𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓭 𝓢𝓸𝓷

Chapter 57 A new sworn guard

Sylvina's heels echoed sharply against the cold stone floors as she glided down the dimly lit corridor, each step slow and deliberate. The palace seemed especially still, the usual chatter and bustle of servants and courtiers replaced by an unsettling calm.

Only the distant crackle of torch flames flickered in the near darkness, casting long, shifting shadows on the walls. Her cloak, woven from the finest silks and embroidered with the royal crest, billowed softly behind her, catching the occasional flicker of light as it swept the floor.

She enjoyed these moments of silence, the brief respite before the chaos of court descended once again. There was a certain clarity in the quiet—a time when one could think, plan, and plot. And Sylvina was always plotting.

As she turned a corner, her sharp eyes caught the movement of a figure ahead, hurrying through the hall. The man's armor clinked lightly with each step, the polished metal glinting in the low light. Even from this distance, Sylvina could recognize him—Ser Criston Cole.

Her lips curved into a subtle smile. It was rare to see Ser Criston so flustered. She called out, her voice slicing through the stillness, "Ser Criston."

The knight froze mid-step, his hand instinctively moving to rest on the hilt of his sword before turning to face her. His dark eyes widened slightly in surprise, though he quickly masked it, bowing deeply. "Your Grace," he greeted bowing, his voice steady, though a hint of tension lingered.

Sylvina took her time as she approached, her eyes never leaving his face, watching the faint flicker of unease cross his features. "Where are you rushing off to?" she asked, her voice smooth and commanding.

Criston hesitated, clearly weighing his response before answering. "I was... seeking the princess," he said, his tone clipped, as if the very words frustrated him. "She's disappeared again, without any notice."

Sylvina raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Again?" Her voice dripped with amusement. "How many times has this happened, Ser Criston? Rhaenyra running off without your knowledge?"

The knight shifted, clearly uncomfortable under her steady gaze. "Too many times," he admitted, his words coming out as more of a growl. His hands flexed at his sides, betraying the depth of his frustration. "Especially since she married Prince Aegon. She's grown... restless. It's becoming a recurring problem."

Sylvina let out a soft, almost dismissive hum as she circled around him slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "Restless, is she?" she mused. "It seems that perhaps her priorities have shifted, Ser Criston. Do you think she still values your protection as she once did?"

He stiffened at her words, his jaw clenching slightly. "I've served her loyally for the past year," he replied, his voice filled with a quiet defensiveness. "That has not changed."

Sylvina stopped in front of him, her gaze piercing as she studied him more closely. "Has it not?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with meaning. "Perhaps it is not you who has changed, but the princess. She no longer seems to need your protection, does she? Running off whenever she pleases, without so much as a word to her sworn guard."

Criston's silence was telling. His frustration with Rhaenyra was apparent, but so too was his sense of duty—a duty that, it seemed, was growing increasingly strained.

The queen took a step closer, her presence commanding as she lowered her voice, making sure every word sunk in. "You have been faithful to her service, yes," she acknowledged. "But tell me, Ser Criston, where has that faithfulness led you? Chasing after a princess who barely acknowledges your presence, let alone your protection?"

His eyes flickered with something—perhaps doubt or perhaps realization. Sylvina pressed on, her words now dripping with a seductive authority. "What if I were to offer you a different role?"