Shadows Beneath the Throne

Finally, he smiled—slow, rueful, and tired. "You always were too sharp for your own good."

"And you always forget I'm on your side," Anna countered softly.

He didn't respond.

The silence stretched between them, long enough to feel like a breath held too long. The only sound was the faint hiss of candlelight and the distant sigh of the night wind brushing against the tall windows.

Then Anna leaned forward, resting a hand gently on the table beside his. Her fingers hovered close to his, close enough that their warmth almost touched. "Whatever you're keeping from me, Ben…" her voice dropped to a near whisper, "…I'll find out anyway. So you might as well start talking."

Ben stared at her, startled by the quiet steel in her tone. Patience—tempered by the kind of power only someone who truly knew him could wield.

He exhaled, a low sigh that carried the weight of sleepless nights and endless worry. "My love," he said finally, gesturing toward the chair beside him, "come, sit."

Anna studied him for a moment longer—measuring him, as if deciding whether to indulge or challenge him—but finally nodded. She moved with that natural, effortless grace she always carried, the kind that made even silence seem poised.

Her steps were soft on the marble floor. When she reached the chair beside him and sat, the candlelight caught her face, bathing her in a warm gold glow. It softened her expression, but her eyes—those sharp, intelligent eyes—never lost focus.

Ben found himself staring again, caught between admiration and guilt. The flames flickered, and for a heartbeat, she looked almost unreal—part queen, part storm, part woman he never deserved but could never live without.

"Now tell me," she said quietly, fingers brushing the edge of the table. "What's happening?"

Ben hesitated. His hand moved almost on instinct, reaching toward hers. She didn't pull away. The simple contact steadied him.

He took a breath, deep and slow. "My love… our kingdom stands at the edge of a thunderstorm."

Anna frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You know the Moon Eagal group," Ben began, his tone darkening.

Her expression shifted—recognition, then concern. "Yes. The assassins. We used them once, back when the rebels first raised their banners. The head assassin was that noble… from the eastern territory."

Ben nodded grimly. "Exactly. But today, when I summoned court, I received a report—fifty men from the Moon Eagal were seen gathered near Broadwall."

Anna froze. "Fifty?"

"Yes." His voice grew quieter, colder. "Not five, not ten. Fifty."

Her chair creaked slightly as she leaned forward, her body tense. "That's not a coincidence, Ben. The Moon Eagal don't move in groups that large. Someone hired them."

"I know."

Her brows knitted. "Do you know who?"

Ben shook his head. "Not yet. The council speculates it's treason from within. Some of the nobles, perhaps—working with outside forces."

Anna's eyes darkened. She pushed her hair back, thinking. "Treason inside the court…" she murmured. Then she looked back up, voice sharp again. "But fifty men? That's not small money. Even the wealthiest noble would have to bleed gold for that. The royal treasury would notice such a transfer immediately."

Ben's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't realize how much he'd missed that tone—her financial mind, her precise logic cutting through emotion like a blade. She'd always been the sharper one when it came to numbers, politics, the invisible gears behind the kingdom's stability.

"So what are you suggesting, Anna?" he asked, his voice quieter now, weary but listening.

She leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. Her gaze locked onto his. "I mean that if someone inside our kingdom hired them, then it's not a fool or a fanatic—it's someone strategic. Someone with purpose. Because even if those fifty assassins attacked, the Lionheart defenses would respond instantly. They'd die before completing the job. So whoever's behind them must want to be seen."

Ben blinked. "To be seen?"

"Yes." Her tone grew colder, sharper, the rhythm of her speech tightening with thought. "If they truly wanted to eliminate someone quietly, they'd never send fifty men. That's a declaration. They're forcing attention. It's not just a hit—it's a message."

Ben leaned forward now, the candlelight drawing shadows along the hard lines of his face. "So you think it's not just rebellion?"

"I think," she said slowly, "it's more than that. Maybe it's a diversion. Maybe it's someone testing us. But if fifty assassins can be gathered within our borders and we know about it…" She paused, eyes narrowing. "…then they wanted us to know."

He didn't move.

Her voice softened, but it carried more weight than before. "If a noble hired them, Ben, then yes, it's treason. But it might not stop there. This feels bigger. Hidden hands. Maybe even something tied to the court's finances or outside allies. Either way—it's not random."

Ben watched her speak. The flicker of her eyes, the quick turns of her thoughts, the calm authority in every word. There were moments he forgot just how brilliant she was—how deeply she could read through a storm of politics and deceit while still sounding composed.

He felt the faintest shiver run down his spine.

"My love…" he murmured, voice almost lost to the night, "do you think there's more to it than just nobles and rebels?"

Anna didn't answer immediately. She looked toward the window instead, where the faint silver of the moon traced the floor. Her face reflected that same light—cold, beautiful, focused.

"I think," she said finally, "someone's moving pieces that don't belong on the board. And if that's true…" she turned back to him, her voice steady, "…then we're already playing their game."

Ben stared at her, the words sinking like stones in his chest.

He didn't speak. Couldn't.

The air between them was thick now—candlelight flickering, two minds circling an invisible threat that seemed to breathe in the silence.

Anna's gaze softened slightly, but her voice stayed steady. "Ben," she said again, "don't look so surprised. You know this kingdom better than anyone. You've seen how easily loyalty can be bought, how whispers move faster than armies. The question isn't who hired the Moon Eagal—it's why they want us to see them."

Ben's fingers twitched against the table. "You think they're warning us?"

"I think," she said, tilting her head slightly, "they're challenging us."

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