The palace erupted into chaos.

  Guards flooded the corridors. Servants were questioned. The kitchen staff was detained. Everyone who had been near the dining hall was brought forward.

  But one person was conspicuously absent.

  Clara fled through the servants' passages, heart hammering against her ribs.

  She'd watched it all unfold. Watched Estelle collapse. Watched the knight carry her away. Watched the guards begin their sweep.

  I need to get out. I need to leave now.

  She burst into a small storage room and rushed to the window, dropping to her knees before the hidden drawer beneath the sill. Her hands shook as she wrenched it open.

  Empty.

  "My jewels—the coins—" Her voice cracked. "I did the job. Where is it? Where's the payment?"

  She tore through the drawer frantically. Nothing. Not a single coin.

  Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor outside.

  Clara went still.

  The door burst open.

  A knight filled the frame, sword drawn.

  "You. Come with me."

  Two guards dragged Clara into the King's study, hands bound in front of her, head hanging low. Tears already streaked her face.

  The King sat behind his desk, expression carved from stone. The Queen stood at his shoulder. Elizabeth hovered near the window, pale and silent.

  And Estelle—weak, barely able to stand—leaned against a chair with Doctor Schmichel close at her side.

  "This is the one, Your Majesty," the senior guard said. "She was seen tampering with the royal silver vault before dinner. We found her attempting to flee the grounds."

  Clara's legs buckled. She collapsed to her knees with a broken sob. "No—I didn't—I never meant—"

  "The evidence is clear," the guard continued. "The sentence for attempted regicide and treason against royal blood is—"

  "Death by hanging," the second guard finished.

  "Please." Clara's voice shattered. "Please, I have a family. I have people who depend on me. I—"

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Stop."

  The room went quiet.

  Everyone turned.

  Estelle had pushed herself upright from the chair. Her face was still pale, her movements unsteady, but her voice was even.

  "Princess." Doctor Schmichel stepped forward. "You need to rest. We have this well in hand—"

  "No." She straightened, ignoring the dizziness that swept over her. "We need to investigate properly first. There may be someone else involved."

  The King's eyes narrowed. "She was seen tampering with the spoons, Estelle. The poison was in your bowl."

  "But why?" Estelle's voice was quiet but steady. "She resents me, yes. But poison? At the royal dinner table, with the entire family present?" She shook her head slowly. "Something doesn't add up."

  Her gaze dropped to the sobbing maid on the floor.

  The King was silent for a long moment. Then something shifted behind his eyes.

  "She's likely a pawn," he said. "Someone used her." He looked to the guards. "Hold her in the dungeons. No sentence until we have the full truth." His voice was cold iron. "And find out who hired her."

  The guards bowed and hauled Clara to her feet. As they led her toward the door, whispers broke out among the attendants lingering in the corridor beyond.

  "Isn't that Princess Francesca's personal maid?"

  "The one assigned to her chambers?"

  "Why would she...?"

  In the corner of the room, Alec stood with his arms crossed, jaw set, golden eyes tracking Clara's exit with quiet calculation.

  The King placed a hand briefly on Estelle's shoulder. "Rest. We'll speak more tomorrow."

  He left with the Queen and Elizabeth, the doctor trailing behind them.

  The door clicked shut.

  Night had fully settled over the palace. Moonlight slipped through the tall windows, painting silver stripes across the infirmary bed where Estelle had been moved. She lay back against the pillows, drained from the effort of simply standing.

  Alec had not left his post by the door.

  "Sir Alec." Her voice was tired. "You may go. I'm safe now."

  He didn't move.

  "How can you say that?" His voice was quieter than she expected. "You were nearly taken from us tonight."

  She opened her mouth to argue. Then she remembered how the attendants mentioned him bursting through the dining hall doors. The urgency in his eyes as he'd dropped to his knees beside her. The steadiness of his arms as he'd carried her through the palace, calm in the middle of everything falling apart.

  She looked down at her hands.

  "...Thank you," she muttered. Barely audible.

  Alec went still.

  Then: "Are you... actually thanking me?"

  Heat flooded her face. She pulled the blanket up over her head. "I'm sleeping."

  A low, quiet sound escaped him—the first genuine laugh she had ever heard from him. Soft. Almost surprised, as though he hadn't expected it from himself either.

  "You don't need to thank me, Princess." His voice settled into something gentler. "Protecting you is the only thing that matters to me."

  She squeezed her eyes shut beneath the covers, willing her heart to behave.

  Eventually, exhaustion won. Sleep came—deep, dreamless, merciful.

  Alec remained by the door until her breathing slowed and steadied and he was certain she was truly under. Then he turned and slipped out without a sound.

  Down in the dungeons, the air was cold and damp and smelled of old stone.

  Clara sat on a pile of filthy straw, knees drawn to her chest, whispering to herself through tears.

  I never used poison. I don't understand. I don't know how this happened.

  Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Heavy. Purposeful.

  Clara's head snapped up, hope flickering across her tear-streaked face.

  "Princess?" Her voice cracked. "You came—you came to help me—"

  A massive shadow fell across the bars.

  She looked up.

  The hope died in her eyes.

  It wasn't Francesca.

  It was Alec.

  But the knight who stood before her now was not the gentle guardian who had carried a poisoned princess through the palace halls.

  His face was cold. Empty. Dangerous.

  Eyes like frozen gold. Like a predator that had found its prey.

  "We need to talk," he said quietly

  End of Chapter 12