Crowned in Crimson Cinders

Chapter 20: Makeshift War Room

The air in my chambers was thick with unspoken tension, almost as suffocating as the silk drapes that framed the tall windows. We stood around the heavy square table, its polished surface reflecting the grim faces gathered there. Brock, a wall of quiet determination, was to my left. Bri, usually a vibrant spark, was subdued to my right. Across from me, Darian's eyes, normally alight with a playful challenge, held a dark intensity that mirrored my own.

Darian was acting weird lately, or at least weirder than he usually did. His eyes seemed to have a conflict, and I sensed he was hiding things. I wanted to press him for answers, but after he swore to protect me, I decided that I could repay him by not prying with questions. However, the thought of him keeping secrets bothered me more than I liked to admit.

Before us lay a grim tapestry of our vulnerability, the palace layout. Every grand hall, every forgotten antechamber, every winding servant's passage, all of it meticulously marked. Entrances and exits, even the most obscure, were noted. Everything, that is, except for our royal secret passages. Those, etched into the very stones of this ancient fortress, remained our hidden advantage.

I didn't like the idea of Bri learning the secret passages, but it was something I was going to have to accept if I wanted her help. When we informed her of the tunnels' existence, she said she assumed as much and was guessing that was how most of the maids travelled throughout the castle without bustling through the main halls.

"I still don't grasp it." Brock's voice was a low rumble, breaking the strained silence. "How could anyone breach these walls? Every entrance is guarded by a full ten men, and even before the first attack, our defenses were more than sufficient. To slip in, one would need either an intimate knowledge of every single guard's rotation, timed to perfection, or the backing of someone powerful enough to simply wave them through."

A collective, unspoken agreement settled over us. We were all tangled in the same web of confusion, each knot tightening with every unanswered question.

"Could they have scaled the windows?" Darian mused, his gaze sweeping over the map, as if searching for an invisible foothold.

Brock dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. "Impossible. They're too high. The lowest sill is a good thirty feet from the ground." Yet, a flicker of dissent crossed Darian's face. He said nothing, but I could practically see the gears turning in his mind, rejecting Brock's easy certainty.

"What if someone masqueraded as a maid or servant?" I interjected, the thought chilling me. "Sneaked in through their designated passages?"

Brock's jaw tightened. "Perhaps." The single word was laced with more stress than he usually allowed to show. "The girl who poisoned Breya's cup was indeed a maid. That's a strong possibility. But I don't believe she infiltrated from the outside. I think she was hired from within."

"Hired by whom?" Bri's voice was a sharp crack in the tension. "And why Breya? What motive could anyone have for targeting her?" It was the question that had plagued us for weeks, a gnawing uncertainty at the core of our grief. Breya, so quiet, so withdrawn from courtly intrigues, seemed an unlikely target.

But then, Clifton's words from yesterday echoed in my mind, a cold realization. Maybe they simply wanted to shatter our composure. To leave us feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"I don't believe there was any strategic reason behind Breya's death," I stated, the words feeling heavy on my tongue.

All eyes snapped to me. "What do you mean?" Darian pressed, his voice taut with impatience.

"I can't think of anyone who would gain anything from her death. I believe whoever did this did it to distract us. To divert our focus from the true threat."