Rena and Gareth wove through the hushed corridors, their footsteps echoing softly in the lingering silence. Despite her exhaustion from healing King Darius, Rena forced herself to push forward—her father's health and the fate of Silverstrand depended on her ability to stay alert. The glow of morning had given way to an overcast sky visible through tall, arched windows; pale light seeped into the halls, making everything feel suspended in a muted gray.
They found Lady Halene in a small side chamber she often used as a working office—a modest room with tall shelves crammed with scrolls and ledgers, and a large oak table buried under documents. Maps of various regions lay pinned along one wall, while a narrow window overlooked a courtyard below. Halene stood near the window, studying a parchment in her hand. At the sound of the door opening, she glanced back, and the tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
"Princess, Gareth," she greeted, setting the parchment aside. Her tone, though calm, carried an undercurrent of worry. "I heard whispers in the corridors—something about King Darius's fever returning. Is he…?"
"Stable for now," Rena said, crossing the small chamber in quick strides. She sank onto a bench, trying to steady her breath. "I managed to heal him again, but the relapses are coming faster. We have to make sure no one uses his condition to their advantage."
Halene inclined her head. "I'm relieved he's better, even if only marginally. I fear you're right about opportunists. We've had a swirl of unsettling talk: maids and guards overhearing scraps of conversation about 'quiet rebellions,' though no one seems to know who might be orchestrating such a thing."
Gareth shifted his weight, arms folded. "Do we have names? A meeting place? Anything that can narrow the suspects?"
Halene exhaled, rifling through a handful of notes on the table. "A few minor nobles have been restless—Lord Ryndel, Lady Cessine, possibly others. They've always hovered on the periphery of Severin's circle, but they're not known to be fiercely loyal. This new rumor suggests they might be holding secret gatherings to question the king's fitness, and by extension, the princess's legitimacy." Her gaze flicked to Rena with empathy. "If King Darius can't rally the court in person, they might see a chance to break away from the crown's authority or carve out power for themselves."
Rena pressed a hand against the table's edge, her knuckles pale. "They wouldn't dare move openly while Severin's still an influential force. That means they could try small acts of sabotage—fomenting doubt about me, forging alliances with other discontented nobles. If enough lower-ranked lords unite, they might form a rebellion too large for us to quash without major upheaval."
Gareth nodded. "And Severin, whether he's part of it or not, could exploit the confusion to strengthen his own position. If these rebels destabilize the court, the steward could swoop in, promising order in exchange for more power."
Halene's mouth thinned. "Precisely. Worse still, if the rumor of a secret gathering is true, they might be planning to escalate. We can't confront them without proof, or we risk pushing them into deeper conspiracies." She paced to the window, peering out at the drab courtyard. "I have one lead: a guard overheard Lord Ryndel mention meeting 'past midnight' in the old library wing. Perhaps we could observe or intercept that meeting."
Rena straightened. "The old library wing is mostly unused, except for storing outdated records. That does make it an ideal place for a covert gathering. If we can catch them in the act, we'll learn who else is involved—and stop them from spreading sedition."
Gareth's expression hardened with focus. "We'll need to be careful. If they have lookouts, even a small misstep could tip them off. And we don't yet know how many might attend."
Halene gestured to a shelf of dusty scrolls. "I've already begun searching for records on Lord Ryndel and Lady Cessine—any past feuds, land disputes, alliances. It might reveal motives or connections. Meanwhile, I can quietly enlist a few trusted guards to stand by. But this operation should remain as small and secret as possible."
Rena let out a measured breath, steeling herself. "Let's do it. Tonight, we'll slip into the old library wing before midnight. Gareth, you'll come with me. Halene, coordinate those discreet guards in case we need backup. We can hide, watch for their arrival, and either confront them if we have enough evidence, or eavesdrop to learn their plan."
A surge of weary determination carried her voice. She pictured her father's weakened frame, his fever still lingering. If these conspirators were plotting to undercut the crown at its most vulnerable moment, she refused to stand aside. "I won't let them tear Silverstrand apart from within."
Halene managed a faint smile of approval. "I'll handle the preparations. And, Princess—" her gaze flicked toward Rena's trembling hands, "—please rest if you can. You've done enough healing for one day. You'll need clear eyes and steady resolve tonight."
Rena swallowed a knot of tension, aware that her body and mind both yearned for reprieve. "I'll try," she promised, though the swirl of adrenaline in her veins made even the idea of resting seem distant. Standing, she swept her gaze around the cramped chamber. "We'll expose this scheme and protect the king's authority. At least I know we have allies we can trust."
Gareth offered a small, unwavering nod. "Count on it. We stand with you."
They parted soon after, Halene remaining behind to sift through archives while Rena and Gareth exited into the corridor. Outside, the castle hummed with quiet activity—servants delivering midday meals, a few minor courtiers drifting in conversation. Yet Rena sensed an undercurrent of anxiety, as though the walls themselves braced for the next disturbance. She walked slowly, Gareth by her side, each step resounding with the knowledge that before midnight came, they would embark on a delicate mission that could decide whether Silverstrand remained unified or slid toward chaos.
For a moment, she closed her eyes and pictured the old library wing—the dusty alcoves, rows of neglected tomes, a faint echo of centuries past. Tonight, it might host a clandestine gathering of rebellious nobles. Perhaps they intended only talk, but talk could spark embers of revolt. If she and Gareth could extinguish those embers before they became flames, they might yet preserve her father's realm. That single hope fueled her tired legs and her racing heart: the kingdom's fate depended on her will to act, even in the darkness of suspicion and betrayal.