---
Morning broke with a sullen gray sky, the kind that promised rain without the decency of a proper storm. The estate was a picture of routine as servants bustled about their tasks, but the air was heavy with the aftermath of the ambush. Whispers lingered in the halls, and every glance felt like it carried a question no one dared to voice.
I kept my steps measured as I descended the staircase, the folded letter tucked securely in my jacket. It wasn't just parchment—it was a gamble, one that could expose the traitor or bring them closer to me than I'd like. Either way, the first move had to be mine.
The storage wing was quieter than usual when I arrived. Most of the servants were preoccupied with other duties, leaving only a handful to tend to the neatly stacked barrels and crates. A knight loitered near the entrance, his eyes sharp as he oversaw the area. He nodded at me as I passed, his expression respectful but curious.
"Morning, Master Liam," he said.
"Good morning," I replied with a polite nod. "Don't let me interrupt your work."
He stepped aside, giving me a clear path into the heart of the storage wing. My steps slowed as I scanned the room, searching for the perfect place to leave the letter. It had to be visible enough to catch the traitor's attention but inconspicuous enough to avoid suspicion from anyone else.
---
A stack of barrels near the back wall caught my eye. They were positioned just far enough from the main path to avoid casual scrutiny but close enough that a discerning gaze might pick up on something out of place. I approached them slowly, my hands brushing against the rough wood as I pretended to inspect their contents.
Slipping the letter into a narrow gap between two barrels, I took a step back and adjusted my posture. To anyone watching, I was simply surveying the supplies, my movements too casual to raise alarm. Satisfied, I turned and left the wing without a second glance.
---
The rest of the day was a blur of routine, each moment dragging as I waited for some sign that the letter had been found. I occupied myself with minor tasks—reviewing ledgers, discussing estate security with Sir Garret—but my mind kept drifting back to the storage wing.
If the traitor found the letter, what would they do? Would they act immediately, or would they bide their time, waiting for the right moment to use the information? And what if the letter fell into the wrong hands—someone loyal, who might see it as evidence of treachery on my part?
The uncertainty gnawed at me, a constant reminder of the risks I had taken. But doubt wouldn't get me anywhere. I had made my move, and now I had to see it through.
---
Evening fell, the estate bathed in the soft glow of lantern light as I returned to my chambers. I had just settled into the chair by my desk when a knock sounded at the door. The sound was sharp and precise, lacking the hesitance of a servant.
"Enter," I called, sitting up straight.
The door opened to reveal Mariel, her usual composure tinged with a hint of unease. "Master Liam," she said, bowing her head slightly. "Sir Roland requests your presence in the courtyard."
My pulse quickened, but I kept my expression neutral. "Did he say why?"
"No, my lord," Mariel replied. "Only that it was urgent."
I nodded, rising from my seat. "Thank you, Mariel. That will be all."
She bowed again before leaving, the door clicking softly shut behind her. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. Roland had found the letter. That much was certain. What remained to be seen was how he intended to play his hand.
Adjusting my jacket, I made my way to the courtyard, the cool night air prickling against my skin. The trap had been set, and now the pieces were in motion.
---
The courtyard was shrouded in twilight, the last remnants of daylight fading into the horizon. Torches lined the stone walls, their flickering flames casting long shadows across the cobblestones. A light drizzle had begun to fall, the rain cool against my skin as I stepped into the open space.
Sir Roland stood near the center of the courtyard, his arms crossed over his chest. His armor gleamed in the torchlight, every piece polished to perfection. He turned as I approached, his expression unreadable.
"You summoned me, Sir Roland?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
"I did," he replied, his voice smooth and unhurried. "There's something I wish to discuss."
My pulse quickened, but I forced myself to remain calm. "And what might that be?"
Roland stepped closer, his gaze boring into mine. "A letter," he said simply. "Found in the storage wing this morning."
My heart skipped a beat. He had found it. The trap had worked—but now I was the one caught in its snare.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, feigning ignorance. "What letter?"
Roland smiled faintly, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite amusement. "Don't play coy, Master Liam. We both know you're smarter than that."
---
The conversation that followed was a careful dance, each of us probing for weaknesses, testing the waters without revealing too much. Roland didn't explicitly accuse me of planting the letter, nor did I admit to it. Instead, we circled around the topic, our words layered with meaning that never quite reached the surface.
"You've become quite resourceful," Roland said at one point, his tone almost admiring. "Using fire to turn the tide of a battle, crafting letters with just enough information to pique someone's interest... It's impressive."
"I do what's necessary," I replied, meeting his gaze steadily. "Survival demands it."
Roland's smile widened slightly, though it still didn't reach his eyes. "Indeed. Survival is a powerful motivator. But tell me, Master Liam—how far are you willing to go?"
The question lingered in the air between us, heavy with implication. I held his gaze, refusing to flinch, even as the weight of his words pressed down on me.
"As far as I have to," I said finally.
Roland chuckled softly, a sound that sent a chill down my spine. "Good," he said, stepping back. "Very good. I'll keep that in mind."
---
Roland's departure left me standing alone in the courtyard, the rain falling steadily now. My mind raced with questions, each one more troubling than the last. Had the trap truly worked, or had I overplayed my hand? Was Roland testing me, or had I inadvertently given him the upper hand?
I returned to my chambers in a haze, my thoughts churning with possibilities. The conversation with Roland had been a victory in some ways—proof that he was watching me, and that he considered me a threat. But it had also been a stark reminder of how precarious my position truly was.
If I wanted to survive, I couldn't afford to hesitate. Roland was a skilled player, but I would have to become better. Smarter. More ruthless.
Sitting at my desk, I pulled out another sheet of parchment and began drafting a new plan. The game was far from over, and I intended to play it to win.
---
The courtyard was quiet, save for the faint patter of rain against the cobblestones. The torches lining the walls flickered weakly, their flames casting jagged shadows across the wet stone. The world seemed to hold its breath, the oppressive silence broken only by the steady rhythm of my boots as I stepped into the open space.
Sir Roland stood near the center, his posture relaxed but alert. His armor gleamed even in the dim light, a testament to his meticulous nature. He turned as I approached, his expression carefully neutral.
"You summoned me, Sir Roland?" I said, keeping my tone even. My heart raced, but I couldn't let him see that. Not now.
"I did," Roland replied, his voice smooth and unhurried. He gestured to a nearby bench, its surface glistening with rain. "Shall we sit?"
I hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. Refusing would make me look defensive. "Of course."
The bench was cold and damp, but I ignored the discomfort as I lowered myself onto it. Roland sat beside me, his movements fluid and controlled. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on the torchlight dancing across the courtyard walls.
"An interesting day," he said finally, his tone conversational. "Wouldn't you agree?"
I forced a small smile. "Eventful, certainly."
---
Roland reached into the folds of his cloak and produced a folded piece of parchment. My breath caught in my throat as he held it up, the firelight revealing the faint edges of my handwriting. The letter.
"This," he said, his voice quiet but firm, "was found in the storage wing earlier today."
I schooled my expression into one of mild curiosity. "And?"
"And," Roland continued, "its contents are... intriguing." He unfolded the letter with deliberate care, holding it up so I could see the neat lines of text. "Mentions of shipments, names, times—exactly the kind of information that would pique someone's interest. Wouldn't you agree?"
I shrugged, feigning disinterest. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen it before."
Roland smiled faintly, though the gesture didn't reach his eyes. "You're a poor liar, Master Liam."
My pulse quickened, but I forced myself to remain calm. "What exactly are you implying?"
"I'm not implying anything," Roland said smoothly. "I'm merely pointing out that this letter appeared at a very convenient time. After all, the estate is still reeling from the ambush. Tensions are high, suspicions rampant... A letter like this could cause quite a stir."
---
The rain began to fall more steadily, a soft drizzle that soaked into my cloak and hair. Roland didn't seem to notice, his focus fixed entirely on me. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"If you believe the letter is significant," I said carefully, "then you should bring it to my father. Let him decide how to handle it."
Roland tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps I will. But before I do, I wanted to hear your thoughts. You've always struck me as... perceptive."
"Flattering," I said dryly. "But I fail to see how my thoughts are relevant."
"Come now, Master Liam," Roland said, leaning slightly closer. "You're smarter than you let on. That fire you started during the ambush—it wasn't the act of a desperate boy. It was calculated. Deliberate."
"Desperation can inspire creativity," I countered. "Anyone in my position would have done the same."
"Perhaps," Roland allowed, though his tone suggested otherwise. He folded the letter again, tucking it back into his cloak. "But there's one thing that puzzles me."
"And what's that?"
He smiled faintly. "Why the letter was left where it could so easily be found. Almost as if someone wanted it to be discovered."
---
The statement hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. My mind raced, searching for the right response. Roland was testing me, probing for weaknesses, but I couldn't give him what he wanted.
"Are you suggesting the letter is some kind of... trap?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.
"I'm not suggesting anything," Roland said, his tone light. "Merely observing. It's an interesting coincidence, don't you think?"
"Coincidence or not," I said firmly, "I have nothing to do with it."
Roland studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The rain continued to fall, the sound of droplets against stone filling the silence. Finally, he stood, brushing a stray bead of water from his armor.
"Perhaps you're right," he said. "Perhaps this letter is nothing more than a curious accident."
"Or perhaps," I said, standing as well, "you're reading too much into it."
Roland chuckled softly, the sound low and almost menacing. "Perhaps."
---
He turned to leave, his cloak billowing slightly in the breeze. But before he stepped away, he paused, glancing back at me over his shoulder.
"Be careful, Master Liam," he said, his voice quiet but laced with warning. "The estate is a dangerous place these days. You never know who might be watching."
With that, he walked away, his footsteps echoing softly against the wet cobblestones. I watched him go, my heart hammering in my chest. The letter had worked—Roland had taken the bait—but the confrontation had left me shaken. He knew more than he let on, and his warning wasn't idle.
The game I had started was more dangerous than I realized. And if I wasn't careful, it would consume me.
---
The rain continued to fall long after Sir Roland left the courtyard, soaking into my cloak and chilling me to the bone. I stood there for several moments, staring at the spot where he had stood, his parting words echoing in my mind.
"The estate is a dangerous place these days. You never know who might be watching."
It wasn't a warning. It was a threat. Roland wasn't just playing this game—he was enjoying it.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as frustration bubbled to the surface. The letter had done its job; Roland had taken the bait. But the confrontation hadn't gone as I'd hoped. Instead of revealing his hand, Roland had turned the situation back on me, leaving me more uncertain than before.
I couldn't afford to lose control. Not now.
---
By the time I returned to my chambers, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle, the sky darkening with the approach of night. The estate was quiet, the halls empty save for the occasional servant hurrying about their tasks. Even the ever-watchful knights seemed subdued, their patrols a mere shadow of their usual vigor.
Closing the door behind me, I let out a shaky breath and slumped into the chair by the window. My desk was still scattered with notes from the night before—the map I'd drawn, the list of suspects, the half-formed ideas that had driven me to set the trap in the first place. Now, they felt inadequate. Insufficient.
Roland had seen through my ploy, of that I was certain. He hadn't accused me outright, but his words, his tone, his very presence had been enough to tell me that he knew. And yet, he hadn't acted. Why? What was he waiting for?
I leaned back, closing my eyes as I tried to piece it together. Roland wasn't a fool. If he knew I was onto him, he would have acted to silence me. But instead, he'd played along, engaging in a verbal chess match that left both of us with more questions than answers.
Perhaps he was testing me, waiting to see how far I was willing to go. Or perhaps he wanted me to keep playing, to see if I'd make a mistake. Either way, the stakes were higher than ever.
---
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread settling in my chest. I reached for a fresh piece of parchment and dipped my quill in ink, the familiar motion calming my frayed nerves.
Lesson One: Roland is aware of the trap.
Lesson Two: Roland doesn't consider me a serious threat. Not yet.
Lesson Three: This is a game of patience as much as strategy.
I underlined the final point, staring at it for a long moment. Patience. That was the key. Roland was playing the long game, and if I wanted to outmaneuver him, I would have to do the same. But patience wasn't enough. I needed leverage—something concrete that I could use against him.
A confession, a witness, a pattern of behavior—anything that would force him into the open.
Lesson Four: I need allies.
The thought sent a pang of unease through me. Trusting others wasn't something I did lightly. But I couldn't fight this battle alone. If Roland truly was working with the Gavarns, then his influence likely extended beyond the estate. I needed someone on the inside—someone I could rely on to watch what I couldn't.
---
I tapped the quill against the edge of the desk, my mind racing with possibilities. Sir Garret was the most obvious choice. His loyalty to House Arden was unwavering, and he had proven himself in the ambush. But Garret was also blunt, direct. Subtlety wasn't his strong suit, and this situation demanded finesse.
The servants, on the other hand, saw everything. They moved through the estate unnoticed, their presence so routine that most nobles paid them no mind. If anyone had seen something unusual—whispered conversations, suspicious movements—it would be them.
The question was, who could I trust? Most of the staff had been with the estate for years, but loyalty could be bought, and fear could be weaponized. Choosing the wrong person could spell disaster.
I rubbed my temples, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. The trap had been my first move, and while it hadn't yielded the results I'd hoped for, it had accomplished one thing: it had forced Roland to take notice. Now, I had to decide how to proceed.
---
The night deepened, the flickering light of the oil lamp casting long shadows across the room. I stared at the parchment in front of me, my notes growing messier with each passing hour. Every question I answered seemed to raise three more, the web of intrigue growing ever more complex.
But amidst the uncertainty, one thing was clear: Roland was watching me, testing me. And if I wanted to survive, I couldn't afford to let him dictate the terms of this game. I had to be bold, decisive, unpredictable.
I folded the parchment neatly and placed it in the drawer, extinguishing the lamp before retreating to bed. Sleep wouldn't come easily, but it didn't matter. The seeds of my next move had already been planted.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
---
The following morning arrived in a gray haze, the sun hidden behind a thick layer of clouds that hung low over the estate. The cool air carried the faint scent of rain, a reminder of the previous night's storm. Despite the gloomy weather, the estate was already bustling with activity, its inhabitants resuming their routines as if nothing had happened.
But something had changed. Beneath the surface of normalcy, a tension lingered, invisible but palpable. Whispers flitted through the halls, and wary glances were exchanged as servants and knights went about their duties. The ambush had unsettled everyone, and the cracks in the estate's façade were beginning to show.
I made my way to the servants' quarters, my steps deliberate but unhurried. The narrow halls smelled faintly of soap and wood polish, the sounds of clinking dishes and muffled voices drifting through the air. It wasn't a place I frequented often—nobles rarely ventured into these parts of the estate—but today was an exception.
--
The head servant, Mariel, was organizing a group of maids when I entered. Her sharp eyes flicked to me immediately, her expression betraying a brief moment of surprise before she dipped into a shallow bow.
"Master Liam," she said, her tone careful. "How may I assist you?"
"I need to speak with you," I said quietly. "Privately."
Mariel hesitated, glancing at the maids before nodding. "Of course. This way."
She led me into a small side room, its modest furnishings indicative of its utilitarian purpose. A single wooden table sat in the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs. Mariel gestured for me to sit, but I remained standing, my arms crossed as I studied her.
"I assume you've heard the rumors," I said after a moment. "About the ambush."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I have."
"And what do you think?" I asked, my tone measured.
Mariel hesitated, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "I think," she said carefully, "that whoever orchestrated it had help. The attackers knew too much—our route, our numbers. That kind of information doesn't come from guesswork."
I nodded slowly, her words mirroring my own thoughts. "Good. Then you understand why I'm here."
"Master Liam," she began, her brow furrowing, "if you're suggesting—"
"I'm not accusing you," I interrupted, raising a hand. "If I thought you were involved, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Relief flickered across her face, but it was quickly replaced by caution. "Then what do you want from me?"
"I need eyes and ears," I said bluntly. "Someone who can watch and listen without drawing attention. You've been with the estate for years, Mariel. You know its rhythms, its secrets. I need you to help me uncover the truth."
---
Mariel stared at me for a long moment, her sharp gaze searching mine. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. "You're playing a dangerous game, Master Liam."
"I know," I said. "But I don't have a choice. If we don't root out the traitor, more lives will be lost. Including mine."
Her expression softened slightly, though her wariness didn't fade entirely. "And what do you expect me to do?"
"For now, keep your eyes open," I said. "Pay attention to anything unusual—conversations, movements, behaviors. If someone is working against us, they'll slip up eventually. When they do, I need to know."
Mariel nodded slowly, though her hesitation was evident. "And if I find something?"
"Bring it to me directly," I said. "No one else can know about this. Not even my father."
Her eyes widened slightly at that, but she didn't question it. "Very well," she said finally. "I'll do what I can."
"Thank you," I said, my voice softening. "I won't forget this."
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur of careful observation and quiet planning. With Mariel's help, I began laying the groundwork for a network of information—a web of whispers and shadows that would stretch across the estate. It was risky, of course. Trusting others always was. But I couldn't fight this battle alone.
By evening, I had identified two more potential allies among the servants: a stable hand named Ewan, who was known for his keen eye and sharp memory, and a kitchen maid named Anya, whose position made her privy to conversations most would consider private. Both had reputations for loyalty and discretion, though I would need to approach them carefully.
I couldn't afford to tip my hand too soon. For now, I would focus on small, calculated moves—subtle shifts in the estate's dynamics that would allow me to gather information without drawing attention.
---
As night fell, I returned to my chambers, the weight of the day settling heavily on my shoulders. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls. I stared into the flames, my thoughts churning with possibilities.
The game I was playing was dangerous, but it was also necessary. Roland was watching me, testing me, waiting for me to slip. If I wanted to survive, I couldn't afford to falter. I had to be smarter, faster, and more ruthless than he could ever anticipate.
But as I lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, a single thought gnawed at the edges of my mind: What if I was wrong? What if Roland wasn't the traitor? What if the true enemy was someone I hadn't even considered?
The uncertainty was maddening, but it also fueled my determination. This wasn't just a game of survival anymore. It was a battle for control—a battle I couldn't afford to lose.
---