HIS RUIN

Chapter 3: The Poison in the Garden

The palace garden was never silent. Even at night, when torches flickered low and the corridors emptied of courtiers, whispers clung to the air. The roses held their perfume like secrets; the marble angels on the fountain poured water as though it were gossip; and the hedges rustled with the restless wings of owls.

Tonight, however, the silence was heavy—like a shroud thrown over the kingdom.

Amara moved through it with her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her steps swift, her eyes sharp. The note still burned against her palm though she had read it hours ago:Trust no one.

It was unsigned. The handwriting was familiar—infuriatingly so—but blurred by haste.

Whoever had slipped it under her chamber curtain had risked their life to deliver it, or risked nothing if the words were a trap. And that was the worst part: she couldn’t tell which. Her stomach clenched as she reached the fountain in the center of the garden. The moonlight carved everything in silver. She touched the cool marble, staring at the angels whose carved mouths poured streams of water into the basin. The sound mocked her thirst for truth.

For weeks, she had thought herself clever. Every meeting, every whispered plan, every letter burned after it was written—except the one Kael had discovered this morning. Seraphine had betrayed her. Or Kael had manipulated her. Or both.

Now the note proved that betrayal was only the surface of something deeper. And Amara refused to drown without a fight.“You shouldn’t wander alone, Princess.”

The voice came from the hedge, smooth as velvet, sharp as a blade. Amara froze, then turned. Prince Kael stepped into the moonlight. Not the golden prince of morning court but something darker. His cloak was black, his boots silent, his eyes glittering with an intensity that stole her breath. In daylight, he was a polished blade; tonight he was the shadow that blade cast. She lifted her chin. “And yet here you are, wandering too.”“Not wandering,” he corrected, a smirk tugging his lips. “Hunting.” A chill slid down her spine, but she forced her mouth into a smile. “ And what prey do you imagine you’ll catch? " Surely not me. ” He stepped closer, his movements fluid, deliberate. “That depends. " Are you running?” The fountain murmured between them, but the air was thick with tension. Amara hated the way her pulse betrayed her, racing, thundering under his gaze. He unsettled her—not just because he had her secret, but because some treacherous part of her wanted him to.

“You speak as if loyalty means nothing to you,” she said, her voice edged with steel.

"Loyalty"? Kael’s laugh was quiet, bitter. “Loyalty is not born from trust. It is bought, bargained, broken. You of all people should understand that.”

The words stung, not because they were lies, but because they mirrored her own thoughts. She swallowed them down, determined not to let him see.“Do you think exposing me makes you powerful?” she asked.

He leaned in, his voice brushing her ear like smoke. “No. "It makes you… mine to watch.” Her breath caught—infuriatingly, dangerously—but before she could retort, a sound shattered the night. A rustle. A crash. A body stumbling from the hedges. A palace guard collapsed at the fountain’s edge, armor clattering, his hand clutching his side. Blood stained his uniform, but worse, froth bubbled pale at his lips.“Your Highness,” he rasped, eyes wide as they found Amara.

“The council… they know… Seraphine—”

His voice broke into a cough, and with one final convulsion, his body went still at her feet.

Amara staggered back in horror, clawing her throat. Kael crouched, pressing his fingers on the guard’s neck. His jaw tightened. “Poison. "Quick and deliberate.” His eyes lifted, locking onto hers, sharp as a blade. “This wasn’t meant for him.” Amara’s pulse thundered. It was meant for me. The fountain’s gentle trickle mocked the silence of the corpse sprawled beside it. A message had been sent—in blood. Kael rose, his cloak rippling in the night breeze. “This isn’t betrayal anymore, Amara. "This is war.” They dragged the body to the shadows. Amara’s hands trembled, but her face remained stone. She could not show weakness, not even now. Especially not now. Her mind replayed the guard’s dying words: The council… they know… Seraphine. If the council was involved, then Seraphine was not working alone. The rot spread further than she feared. Allies wore masks. Enemies smiled at her table. Kael’s voice broke her thoughts. “You’ll need me.” Her head snapped toward him. “I need no one.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell steel and smoke on him. His gaze burned. “Then you’ll die alone.” Their silence cracked with tension, but Amara turned sharply, her cloak flaring. “Better alone than in chains.” Yet as she left the garden, the words haunted her. Do I need him?

That night, Amara barred her doors, her mind a storm. Sleep clawed at her but never took her. The garden, the note, the corpse—all whirled together until dawn. But before the sun could rise, the storm arrived. A scraping sound at her window. Her breath caught. She reached for the dagger she kept hidden beneath her pillow and moved silently across the chamber. The curtains billowed with the night air, the faint scent of roses drifting in.

Then—movement.

A shadow lunged. Steel flashed. Amara ducked, her dagger slicing through the air. A masked intruder hissed, retreating, then lunging again. She parried with the desperation of survival, every muscle burning. The fight was quick, brutal. Furniture splintered, silk ripped, blood splashed across her rug—not hers. The masked figure faltered, clutching his side where her blade had found flesh.

He stumbled to the window, half-turning before whispering, “For the council.” Then he leapt into the night. Amara stood shaking, her dagger dripping red, her heart clawing at her chest.

The council was no longer watching. They were hunting.

At sunrise, Kael appeared in her chamber without knocking, his expression grim. His eyes swept over the overturned furniture, the blood on the floor, and finally—her, standing pale but unbroken.“They’ve already tried to kill you,” he said flatly.“They failed,” she replied.“ For now.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “Listen to me, Amara. Seraphine will not stop. The council will not stop. "You can fight them, but you cannot fight them alone.” Her grip tightened on the dagger still in her hand. “And you expect me to trust you? "After you paraded my letter like a trophy?” His jaw clenched, but he did not retreat. “I expect you to survive. And survival, Princess, means choosing the enemy that wants you alive over the enemy that wants you buried.” The words twisted in her chest, hot and cold at once. Because she knew he was right. And that terrified her more than anything.

By noon, the palace buzzed with whispers of the dead guard, though none dared speak of the truth. Amara walked the corridors with her head high, her eyes calculating. Every glance could hide a dagger. Every smile could mask a plot. She thought of the note again—trust no one. But as Kael’s shadow fell across hers in the council chamber, standing just close enough that she could feel his heat, she realized something far more dangerous:Perhaps she didn’t have to trust him. Perhaps she only had to use him. And if she played her cards right, she would turn betrayal into power, poison into fire, and war into her throne.