After his chores were finished, Trayton slipped quietly back to his small room. He sat on the edge of his cot, hands clasped, forcing himself to breathe.
Tonight was the night.
He had to get out of the castle.
Being quiet had always been his greatest advantage. Because he rarely spoke and kept to himself, people forgot he was there. They talked freely around him. They didn’t notice when he listened.
Over time, he had memorized the patrol routes, the guard rotations, and every shift change. His father despised change. Schedules never varied. Meals, training, chores—everything ran like clockwork.
And tonight, that would work in Trayton’s favor.
Within minutes, he had a plan.
His father would already be asleep. He never checked on Trayton. Never cared enough to look.
That made things
