THE PRINCESS

CHAPTER4

Chapter Four

The Weight of Paper

The archive was older than the empire.

That wasn't hyperbole. The west wing's lower levels had been built before the Unification, when Kanji saki was still a cluster of warring principalities and my ancestors were just particularly ambitious warlords. The walls were raw stone, sweating moisture in thin veins. The air tasted of mold and forgotten things.

And the records gods, the records. Floor-to-ceiling shelves stretched into darkness, crammed with ledgers, dispatch boxes, scroll cases, and the occasional crate that looked like it hadn't been opened since before the Shift.

"You're sure about this?" I asked, pulling a heavy volume from the nearest shelf. The leather binding cracked under my fingers.

"No," Mira said honestly. She'd lit two oil lamps,no electricity down here, not that deepand their glow made her shadow stretch across the ceiling like a warning. "But we're out of safe options at this point."

I opened the ledger. Fiscal records. Tenth year of my grandfather's reign. Grain quotas, timber exports, something called "special discretionary levies" that seemed to vanish into a black hole labeled Crown Projects.

"Helpful?"

"Not yet." I closed it and reached for another. "What exactly are we looking for?"

Mira had already pulled a dispatch box from a higher shelf and was prying its rusted latch open with a letter opener. "Financial irregularities. Sudden reassignments. Any mention of Henry or other countries, or the Northern Pass before the incursion."

"That's... broad."

"That's conspiracy." She glanced up, and the lamplight carved hollows under her cheekbones. "They bury truth in volume, Princess. Make you drown in paper so you never find the single page that matters."

I understood the logic. I hated it anyway.

The next hour passed in rustling paper and aching eyes. I worked my way through three more ledgers military budgets, diplomatic expense accounts, a fascinatingly dull record of border survey disputes from a decade ago, and found nothing. Mira wasn't doing better. Her dispatch box had yielded routine correspondence between mid-level bureaucrats arguing about supply routes.

Then she made a small sound. Not a gasp. Something quieter. The sound of a puzzle piece clicking into place.

"What?"

She held up a dispatch. The paper was heavier than standard issue, watermarked with the Imperial seal. Restricted distribution.

"It's from your father's private secretary," she said. "Addressed to Lord Vince. Dated two months before the incursion had occured."

"Read it.”

Mira's eyes moved across the page. Her expression didn't change—which meant it was bad.

"It's brief. Says: 'The Princess is not to be informed of Project Chimera. Her role remains ceremonial until further notice. The General Staff concurs.'"

The words hit me like a slap.

Ceremonial.

That was the word my mother used when she wanted to diminish me. When she wanted to remind me that I was heir in name only, that real power belonged to the people who had held it for decades, that my opinions were tolerated but not required.

But my father had never used it. Never.

Until now.

"Project Chimera," I repeated. "What is it?"

"I don't know." Mira set the dispatch down carefully, as if it might burn her. "But whatever it is, they're keeping you out of it on purpose."

"And Kim?"

She pulled another paper from the box. This one was smaller, handwritten, the script tight and hurried.

"This is a field report from an intelligence officer at the pass. Dated four days before the incursion. It says…" She stopped.

"Says what?"

Mira looked up. And for the first time in all the years I'd known her, I saw something in her eyes that looked like fear.

"It says, 'Third Army movements consistent with defensive posture, not offensive. Recommend cancelling alert status. However, Lord Vince has overridden this assessment and ordered continued mobilization. I believe we are being used.'"

The room felt smaller than it had a moment ago.

"Used by whom?"

"It doesn't say. The report is incomplete. The signature is smeared." Mira flipped the paper over. "There's a note on the back. In different ink. Fresher."

"What note?"

She read aloud, slowly: "'If you're reading this, I'm already dead. Don't trust the court. Don't trust the spymaster. Trust only what you can prove yourself. The Princess..'"

She stopped."The Princess what?"

Mira turned the paper toward me.

The sentence ended mid-word. A dark smear, blood, I realized with cold certainty, had obliterated the rest.

Silence.

Somewhere above us, the ballroom orchestra had stopped playing. The silence felt heavier than the music had.

"Someone killed him," I said. "The officer who wrote this. Someone killed him before he could finish."

"Or before someone else could read it."

I stood up so fast the chair scraped against the stone floor.

"I need to talk to Kim."

"Princess.."

"Not as an ally. Not as…" I waved a hand, unable to finish the thought. "As a source. He has intelligence we don't. He knew about the meeting in Croatia. He might know about Project Chimera."

Mira stood too, blocking my path to the door.

"If you contact him directly, your father's people will know. They'll watch you more closely. They might-"

"They might what? Lock me in my room? Marry me off to some minor lord in the provinces?" I stepped around her. "I've been ceremonial for twenty-three years, Mira. I'm done."

"Being done can get you killed."

"So can being ignorant."

I reached the door and put my hand on the latch. Then I paused.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "For telling me. For showing me."

Mira's expression softened, just a fraction.

"Someone should have told you years ago," she said. "I'm sorry it took so long."

I nodded once, then opened the door.

The corridor beyond was dark and cold.

But for the first time, I knew exactly where I was going.

Not toward the throne.

Toward the truth.

And if that truth burned down everything my family had built?

Then so be it.