For Keiser, that truth curdled into something worse than grief. It was betrayal. The people they had sworn to protect did not mourn their protectors, they celebrated their deaths.

So here he was, sharing what would soon unfold and what role he intended to play in it. It had not been easy. Convincing them had required more than words, it had required persistence, restraint, and no small amount of patience.

Olga had been the most unyielding, her green eyes narrowing at him with every sentence, suspicion radiating from her like a drawn blade.

Lenko, standing beside her, was no gentler. His own bright eyes were sharpened with questions he wasn't voicing, copper hair bristling as though every strand sought to argue.

The princess had been quieter, but her silence was hardly easy to read. There was a wondering look in her ruby eyes, the sort of curiosity that seemed to weigh every syllable he offered. Still, it was better than the look she had first given him in the alley, when she regarded him as one might regard a viper in the grass. Her hand had healed him then, and Keiser was still unsettled by that memory, unable to decide if it was mercy or strategy.

And then there was Tyron, poor, bewildered kid. His face carried nothing but confusion, his expression a silent question that never found its words. The boy seemed pulled in too many directions at once, and Keiser knew that burden was partly his doing.

Who would believe him if he simply told them outright what was coming?

Who would trust him enough to follow a plan whispered face-to-face, without proof, without certainty?

He understood their doubt. In truth, he shared it.

***

He was already near the stairs that rose to where the princess stood surrounded by light and reverence. A man was kneeling before her, clutching her hand with trembling devotion, his gaze lifted to her. She smiled gently down at him, the picture of grace and compassion.

Beside her, Olga loomed like a shadow, her scowl deep enough to make the kneeling man flinch as if sensing her shadow.

In his peripheral vision, Keiser noted Lenko's position, standing guard by the opposite door, alert and ready, his weight balanced as though expecting trouble.

Tyron had taken the center, positioned at the midpoint of the chamber, as if the three of them together formed a line, left, middle, and right, a quiet cordon around the princess.

Keiser ascended the stairs, every step deliberate, carrying him closer to the princess and the man kneeling in adoration at her feet. The sight needled him, though he did not let it show.

The plan was set in motion.

Now all that remained was whether they would trust him enough to see it through.

***

"The princess will receive an invitation after the mass."

Keiser should have known what kind of reaction those words would stir. In truth, he had known, at least somewhere in the back of his mind. But knowing and bracing for it were two different things.

The first thing that happened was the flash of steel. Olga's dagger sang through the air before most men could have blinked. Keiser didn't flinch. His body shifted on instinct, side-stepping cleanly, the blade missing him by inches before clattering against the wall.

If he had been anyone else, anyone unaccustomed to her violent bursts of temper, he might have frozen. But when you had traveled beside someone like Olga long enough, when you had cataloged her habits the way he had, your thoughts knew what to do before your body even caught up.

And this wasn't his body, but the mind inhabiting it carried every hard-earned scrap of survival knowledge he needed. That, at least, was his advantage.

"You...!" Olga's hiss was like an animal baring its teeth. Her copper hair bristled as though she were all sparks and flame.

She looked ready to throw the second blade at her hip. "That's it? That's the grand revelation you promised us? You said you had inside information about what was going to happen in the capital tomorrow. And what do you bring us? This? Some devotee handing her highness a slip of paper? An invitation for tea and biscuits?"

Her fury would have cowed a lesser man. Keiser only hummed, as though her outrage were a matter of everyday chatter. He tilted his head in thought, eyes narrowing with that calculated calm that seemed to irritate her more than anything.

"Yes," he answered lightly. Then, after the barest pause, he added, "And…"

The shift in his tone made the others glance toward him.

Olga scoffed, but her knuckles whitened on her dagger hilt. Lenko's sharp eyes had narrowed into suspicion, his whole stance was unsure whether to fight or flee. Tyron fidgeted by the wall, his fingers twisting at his tunic, nervous and restless, yet his gaze didn't waver, if anything, he looked ready, if confused, to throw himself wherever Keiser's words pointed.

But it was the princess who mattered most.

Keiser turned his gaze to her, deliberate, the way he had during the deal between them. His eyes held hers with that same look, half defiance, half fatalism, all sharpened into something that demanded she acknowledge him. And she did.

The sixth princess inclined her head ever so slightly, a small, measured nod. Behind her, Olga sputtered in disbelief, but Althea's expression remained calm, unreadable save for that quiet, knowing glimmer.

For a moment, Keiser felt a breath of relief pass through him. Not safety, never that, but at least the bitter reassurance that someone would follow the thread of his plan, however fine and fraying it was.

The man who had been kneeling before the princess still waited, hand extended, voice hushed with reverence. The sixth princess, all serene grace, glanced once toward Keiser as though to confirm the script they had rehearsed in silence.

Keiser tugged deliberately at the bandage around his wrist, where her elven mana still burned faintly beneath his skin. The faintest smirk touched his mouth, an unspoken reminder of the bargain already binding them.

The princess's ruby eyes glinted, and then she smiled. Sweetly. Perfectly. The kind of smile that could soothe the masses, the kind that warmed and disarmed. But it was not a smile that reached her eyes.

"I would be delighted, Mr. Genevra," she said, her voice as smooth as silk drawn over steel.

Olga's scowl deepened. Lenko's suspicion didn't fade. Tyron's hands trembled at his sides. But the words had been spoken, the agreement sealed.

The spark had been lit.

Keiser eyes glinted, biding his time for the fire to consume everything next.

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