The lamplight carved shadows into the hollows of Amelia’s face, turning the familiar planes of her cheekbones into stark geography of exhaustion. The usual fire in her emerald eyes had been banked to a glimmering coal, and she moved in her chair with the careful, deliberate motions of someone carrying an invisible, crushing weight.

“Amelia,” I began, my voice softer than I intended.

Her head lifted, a slow and heavy gesture. “Thalia?”

“You look like you’re about to collapse.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, gone before it could truly form. The mask of composure she wore so well was cracking at the edges. “I’m fine,” she murmured, the words a familiar lie. She let out a breath she seemed to have been holding all day. “There’s just… no margin. No time to catch my breath.”

“Then you must make time. I can handle—”

“No.” She cut me off, not with sharpness, but with a profound weariness. Her gaze found mine, and in their depths, I saw a sorrow that mirrored my own. “The hour is late for all of us, Princess. You haven’t exactly been sleeping on a bed of roses yourself.”

I managed a thin smile. “Promise me, when this is over, you’ll take a vacation. A long one.”

A dry, tired laugh escaped her, a sound like rustling leaves. “A beautiful dream. But dreams will have to wait.” She straightened, the commander reasserting herself over the weary woman. “The Crescent Moon Guild is ash. My contacts confirm it. Not a single shadow stirred from the rubble you left behind.”

Relief, cool and sharp, washed through me. “Then it was a decisive blow against my father.” The memory of his face, contorted with fury over the “Crescent Moon Theater,” was all the confirmation I needed. “And the coin holders? The ones we freed from that place?”

“Safe,” Amelia confirmed, leaning back. “They’re on their way to the Magic Tower to find its master.”

My mind flickered to Vel. He had the air of a decent man, but I wondered if his ‘favor’ was a debt he ever intended to collect, or simply a flourish to close a transaction.

“And after the Tower?” I asked.

“Oakhaven. They need to awaken Finnian’s ancient magic.”

The word sent a jolt through me, a current connecting to the scroll in my desk. I pulled open the drawer, the quiet hiss of the wood sliding on its runners the only sound in the room. My fingers closed around the brittle parchment. I laid it on the polished mahogany between us, a silent question.

“Is it time?” I asked, my eyes fixed on her.

Amelia’s gaze fell to the scroll, her expression hardening into one of grim purpose. “Yes. It’s time for you to go to Oakhaven and delay them.”

“Why? What’s there that requires more time?”

She considered this, her head tilting slightly. “Sometimes, Thalia, victory and ruin hinge on a single moment, a single choice. This is about giving them that moment.”

“I’ll leave at dawn,” I said, a new resolve settling in me. “I assume I am not to meet them directly?”

She shook her head. “The time isn’t right. Not yet.”

“Will you come with me?” The question was hopeful, selfish.

A sigh escaped her lips, carrying the weight of a hundred other duties. “I wish I could. But I am needed here. There is too much to unravel.”

“I understand. Anything else I should know?”

Amelia’s gaze drifted away, toward the darkened window. “No. Nothing for now.”

I knew she was lying—or at least, omitting. But I also trusted her. If it were a dagger at my back, she would have warned me. I offered a small, trusting smile. “Thank you, Amelia.”

Our moment of quiet strategy was shattered by a frantic pounding on the door. “Amelia!” a voice cried out, thin with panic. “Are you with the Princess? We need you! It’s Crown Prince Dolion!”

My head snapped toward Amelia, my brows furrowing. Dolion?

“I will be there in ten minutes!” she called back, her voice strained, the composure she’d just gathered already fraying. “I am concluding my report!”

“Very well,” the voice replied, muffled and distant. “But please… make haste.” The footsteps receded in a frantic patter down the hall.

My full attention locked onto her. She shifted under my gaze, rubbing her arm as if a sudden chill had entered the room. Her mouth opened, then clamped shut.

“Amelia,” I said, keeping my voice level. “I’m not angry. Just tell me what’s happening.”

“I was going to,” she said, her voice tight with a worry she could no longer conceal. “It’s Crown Prince Dolion. He has been… unwell. For several days.”

“Unwell how?”

She released a shuddering breath. “My suspicions are dire. I didn’t want to alarm you without confirmation.”

“What suspicions?” I pressed, my patience thinning.

Her eyes, dark and serious, met mine. “I believe he’s been poisoned, Thalia. I believe he is dying.”

The words landed like stones in my gut. “Poisoned? No one would dare. The only one with the audacity is my father, and this isn’t his style. He prefers a faster, more public stage for his cruelty, not a slow-fading sickness.”

“So you do not believe it is the King?” she asked quietly.

“Do you?”

A slow, solemn nod was her answer. “The Prince began coughing up blood yesterday. Now, the hallucinations have started. The royal physicians can do nothing but offer him comfort. They all claim to be mystified.”

“I see,” I said, a cold, familiar anger beginning to coil in my stomach. “But that doesn’t explain your involvement. Why you?”

Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Because I am the only one he allows near him anymore. He has become… violent. He attacked two maids who tried to tend to him. Everyone is terrified.”

I rolled my eyes, a flash of pure disgust cutting through my concern. “They should have been afraid of him years ago, instead of fawning over him. Still, I wish it didn’t fall to you.”

“As do I,” she murmured, her shoulders slumping. “But what choice is there?”

She was right. The helplessness of it was infuriating. “Be careful, Amelia. A dying prince is a viper’s nest. They’ll look for someone to blame.”

“Thalia.” I looked up to meet her steady gaze, the fire briefly returning. “I promise you,” she said, her voice like steel, “I will not be the one they blame. In truth, he sealed his own fate the moment he decided to publicly anger your father.”

Another, more desperate knock rattled the door frame. “Amelia, please! He’s screaming! We’re running out of time!”

With a final, weary look, Amelia pushed herself from the chair.

The knocking came again, a frantic drumming. “Amelia, I’m begging you!”

“I’m coming!” she snapped, her patience finally shattering. She paused at the threshold, turning to give me one last, meaningful stare. “Good luck tomorrow. And Thalia? Don’t let them fully see you tomorrow.”

“I will,” I promised. “You be careful.”

Then she was gone. I was alone in the sudden silence, staring at the empty doorway, picturing her walking down that hall, shouldering the weight of a dying prince and a crumbling kingdom.