Gunnar
The heavy iron doors banged shut as the guards dragged the weeping gatekeeper down toward the dungeons. His screams faded into the cold stone, leaving behind a silence heavier than death.
I stood alone in the wreckage of my private study. Parchments scattered across the floor like fallen leaves, drawers ripped from their frames, the dark mahogany desk sitting empty, its hidden compartment stripped clean.
My heart hammered against my ribs, driven by a territorial rage I couldn't suppress.
Who had taken it?
I paced the room, my boots crushing loose sheets of parchment beneath my soles. A spy within the household. Someone who knew the palace routes. Someone with access to the Western Wing while I was away at the training grounds.
Then it hit me, not a suspicion, but a trap spring
