelan replied.“You can’t keep removing nobles without consequences.”“I’m not removing them.”“You’re executing them.”Silence.Then Caelan spoke again.“They’re traitors.”“They’re powerful.”“They’re corrupt.”Holt exhaled sharply.“This is dangerous.”“Everything is dangerous.”I leaned slightly closer to the wall.“You need proof,” Holt continued.“I have proof.”“You have suspicions.”“I have bodies.”Holt was silent for a moment.“You’re playing a dangerous game.”“I know.”“What happens when the other nobles realize what you’re doing?”“They’ll panic.”“And?”Caelan’s voice turned colder.“Then they’ll make mistakes.”Footsteps started moving again.Toward the corridor.I slipped away before they turned the corner.---The war library was empty again.I closed the door behind me.My mind was racing.The prince was executing corrupt nobles.Secretly.Without trials.Without witnesses.That explained the rumours.But it also meant something else.The rebels had been wrong.Very wrong.I walked toward the table where the maps were kept.Something caught my eye.A small wooden door behind one of the shelves.Hidden.Interesting.I stepped closer.The door wasn’t locked.That was suspicious.I opened it slowly.Inside was a narrow room.Bare except for a desk.And a single sheet of parchment.Covered in names.Dozens of them.Nobles.Officials.Generals.Some names were crossed out.Executed.Removed.Others remained.Future targets.I scanned the list quickly.Then my blood went cold.At the bottom of the page, written in fresh ink, was a name I knew too well.Nyra Veylan.My real name.Behind me, a voice spoke quietly.“You weren’t supposed to find that.”